Trolls, Sorcerers and the Clumsy Knights
@doctorwho300
Posted 1d ago · 38 min read
Table of Contents:
Fumbled Blades Against Forbidden Fangs
Chapter 1 - A Rivers Pass Chapter 2 - Sir Pubbleyum's Trials Chapter 3 - Clues Among the Ruins Chapter 4 - The Trolls’ Hidden Secret Chapter 5 - The Road to Perfectia Chapter 6 - Blades, Shields and Magic Chapter 7 - The Relic Fiery Handover Chapter 8 - From Famished to Yummy
Chapter 1
A Rivers Pass WAX NFT
"We are in a very unique circumstance," said Sir Toppleberry the Unsteady as he finished raising his silver cup of mead high in the air—then drank deeply. "Trolls attempted to conquer Clumsalon twice and failed," he said again, in a hushed voice but loud enough for the Order members to hear. He repeated the saying, then ended with: "Yet now they seek our assistance." Sir Yokel the Younger raised his hand to speak. Sir Toppleberry gave him a nod.
"These trolls were not the group that attacked Clumsalon. The troll’s brother is the one to whom I gifted my lance—remember, chief? We have a handshake treaty with them, which is why they are permitted to enter Clumsalon simply to pass through."
Sir Toppleberry looked at Sir Yokel. "Well, they all look the same to me—but very well. The King has already declared war against DragonSwolf for their role in stealing troll lands and dispersing their tribes," Sir Toppleberry said as he gulped the rest of the mead from his cup. "Anyways, young clumsy knight, it’s the mead talking, Yokel," he laughed.
"Per the King’s declaration, Clumsy Knights assemble!" Sir Toppleberry turned to look at the Order’s members. "We need four of you to head to the trolls’ villages and either take them back from DragonSwolf or relocate these trolls further southwest—closer to our kingdom, Clumsalon. Then we can teach them how to defend themselves against such evil."
Sir Yokel quickly volunteered, joined by Sir Flailwild, Sir Victor, and Dame Clattercrash. Sir Toppleberry asked Sir Bearingsmere if he would join the fight to reclaim lands that do not belong to DragonSwolf. Sir Bearingsmere smiled and gently accepted. Sir Thundersnack, midway through shoving another custard pie into his face, "accepted" by pulling out his sword and holding it aloft—only for Sir Bearingsmere to point out, "Umm, Thunder… where’s your sword? You’re holding up a custard pie shaped like your sword."
Sir Thundersnack blinked, then realized he had smudged his serpentine blade with custard. "Oh, sorry, Sir Bearingsmere. I need to clean off my sword from all these tasty, smudged custard pies," he said.
Sir Butteryslip also nodded in agreement to join the Clumsy Knights with his fellow Perfectian knights Sir Bearingsmere and Sir Thundersnack.
Sir Pubbleyum gestured that he wanted to join the group, but Sir Toppleberry declined. "You are a guest of honor, and we wouldn’t want you to get hurt before heading back to your faraway kingdom, now would we?" Sir Toppleberry asked.
Sir Pubbleyum quickly responded, "I do not plan on going back. I would like to remain here with my brother, if you would have me, Sir."
Sir Toppleberry, surprised, almost tripped over his own feet. "Very well," he said. "If you want to join the Order of the Backwards Plume, you will have to pass the vigorous, clumsy tests."
Sir Pubbleglum—standing beside his brother—nodded eagerly. "This is a great idea. Let’s get these tests done soon."
Sir Toppleberry thanked Sir Pubbleyum for his offer and said, "For now remain behind with your brother so I can get the tests ready for you." Sir Pubbleyum cheerfully said, "Yes, OK, sir."
Sir Bearingsmere gently tapped Sir Toppleberry on the shoulder. "Umm, sir… please send word to Perfectia so they can dispatch Sir Upingfoot. He’s one of the greatest swordsmen in all the known lands, umm… sir."
Sir Toppleberry agreed and returned a polite nod. "Absolutely, Bearingsmere. At once. I’ll send our fastest messenger first thing this evening. In the meantime, help yourselves to any provisions you need for the journey ahead."
Sir Bearingsmere gave a gentle bow, then left the room with Sir Thundersnack, who was still wiping custard from his sword. Sir Butteryslip, while looking down, also followed Sir Bearingsmere. "Everyone has their instructions. Good luck to all. I’ll be off preparing the Clumsalon tests for Sir Pubbleyum so that he too can join the Order—if he passes."
Sir Yokel, Sir Flailwild, Sir Victor, Dame Clattercrash, Sir Bearingsmere, Sir Thundersnack, and Sir Butteryslip—now with packed provisions for their long journey—set out to the west. Several hours have passed. Sir Yokel pulled out his map, then looked at the group. "We will have to walk through a river’s pass, very close to the Wicked Enchantress’s home—the one where Sir Toppleberry stopped her because of her mischievous deeds and harassing the villagers."
Sir Yokel looked ahead. "Oh, there's the river’s pass, just as indicated on the map."
Sir Flailwild looked at Yokel. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get going, gang."
Sir Bearingsmere responded, "Umm, Sir Flailwild, we are waiting for Sir Upingfoot. Sir Toppleberry sent word to Perfectia to send him our way. He should arrive first thing tomorrow."
Sir Flailwild looked at Sir Yokel. "We should make camp somewhere safe and get a campfire going—it’s beginning to get cold out here and dark."
Sir Thundersnack, thinking about food, of course, happily agreed to make dinner over the campfire. Sir Butteryslip just nodded in agreement, still looking down to see if any mysterious buttered banana peels would pop out of nowhere.
Sir Yokel looked at the group and said, "Then it’s settled. We will make camp, meet up with Sir Upingfoot, and then continue our journey."
So the Clumsy Knights—and the Perfectian Knights—made camp in a well-secluded location, one known only to the Clumsy Knights and the Perfectians.
Chapter 2
Sir Pubbleyum's Trials WAX NFT
In the meantime, Sir Pubbleyum was undergoing trials to determine if he was worthy to join the Order of the Backwards Plume. If he failed, he would not be allowed to stay in Clumsalon, as those were the strict rules of the realm. Sir Toppleberry would then send him to Perfectia instead. Sir Toppleberry had been up all night preparing the Clumsalon trials for Sir Pubbleyum the Famished.
“All done,” said Sir Toppleberry as he eyed Sir Pubbleyum. “The trials are ready. Let’s begin.”
Sir Pubbleyum agreed and began the trials. Sir Toppleberry monitored each test carefully, while Sir Pubbleglum watched his brother nervously from a distance.
Sir Pubbleyum was first tasked with riding a horse. He rode perfectly, without falling off.
Next, he was to attack a wooden dummy. He raised his sword and struck with perfect form.
The third test required him to walk to the King and bow. He approached gracefully and bowed flawlessly—no squeak from his armor was noticeable. He passed several other tests, including those of pure heart and sword skill, and was practically perfect in every regard.
When Sir Pubbleyum completed the trials, his brother Sir Pubbleglum was more nervous than he had been during the tests. Sir Toppleberry, observing the knight’s precise movements, already knew he had not met the requirements to join the Order.
“Sir Pubbleyum, please sit,” said Sir Toppleberry. “You’ve completed all the trials that determine your eligibility. Let me review some with you:
You failed the horse ride—you were supposed to fall off unintentionally. You were never meant to succeed on the first try, yet you did. You failed the ceremonial bow because your armor was not noisy. The only tests you passed were those of pure heart and sword skill.”
“Sir Pubbleyum,” continued Sir Toppleberry, “may I make a recommendation? Though you did not meet the standards of a Clumsy Knight, I believe you have what it takes to excel elsewhere. Please take this letter to Perfectia and give it to Sir Perfechia, the leader of their Order—the Perfechian Guard of Shearmelstrom. You would make an excellent Perfectian.”
“Sir Toppleberry, I thank you for the opportunity to remain near my brother in Clumsalon,” replied Sir Pubbleyum, nodding respectfully. “I accept the outcome and will seek to join the Perfectians.”
Sir Toppleberry shook his hand and said, “Your brother, Sir Pubbleglum the Soggy, will accompany you on your journey to your new home. This is good news—you’ll be just a dash away from each other, unlike the long two-week journey from your original kingdom.”
Sir Pubbleglum, thrilled by the news, began packing provisions for their journey to Perfectia. Sir Toppleberry, having anticipated the outcome halfway through the trials, had already sent word ahead about Sir Pubbleyum’s arrival.
The two brothers set off, taking Sir Yokel’s newly discovered Black Dark Forest path, which led directly to the Shadow Whispering Trail.
Sir Pubbleyum the Famished quickened his pace along the trail. “These parts look familiar, brother,” he said. “This is the way we took to reach your home, Clumsalon.”
Sir Puddleglum nodded in agreement and said, "That is correct, brother. This Shadow Whispering Trail will take us to the Kingdom of Perfectia. The Black Forest of Clumsalon truly cuts our travel time nearly in half—thanks to Sir Yokel for finding this path."
Both brothers continued north on the Shadow Whispering Trail. The trail kept whispering to them over and over again, as it was quite windy in these parts.
The whispers sounded like howling or a call for help, but Sir Pubbleyum and Sir Pubbleglum weren't entirely sure whether it was the wind or actual people on the trail. "Today this trail sounds spooky for some reason," said Sir Pubbleglum the Soggy, "and I've traveled along it for years now."
Sir Pubbleyum the Famished didn't know what to say, but he replied anyway, "Well, brother, where I come from we don't have such spooky trails. Let's speed-walk out of here—agreed?" Sir Pubbleglum agreed with his brother.
Then, out of nowhere, both brothers spotted a Perfectian Knight. It was Sir Upingfoot the Baby-Faced Terror—or "Teddybear," as some liked to call him. "Hey, Sir Pubbleglum! Hello!"
"Oh, hi, Sir Upingfoot. I'm taking my brother Sir Pubbleyum to see if Sir Perfechia will accept him into your order."
"That is fantastic," said Sir Upingfoot enthusiastically. "Well, I'm kind of in a rush—I'm supposed to meet up with the crew by the River's Pass to the southwest from here. I'll tell them I ran into you both. Bye for now, and Sir Pubbleyum—good luck! Hope to see you in our order. We could use another sword against our enemies."
Sir Upingfoot continued down the Shadow Whispering Trail, while the two brothers pressed on up the path, nearing the Perfectian Kingdom. A short while later, the distant whispers quieted, leaving only the ordinary rustle of wind through the trees. Unbeknownst to the brothers—at least until much later—the sounds they'd heard had a perfectly Sir Upingfoot explanation.
Just minutes before encountering them, Sir Upingfoot had rounded a bend and surprised a large bear ambling along the trail ahead. True to his enthusiastic nature, the Baby-Faced Terror (or "Teddybear," as some called him) had immediately launched into full scare mode: waving his arms wildly, making himself look as big as possible, and bellowing loud yells of "Hey bear! Back off! Go on now!" to drive the creature away. The bear, startled and alarmed, had responded with a series of deep huffs, moans, and retreating grunts as it barreled off into the brush. Those combined noises—the knight's booming shouts mixed with the bear's fearful vocalizations—had carried northward on the gusty wind, twisting through the whispering trees into the ghostly howling and plaintive calls for help that had spooked the brothers earlier.
Sir Pubbleglum paused, listening to the now-silent trail. "Hmm. The whispers have stopped. Perhaps the ghosts grew tired of their own haunting."
Sir Pubbleyum chuckled nervously. "Or perhaps it was just some loud knight scaring off an animal like a bear. Either way, remind me never to walk this trail alone—between the wind and the teddybears, it's more adventure than I bargained for."
Chapter 3
Clues Among the Ruins WAX NFT
Sir Thundersnack squinted, the mist thinning as the sun's first light broke through the storm-battered sky. The night's dampness still clung to the knights' silver armor, though the sun's warmth was starting to penetrate. Their campfire was a mere shadow, reduced to a bed of glowing embers.
He pointed toward the horizon, where the clouds had ignited in gold and amber. "Look," he said, a grin spreading across his face, "breakfast is coming—the dawn is here, comrades!"
The men stirred, rubbing sleep from their eyes, their breath visible in the crisp morning. One by one, they began to gather their things, the promise of food and a new day lifting their spirits. The night's chill had passed, along with the heavy weight of darkness.
Sir Yokel yawned, stretched toward the sky, and reached for the heavens. Sir Bearingsmere the Gentle quickly scanned the surrounding trees, hoping to spot his fellow Perfectian Knight, Sir Upingfoot. Sir Flailwild, while packing up his camping gear, glanced over at him. “I’m sure Sir Upingfoot is nearby,” he said. “He can handle himself quite comfortably.”
Sir Bearingsmere still wore a slight frown of worry. Sir Butteryslip got to his feet, eyes darting along the ground in search of buttered banana peels. Sir Victor and Dame Clattercrash both rose and began packing their gear.
“Sir Victor, you look a little pale,” said Sir Yokel.
“Nah, I’m OK, Yokel. I think it was just the cold night. I'll soak up some sun first, if you don't mind." Sir Thundersnack rekindled the campfire, and the mood brightened instantly. He then set about making breakfast for the knights.
“Eat up,” he declared. “We’ll need every bit of energy to defeat DragonSwolf and their Sorcerer Knights.” He paused, then added, “But I have a question, Sir Yokel. "Why would DragonSwolf be interested in Troll villages? It seems completely illogical."
Sir Yokel, equally baffled, responded, "I see your point, Sir Thundersnack."
Sir Bearingsmere then offered, "Perhaps the Trolls are concealing something?"
Sir Flailwild agreed with a nod.
As the knights ate and strategized around the fire, Sir Upingfoot finally arrived, bursting into the clearing. “Hey, everyone! I’m here—I made it, and just in time for breakfast! I’m so hungry I could eat a bear!” He chuckled at his own inside joke from the encounter on the Shadow Whispering Trail the day before.
Once everyone had finished eating, the knights packed up their camping gear and set off toward the Troll villages.
On the way to the villages now conquered by DragonSwolf, Sir Bearingsmere thought aloud. “Hmm… I wonder if the Trolls may be unwitting custodians of something ancient that DragonSwolf seeks. I mean, it’s just a Troll’s rundown village—why would such a powerful force bother displacing these creatures unless they’re after something specific?”
Sir Yokel, walking beside him through the dense forest, nodded. “I agree, Sir Bearingsmere. I agree with all your observations.”
Sir Bearingsmere blushed. “Oh… you heard me, Yokel? I was talking to myself out loud again, wasn’t I?”
“Yes,” said Sir Yokel with a chuckle. “We all heard your thoughts.”
“That’s a great theory,” added Sir Upingfoot. “Let’s test it—everyone, pick up the pace!”
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Sir Upingfoot continued. “I ran into Sir Pubbleglum and his brother Sir Pubbleyum. They were heading to the Kingdom of Perfectia. They say hello.”
Sir Yokel and Sir Flailwild exchanged a glance.
“That means Sir Pubbleyum failed the Clumsy Knights trials and are heading to Perfectia to enlist in their order,” said Sir Yokel.
Sir Bearingsmere’s face lit up. “That’s great news! We can always use another sword by our side.”
Sir Thundersnack thought for a moment, his mind drifting back to the Custard Pie invasion the night Sir Pubbleyum had stayed in the guest quarters. “Oh well,” he muttered to himself, “he’s going to be a fellow Perfetian knight. I suppose I can share some of my Custard Pies.” Then he sighed. “Hmm… now thinking about the pies has made me hungry again.”
Sir Yokel, Sir Flailwild, and the rest of the knights giggled as Sir Thundersnack reached into his satchel and pulled out a nice, juicy Custard Pie.
The knights continued through the forest. Sir Yokel pulled out his map at every junction. “We’re almost there,” he announced. “Keep an eye out for any DragonSwolf Sorcerers. They have tricks up their sleeves and will likely stay hidden until they feel they have the advantage. What they probably don’t realize is that we’re a large group of well-trained knights.”
Sir Flailwild suddenly pointed northeast. “Look over there—there’s smoke in the distance. And judging by your map, Sir Yokel, that should be the Troll village.”
Sir Yokel checked the map again. “Yes, you’re correct, Sir Flailwild.” He turned to the group. “This way. We’re almost there.”
The knights finally reached the Trolls’ abandoned and ransacked village. Sir Yokel scanned the area but saw no Trolls or Sorcerer Knights. “Hmm… it looks like DragonSwolf got what they were looking for and then abandoned the place.”
Sir Bearingsmere nodded in agreement and nudged Sir Thundersnack for his opinion—but the knight was too busy stuffing his face with Custard Pies. Sir Upingfoot voiced his agreement instead.
Sir Yokel turned to the quieter members of the group. “Sir Victor and Dame Clattercrash, you two have been awfully quiet the entire journey. Everything alright?”
Sir Victor still looked as though he were coming down with something, and Dame Clattercrash was tending to his every need. Sir Yokel’s gaze shifted. “How about you, Sir Butteryslip the Interesting? You’ve been quiet too.”
Sir Butteryslip gave a quick apology. “Sorry, Yokel, but I keep looking for those buttered banana peels on the ground. So far I’ve found none—which means there’s no danger nearby at the moment. I have to admit, it does give us the element of surprise… even though I wish these blasted buttered banana peels would stop following me everywhere I go.”
“Okay, gang,” said Sir Yokel, who had been placed in charge by the Legendary Sir Toppleberry himself. “Everybody spread out and look for clues.”
Chapter 4
The Trolls’ Hidden Secret WAX NFT
The knights spread out through the ransacked Troll village, picking their way between toppled huts, shattered carts, and scorched earth. Sir Yokel’s final order still echoed in their ears: “Everybody spread out and look for clues.” Yet they moved with care, mindful—as the Troll he'd spoken to had warned—that this was no ordinary settlement, but four Troll villages fused into one sprawling, now-devastated whole.
Sir Butteryslip the Interesting crept forward with extreme caution, eyes glued to the ground. “No peels… no peels… no—” His foot suddenly slipped on a suspiciously buttered banana peel that definitely had not been there a second ago. He windmilled his arms, crashed sideways into a half-burned fence, and planted his face firmly in the dirt.
“Oh gosh,” he mumbled, cheek pressed to the ground, “this means there are enemies nearby.” His serpentine sword, however, remained stubbornly silent for now.
At the exact same moment, Sir Yokel leaned in to examine a strange glowing rune carved into a stone pillar. The cloud of ash from Butteryslip’s fall hit his nose. “Haaa… haaa… ACHOO!” A thunderous sneeze erupted from him, blasting the rune with such force that the pillar cracked and toppled backward—directly onto a hidden Sorcerer Knight who had been lying in wait.
Sir Bearingsmere the Gentle, still pondering ancient secrets, stepped forward to inspect the fallen pillar. His boot caught on something soft and squishy. Sir Thundersnack had carelessly dropped his custard pie satchel right in the middle of the path. Bearingsmere pitched forward with a yelp, arms flailing, and slammed straight into a second Sorcerer Knight rising from the shadows.
As he tumbled through the air, Sir Bearingsmere’s mind raced with perfect politeness: Oh dear, terribly sorry, I do hope this doesn’t inconvenience you too— CRUNCH.
The Sorcerer went down hard beneath the Gentle knight’s armored bulk. Meanwhile, Sir Thundersnack was happily stuffing an entire custard pie into his face when he spotted movement from the corner of his eye. “Mmmph—enemies!” he tried to shout, spraying crumbs everywhere. In his haste to warn the others, he spun around and collided full-force with Sir Upingfoot, who was dramatically drawing his raw steel sword and shield at that very second. The two knights went down in a tangled, pie-smeared heap.
“Watch the pies!” Thundersnack wailed.
“Watch the sword!” Upingfoot laughed, rolling free.
On the far side of the ruined square, Sir Flailwild suddenly froze. Standing atop a broken watchtower was a chilling figure wrapped in frost and pale blue armor — Sir Ascenation the Cold Demon, the infamous Snow Knight from the Valley of IcingSnow.
Sir Flailwild lowered his gaze slightly. “Well now… what’s a Snow Knight doing in these warm, muddy parts?” As he stared the Cold Demon down, his own serpentine sword roared to life with a metallic hiss.
Before the demon could answer, another ferocious roar split the air. Sir Victor’s serpentine sword had sprung awake and split into two, as it always did when danger was near. The blades writhed and snapped like living snakes. Unfortunately, Dame Clattercrash was still hovering protectively over him, adjusting his armor straps and checking his forehead for fever. The enchanted blades twisted wildly and wrapped themselves three times around both of them, pinning Dame Clattercrash’s arms to her sides in a glittering metallic hug.
“Victor, dear, hold still,” she muttered calmly, even as the sword continued to constrict. “You’re still looking a bit peaky.”
Across the village, more enemies emerged from the ruins, drawn by the commotion. Leading them was the crimson-robed Sorcerer Redsfear. Flanking him stood Sorcerer Knight Evensburdge the Grey, Sorcerer Knight Hellington (who rarely left the hidden Kingdom of DragonSwolf, where he shadowed his master Lord Dragonis), Sir Ascenation the Cold Demon, and Sir Vaidorious the Unyielding from the Valley of IcingSnow. All had their blades drawn and pointed at the Clumsy and Perfetian knights.
But the real surprise came last.
Two Black Knights of Gloomfen stepped from the shadows — the Black Knight of Terror and the Black Knight of Gloomfen — their dark armor swallowing the sunlight, swords raised against the ragtag group.
Sir Upingfoot, still rolling free of Sir Thundersnack, leaped to his feet with a wild, ecstatic grin. “Knights, look! Now I can show them who’s the master of sword and shield!” He leveled his blade at the newcomers and bellowed, “En garde, you Black Knight cowards! En garde, I say!”
Chapter 5
The Road to Perfectia WAX NFT
The Shadow Whispering Trail had finally fallen quiet again. Sir Pubbleyum the Famished and his brother, Sir Pubbleglum the Soggy, continued northward. The gleaming spires of Perfectia were now visible on the horizon, like silver needles pointing toward the sky.
Sir Pubbleyum walked in uncharacteristic silence, his perfectly polished boots kicking up small puffs of dust. Every few minutes he glanced southward, where a faint line of dark clouds had begun to gather — clouds that had no business appearing on such a clear day.
“I keep thinking about them,” he said at last. “Sir Yokel, Sir Thundersnack… even that pie-mad knight. They’re probably marching into danger right now, and here I am, walking the other way because I was too good at staying on a horse.”
Sir Pubbleglum adjusted the pack on his shoulders and gave his brother a gentle nudge. “You didn’t fail because you were bad, brother. You failed because you were too… perfect. Sir Toppleberry said the Clumsy Knights need knights who trip, spill, and squeak naturally. The Perfechian Guard of Shearmelstrom needs discipline and precision. You have the second one in abundance.”
Pubbleyum gave a weak laugh. “Precision. Wonderful. I can already picture my trials in Perfectia. ‘Sir Pubbleyum, please fall off this horse on purpose.’ ‘I’m afraid I cannot, my lord — my balance is annoyingly excellent.’”
The younger brother chuckled. “At least your armor will stay quiet. That should count for something.”
They walked on. The trail grew wider and better-kept as they drew closer to the border. Perfectian banners — silver and deep sapphire — began appearing on roadside posts, fluttering proudly in the breeze.
Sir Pubbleyum slowed his pace. “What if Sir Perfechia takes one look at me and sees the same thing Sir Toppleberry did? A knight who doesn’t belong anywhere? What if I fail there too?”
Sir Pubbleglum turned. “Then we keep going. Together. You chose to stay close to me, and I choose to stay close to you. Whether that’s in Clumsalon, Perfectia, or some muddy ditch eating whatever’s left of Sir Thundersnack’s custard pies.”
A small smile finally broke through Pubbleyum’s worry. “You’d really eat cold custard pies in a ditch with me?”
“Without hesitation,” Pubbleglum replied. “Though I’d probably get soggy doing it.”
Before either brother could say more, a low rumble rolled across the southern sky. It was not thunder. It sounded far heavier — like the clash of steel and the roar of many voices carried on the wind.
Both brothers turned and stared toward the distant Troll villages.
“The wind must have carried the sound far,” Pubbleglum said quietly. “But we’re still hours away from Perfectia.”
The two brothers stood in silence for a long moment, listening to the far-off sounds of battle that the wind had delivered to them.
Sir Pubbleyum drew in a steadying breath. “Come on, brother. The sooner I pass these trials and earn my place in the Perfechian Guard, the sooner we can ride back and help them. Let’s not keep Sir Perfechia waiting.”
With renewed purpose, the two brothers quickened their pace toward the shining kingdom, even as the distant thunder of war followed them like an unwelcome shadow.
Sir Pubbleglum suddenly lifted his head, eyes widening. “Look, brother—there it is. Castle Shearmelstrom.”
On the horizon, the great castle had finally emerged from behind a rise, its silver spires and sapphire banners gleaming under the late sun. Perfectia’s heart lay before them: precise, pristine, and utterly unforgiving of mistakes.
Pubbleyum swallowed, the weight of the trials ahead pressing on his chest once more.
“Then let us hurry,” he said quietly. “Before the shadow behind us catches up.
Chapter 6
Blades, Shields and Magic WAX NFT
Sir Yokel glared at Sir Upingfoot and barked, full of sarcasm, “Don’t provoke them, Upingfoot—we wouldn’t want to embarrass them again, right?”
Upingfoot barked a laugh, glanced at Sir Ascenation, then leveled his blade at the cold demon. “Care to put your skills to the test, Cold Demon? There’s only room for one greatest swordsman in these parts.”
Sir Ascenation peered down at the knee-high, baby-faced knight. “So you’re that teddy-bear terror I keep hearing rumors about—the so-called greatest swordsman in the realm?” In one fluid motion, he drew both blades and aimed them at Upingfoot.
The two were a heartbeat from clashing when Sir Thundersnack—oblivious—bent to scoop up two runaway custard pies. “Mmm, still warm,” he mumbled, cramming one toward his mouth. His foot found the second pie. Splat. He skidded forward, slammed into the Black Knight of Terror, and kept going.
“Oh, not this again,” the Black Knight groaned as he toppled. His flailing leg hooked the Black Knight of Gloomfen, and both crashed backward in a clanking heap.
Thundersnack, undeterred, immediately started patting down the groaning pile, muttering, “Where’d the other one go…?”
Sir Bearingsmere the Gentle watched the custard-smeared disaster and allowed himself a tiny smile. “Good. They’re subdued—for now—and look mostly unharmed.”
He hurried toward Sir Upingfoot’s duel, but Upingfoot waved him off furiously—this was his fight. Bearingsmere pivoted to help Thundersnack instead, only to have Sir Butteryslip the Interesting rocket past like a startled duck, arms windmilling, straight into Sorcerer Knight Evensburge the Grey. Both went down in a tangle of robes and buttered banana peels. (“Where did these blasted peels come from?” Evensburge mumbled from the bottom of the pile.)
Meanwhile, Sir Yokel the Younger had drawn steel on Sir Vaidorious the Unyielding. “Get lost, snow knight—these lands don’t belong to you.”
Vaidorious charged without a word.
Bearingsmere now stood in the eye of the storm: Upingfoot trading blows with Ascenation on one side, Yokel dueling Vaidorious on the other. Then a firm nudge on his shoulder—Sorcerer Knight Redsfear.
Redsfear kept his dual blades sheathed. “I remember you. You helped us up after that Lopsided Courtyard mess and actually apologized. So I’ll return the courtesy: leave these lands. They belong to DragonSwolf now.”
Bearingsmere met his eyes calmly. “My apologies, sir, but I was sent by my king to reclaim them—for the Trolls you took them from.” He rested a gentle hand on his hilt, raised the blade slowly, and pointed it at Redsfear. “Now it’s my turn, Sorcerer. Leave these lands… or feel my steel.” A beat. “In a gentle way, of course.” He giggled.
Redsfear stared, genuinely surprised this soft-spoken knight wouldn’t fold. “Hmm. So be it.” He finally drew his own blade. “Just remember—I warned you.”
As the first clash loomed, a yelling, writhing ball of Clumsy Knights—Dame Clattercrash and Sir Victor, wrapped in Sir Victor's wild serpentine fire-swords—came bouncing past like an out-of-control tumbleweed.
Sir Victor’s voice cut through: “Hey, brother—move right, NOW!”
Bearingsmere sidestepped just in time. The supercharged, flaming knight-tumbleweed plowed into Redsfear with a resounding clang, flattening him deeper into the mud, and bounced onward like a deranged pinball.
At that moment, the heavy cellar door of the central hut flew open. Out stormed Sorcerer Knight Hellington—one of DragonSwolf’s blade-masters, who almost never left the kingdom, let alone its shadows. He’d been below for hours, hunched over crumbling scrolls and runes, hunting the lost DarkTroll Relic that had justified their conquest of this village. The distant ring of steel, the yelps, and the unmistakable splat-splat of custard pies had finally dragged him topside.
He emerged in a swirl of dark blue robes covering his arcane armor, edged in silver arcane thread, hood thrown back to reveal sharp features lit by an inner glow. In each hand he gripped a long, rune-etched sword—blades humming faintly with black energy, crossed before him in a classic duelist’s guard. “Enough of this rabble!” he thundered, voice carrying the weight of ancient tomes. “The relic will not be—”
Dame Clattercrash, fresh from wriggling free of Sir Victor’s serpentine sword-fire (“Take that, you twisty rope of nonsense!”), barreled forward with heroic intent. Her foot found one of Sir Butteryslip’s ever-present buttered banana peels—now littering the battlefield like cursed yellow traps. She skidded spectacularly, legs churning air, and collided full-force with Hellington’s midsection like a battering ram made of enthusiasm and bad luck.
The impact was cartoon-perfect: Hellington’s dual swords flew upward in twin arcs (one embedding point-first in a nearby tree with a thunk), his hood flopped over his eyes, and the mighty sorcerer knight toppled backward with a startled “URK!” He landed flat amid a fresh scattering of peels, swords clattering beside him, one blade now comically stuck, vibrating in the dirt inches from his own foot.
Dame Clattercrash ended up half-sprawled across his chest plate, blinking down at him. “Oops. You okay there, fancy dual-sword guy? Didn’t see you come up.”
Hellington wheezed, pushing his hood back with what dignity he could muster. “The... relic... demands focus... not... banana warfare...”
All around them, the battlefield roared on: clashing steel, gasping knights, epic trips, flying armor bits, custard splats, and now the faint twang of a vibrating sword stuck in the ground like a forgotten tuning fork.
While the chaos raged, Sir Bearingsmere the Gentle moved quietly among the subdued foes—tying up Black Knights, Sorcerer Knights, and anyone else who’d been felled by pies, peels, or pratfalls. He hummed softly as he worked, ever the gentleman.
Sir Ascenation and Sir Upingfoot kept clashing blades back and forth, evenly matched so far. But as Upingfoot danced side to side, his feet hit a fresh row of buttered banana peels. He slid wildly right into Ascenation. The cold demon tried to maneuver away—too late. His own boots found the treacherous yellow peals. Both knights crashed together in a heap of sprawled swords, shields, and shattered dignity.
Across the clearing, Sir Yokel and Sir Vaidorious the Unyielding paused mid-swing and looked around. The ground was a quiet mess: custard-pie craters, banana-peel minefields, scattered helmets, gauntlets, and swords glinting in the mud.
The two knights locked eyes. In silent agreement, they sheathed their blades.
Sir Yokel broke the quiet. “What is this all about? Why did DragonSwolf conquer this poor Troll tribe? What could they possibly offer that you don’t already have?”
Sir Hellington struggled to his feet, brushing peels from his robes with wounded pride. “DragonSwolf doesn’t want the land itself. We’re searching for a sacred dark stone relic—it belongs to us. Our scouts learned it’s hidden somewhere in this Troll village.”
Sir Yokel and Sir Bearingsmere stepped closer, listening. Bearingsmere tilted his head. “Sir Hellington, Mr. Sorcerer... did you try asking the Trolls if they had this relic before taking their homes?”
Hellington shifted uncomfortably. “Well... not really. We take what we want without asking.”
Sir Bearingsmere opened his mouth to reply, but Sir Yokel cut in gently. “So all this catastrophe—for a relic?” He paused. “Well, I believe I know what relic you seek and where it might be. If you want it, you must leave these lands and never return. Agreed?”
Sorcerer Knight Hellington’s eyes widened. “You have this relic?”
“Not me,” Yokel said, “but one of the Troll leaders wears what you described around his neck. I can get it for you—in exchange for you all leaving, never returning, and never troubling these Trolls again.” He leaned in. “I’ll ask again: Deal, Hellington?”
Hellington glanced at the banana-peel battlefield, the tied-up comrades, the vibrating sword still humming like a sad metronome. He sighed, long and begrudging. “…Deal.”
With the tension broken, the knights cleared the battlefield of custard craters and banana hazards. The two sides parted ways—DragonSwolf retreating empty-handed but relic-bound, the Clumsy Knights victorious in the most ridiculous way possible.
Chapter 7
The Relic Fiery Handover WAX NFT
The Clumsy Knights—plus a few Perfectians—trekked onward in search of the trolls whose villages DragonSwolf had ruined. They headed toward the outskirts of four neighboring troll villages clustered close together.
After hours of searching, they finally found the group they sought. Sir Yokel called out to their leader—the very troll to whom he had once given his only lance.
“Hey, Troll! We have business to discuss. We rid you of DragonSwolf forever, but there are two conditions. The necklace—”
Before Sir Yokel could finish, the troll yelled back, “Necklace? What necklace, Yokel?”
Sir Yokel pointed. “The glowing black stone pendant you’re wearing right now. DragonSwolf wants that relic. It’s why they attacked your villages.” Sir Bearingsmere nodded firmly in agreement.
The troll leader crossed his arms, unconvinced. Sir Yokel hesitated, unsure how to persuade him. Sir Bearingsmere the Gentle stepped forward with calm politeness.
“Good day, Mr. Troll Leader. We’ve encouraged DragonSwolf to depart. Your villages are yours again. But there is one small matter: the relic around your neck—the DarkTroll Relic. The DragonSwolf order wants it badly. If they don’t get it, they will never stop.”
The troll leader squinted and clutched the pendant protectively. “This? It’s been in my family for generations. Why do they want it?”
“We don’t know,” Sir Yokel replied. “But Sorcerer Knight Hellington and his followers do. They promised to leave you in peace forever if we hand it over—no more conquests, no more ‘taking without asking.’ Is it a deal?”
The Chief eyed the knights—Sir Thundersnack already eyeing a nearby pie stall, Dame Clattercrash accidentally toppling a cart of turnips the trolls had prepared for their evening dinner, and Sir Victor’s serpentine sword flickering as if bored.
The troll leader chuckled deeply. “You defeated them with pies, banana peels, and sheer clumsiness? Legends say you’re unstoppable in the most ridiculous ways.” He smiled. “Fine. Take it. Just make sure they stay gone. We want to start rebuilding our villages.”
Before Sir Yokel could forget, he added, “One more thing: you are never to venture near DragonSwolf’s Castle.”
The troll leader nodded. “Very well. I’ll speak with my clan. But Yokel, I only speak for my own people. I cannot control the other trolls—they wage war against your Clumsalon Kingdom and against us as well.”
Sir Yokel reassured him with a grin. “I know, my friend. You have my word of honor, as I have yours.”
He unclamped the relic—a black stone pulsing with faint violet energy, etched with glowing runes—and handed it to Yokel. Naturally, Yokel nearly dropped it when his foot slipped on a loose rock.
After securing the DarkTroll Relic, the Clumsy Knights and their Perfectian allies headed to the Fire Dragon Pathway to meet Sorcerer Knight Hellington.
The group arrived at the narrow, smoky trail winding into DragonSwolf lands. Glowing red fissures lined the path, accompanied by the distant roar of fire dragons. Hellington waited alone, his robes still part smothered from earlier banana-related incidents, dual swords sheathed but humming impatiently.
“You actually brought it,” Hellington said dryly. “I half-expected another tumbleweed assault.”
“Here.” Sir Yokel tossed the relic gently—too gently. It arced perfectly… until Sir Butteryslip, who had tagged along, windmilled past with flailing arms and accidentally batted it mid-air toward Hellington.
Hellington caught it one-handed, his dignity barely intact. “The relic is ours. As agreed, we withdraw all claims. Tell your troll friends we won’t be back.”
He glanced at the smoky pathway ahead, then back at the knights. “One question: How do you survive being… you?”
Sir Bearingsmere smiled. “Mostly by not taking ourselves too seriously. Safe travels, Sorcerer—until our swords meet again.”
Hellington held Sir Bearingsmere’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded with a thin, unsettling smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. For an instant the respectful facade slipped, revealing something colder beneath. He turned without another word and vanished into the swirling dragon smoke.
The knights headed homeward, already planning the Perfectia ceremony. The scene faded out on Sir Thundersnack contentedly munching a victory pie.
Chapter 8 - Final
From Famished to Yummy WAX NFT
Sir Pubbleyum the Famished faced the Perfectian trials with ease, breezing through the obstacle courses and standard duels, nearly perfecting every challenge and impressing the Legendary Sir Perfechia himself and the King of Perfectia.
The King rose, his voice echoing across the Perfectian courtyard. “Sir Pubbleyum the Famished, you have proven impeccable grace under pressure. Rise, Sir Pubbleyum the Yummy—Knight of Perfectia and new guardian of the Perfechian Guard of Shearmelstrom!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Sir Pubbleglum the Soggy beamed with joy for his brother—until he leaned back too far in his chair and tumbled backward, taking the grumpy Sir Grumblethud down with him in a loud crash of tangled armor and limbs.
Sir Grumblethud sat up with a scowl. “Watch it, you clumsy oaf!”
Sir Pubbleglum, still grinning ear to ear, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “Sorry, Grumpy! I’m just too excited for my brother!”
Sir Perfechia hurried over from the King’s side to help the pair up. “Umm… are you two all right?”
Sir Grumblethud glared. “Do I look all right?”
Sir Pubbleglum took a deep breath again. “Sorry, Grumpy. I’m just so happy.”
“Fine,” Grumblethud grumbled. “Just don’t do that again, Clumsy Knight.”
“I’ll try,” Pubbleglum replied with a sheepish smile, “but clumsiness comes naturally. I can’t really control it.”
Sir Perfechia stepped neatly between them, glancing back and forth. “Gentlemen, can we all agree to have some fun and celebrate our newest Knight of Perfectia—Sir Pubbleyum the Yummy?”
“Very well,” both knights muttered.
Meanwhile, Sir Pubbleyum the Yummy was already stuffing his face with specially prepared desserts. The sweet aroma drifted across the entire Perfectian courtyard. He bowed gracefully to the King. “Your Majesty, may I ask why you named me ‘Yummy’?”
The King met his eyes with a warm smile. “I know your secret, Sir Pubbleyum—and so does Sir Perfechia. But we don’t mind. Our cleaning staff is quite used to dealing with… trails.” He chuckled. “The breadcrumb trail you leave behind is nothing new here.”
Sir Pubbleyum blinked, stunned. “Wait… you know?”
“Yes,” the King said gently. “I also know the kingdom you left behind to search for your brother. It took me some time to piece the clues together, but I remembered. Your king and I were childhood friends. Our parents wouldn’t allow us to play with common folk, so we visited each other’s kingdoms every few months.”
Sir Pubbleyum bowed deeply, his voice thick with emotion. “Even with my flaw, you accept me into your kingdom so I may serve you and stay close to my brother. Thank you, my lord.”
The King placed a hand on his shoulder. “All knights in the Perfectian Guard of Shearmelstrom are perfect in their own way, yet none are flawless. Take Sir Thundersnack the Kitchen Raider—he cannot resist custard pies or raiding enemy food stores, yet he never gains an ounce. Or Sir Butteryslip the Interesting, cursed so that buttered banana peels appear whenever he is threatened. Even Sir Upingfoot bears a witch’s curse of an eternally youthful face, yet his sword and shield skills are unmatched. You are now part of our Perfectian family, Sir Pubbleyum the Yummy. Welcome.”
Before Pubbleyum could respond, loud munching noises erupted to his left. Horns and trumpets suddenly blared—the Perfectian Knights and their Clumsy Knights allies had returned from the troll villages.
The group marched into the courtyard. Sir Bearingsmere scanned the crowd. “Where did he go?” he murmured. His eyes landed on the dessert table just as Sir Thundersnack crashed straight into it, sending plates flying and pies sliding everywhere.
“Of course,” Bearingsmere sighed with a gentle smile.
Sir Pubbleyum laughed. “Well, fellow knight—eat all you can! This is a celebration!”
As the feast continued, Sir Bearingsmere stepped forward to give a short, warm speech about how “even the clumsiest among us can find perfection in kindness.” Halfway through, Dame Clattercrash—trying to applaud politely—accidentally knocked over a tall stack of serving trays. The trays clattered across the courtyard floor, sending a cascade of leftover desserts sliding toward Sir Victor, whose serpentine sword instinctively flicked out and skewered a flying custard pie mid-air.
The crowd burst into laughter. Bearingsmere paused, then chuckled softly and continued as if nothing had happened.
Later, Yokel and Bearingsmere shared a quiet toast, relieved that the DarkTroll Relic was gone and the trolls could finally rebuild their villages in peace.
As the celebration stretched long into the evening, the courtyard echoed with laughter, clattering armor, and the occasional crash of dropped desserts. For now, the Clumsy Knights and the Perfectian Knights had turned another impossible situation into a ridiculous victory—exactly as legends said they would.
But far away, in the swirling smoke of the Fire Dragon Pathway, a thin, unsettling smile lingered in the shadows…
The End
Quick Links
Part 1: @doctorwho300/the-clumsy-knights" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Tales of the Clumsy Knights Part 2: @doctorwho300/the-clumsy-knights-saga-continues" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Clumsy Knights Saga Continues Part 3: @doctorwho300/the-clumsy-knights-meet-new-foes" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Clumsy Knights Meet New Foes Part 4: @doctorwho300/the-clumsy-knights-and-the-seven-kingdoms" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Clumsy Knights and the Seven Kingdoms Part 5: @doctorwho300/the-clumsy-knights-and-the-alliance" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Clumsy Knights and the Alliance Part 6: @doctorwho300/the-clumsy-knights-and-the-hidden-kingdom" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Clumsy Knights and the Hidden Kingdom Part 7: @doctorwho300/the-clumsy-knights-and-the-abandoned-castle" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Clumsy Knights and the Abandoned Castle Part 8: @doctorwho300/chronicles-of-the-clumsy-knights" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Chronicles of the Clumsy Knights Part 9: @doctorwho300/adventures-of-the-clumsy-knights" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Adventures of the Clumsy Knights Part 10: @doctorwho300/timbermist-and-the-clumsy-knights" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">TimberMist and the Clumsy Knights Part 11: @doctorwho300/the-famished-the-yummy-and-the-clumsy-knights" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Famished, the Yummy and the Clumsy Knights
The chronicles are still being written. Somewhere in the castle tonight another knight is oiling his armor, polishing his sword with butter, and preparing to save the world by tripping over it tomorrow.
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