Semi-Medieval Times Presents: Sir Odorous Knight
A Dialogue Fiction | Duration: 4 Minutes
This is a little chat between two fictional gentlemen in the vein of Monty Python. An ode to the silly things. Please don’t think too hard on this one. I wrote it around midnight one night when I couldn’t fall asleep and it made me smile. Enjoy! ~ WM
Traveler: Hello, sir, you seem lost. Are you okay?
Mysterious Man: I am not “Okay.” My name is Sir Odorous.
Traveler: Hm, a unique name. What seems to be plaguing you, Sir Odorous?
Sir Odorous: Nothing. Why?
Traveler: Well, you said you weren’t okay.
Sir Odorous: That’s right. I’ve already told you my name.
Traveler: Oh, I see. That wasn’t what I meant. I think we may have a misunderstanding of sorts.
Sir Odorous: Of what?
Traveler: A misunderstanding of sorts.
Sir Odorous: I’m all sorted out, no more misunderstandings with them.
Traveler: I, um, okay. What is that up there? Do you see it?
Sir Odorous: What? Oh, yeah, it’s coming right at me, huh?
Traveler: It’s… a bird! Watch out, Sir Odorous.
Sir Odorous: Ah! Almighty above, it nearly bashed me head. Is it still alive?
Traveler: I fear not. Completely dead that bird is. It must have been stricken with something mid-flight.
Sir Odorous: Odd. That keeps happening.
Traveler: Wait, this has happened to you before?!
Sir Odorous: Ohhh yes. All my life really. Pretty sad them birds can’t fly straight on like other creatures.
Traveler: Pardon my candor, you’re an odd fellow, Sir Odorous. I do smell a strange odor about the area. I wonder if that could be something to do with it. At least you’re alright.
Sir Odorous: I am Sir Odorous! Not “okay”, not “alright”.
Traveler: Yes. Yes, I forgot, I guess. Anyways, that armor you’re wearing looks quite old. Where did you get it?
Sir Odorous: My father. He perished ages ago.
Traveler: Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. Did he gift you the armor? Like an heirloom?
Sir Odorous: No. He was a knight. He was buried in it.
Traveler: Then how did you get the armor?
Sir Odorous: Huh?
Traveler: You said that— my word what is that awful stench? It’s foul beyond comprehension. I must take a step back to gather my wits.
Sir Odorous: Ha, the dragon said the same thing.
Sir Odorous: You know, big lizard that breathes fire and whatnot.
Traveler: I know what it is. You saw a dragon? And lived?
Sir Odorous: Well, yeah. I mean, I’m here aren’t I?
Traveler: What in Heaven’s name went through your mind, Sir?
Sir Odorous: I think it was a tooth, or something.
Sir Odorous: Look, see.
Traveler: Great Kings and Queens, man! There’s a wound in the back of your skull, straight through your helmet.
Sir Odorous: Eh? Whatsat?
Traveler: And that wafting smell. It’s putrid.
Sir Odorous: Smell?
Traveler: Yes. It brings about conjurings of diseased rats crawling within a rotting husk of skunk and then suffocating from their own bile and vomit, left to decay for months on end.
Sir Odorous: Wow. That’s very descriptive.
Traveler: I wonder if it might be whatever it is you’re carrying in that sack.
Sir Odorous: The sack? Oh. This? Noooo. Couldn’t be.
Traveler: Oh please, Sir Odorous, keep it closed. You can’t smell that?
Sir Odorous: I can’t.
Traveler: You mean you can but don’t, or don’t because you can’t?
Sir Odorous: Correct.
Sir Odorous: Which what?
Traveler: Can you or can’t you smell?
Sir Odorous: I cannot smell a thing.
Traveler: I see. That would make the most sense. It’s definitely getting worse. Almighty above, please stay where you are and keep that sack closed!
Sir Odorous: I just wanted to see if I could smell it, too.
Traveler: But you said you couldn’t smell.
Sir Odorous: You never know. Something as rank as what you describe might get the ol’ sniffer going once and for all.
Traveler: No. You’d definitely know because it’s coming from your immediate vicinity.
Sir Odorous: Rude.
Traveler: Merely a fact. Please, no closer or I’ll have to resort to desperate measures.
Sir Odorous: You know, that’s also what the dragon said right before it attacked me.
Traveler: Is that right? I can see why. Ack. So rancid. Uhk. Vile. Pffffffft.
Sir Odorous: Oh dear. So, so, sorry about that. I lost the grip on my sack. My good man, are you alright?
Traveler: No… I’m not alright.
Sir Odorous: Oh, how daft of me. I never asked your name. I should’ve known you weren’t alright.
Traveler: Get… away… from….
Sir Odorous: Don’t lie down. Wow. This is so eerily similar to how Father passed on. No, no, no, no, please let me help you. Can you hear me? Hello? Hey!
Sir Odorous: Well, that’s not good. Hmm. Come on, Father, let’s get you out of here. Glad you’re not as heavy as you used to be. Basically all skin and bones these days. Don’t worry though. I’ll find you a better place to rest. Somewhere with a lot of open air and cool breezes drifting about. You’ll see.
The End… But Likely To Be Continued… Maybe.