The Farmer Arepo

Chapter 1: Three Knights Came a Calling

The farmer Arepo's knuckles whitened as he clenched the handle of his lawn scythe. beside him Old Phil bahhed in alarm at the three approaching men, their armor glinting in the setting Aegean Sun as they sauntered up the craggy hill to meet him.

The lead knight had his helmet tucked underneath his arm, his shield still at his back, sword in its scabbard.
His fellows were a tad more prepared, their shields out and up, their hands resting on their sword handles.

Nice to see some people still took him seriously.

The leader flicked his head to clear the strand of blond hair that had escaped its pleat and smiled cordially at Arepo.

"Good morrow to you Sir," he said

Arepo raised an eyebrow and glanced around

The golden knight chuckled

"You may be dressed in the rags of a peasant, but you cannot fool me with such a disguise, Arepo." he said the last part quieter, as a hiss.

Old Phil bahhed at the blond prick

"And this must be your faithful companion, the legendary Philoctetes" he exclaimed and he tried to bend down and pet the goat, who promptly snapped at him. Even though the knight was wearing gauntlets he pulled back his hand instinctively and Old Phil snorted in satisfaction.

The golden knight smiled sourly at the goat.

"Remind me to put his horns on a helmet," he said in an aside to his companions, then turned to smile cheerily at Arepo.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Arepo heaved a sigh.

"I suppose I am, but tell me."

The knight leaned forward.

"Yes?" he asked.

"What is the name of my killer," asked Arepo.

"Ah splendid, my name is-".

Arepo raised and struck with the scythe in one continuous motion, it cut the nameless knight's throat as easily as a stalk of grain, his head lolling back as he fell forward.

In concert with this attack Old Phil darted forward and rammed his horns into the leftmost knight's knee, the armor-plated thug went down with a grunt of pain, stabbing the edge of his kite shield into the ground to help catch his fall. Arepo's plunging scythe was intercepted in it's path to the kneeling knight's exposed collar by the rightmost knight's sword, and with a flick of his wrist the knight hooked the scythe on its curved blade and pulled it from Arepo's hand.

Arepo let the scythe go and instead fell forward into a tumble, grabbing the dead knight's useless helmet from the ground and rising directly in front of the rightmost knight who attempted to bash him with their shield.
Arepo hooked the helmet onto the side point of the shield and wrenched it out of the way.

The kneeling knight grabbed Arepo's leg but Old Phil rocketed forward and connected helmet to horns. Arepo heard a sickening crunch as the visor of the kneeling knight's helmet was shoved back into his face and the man fell to his back, clutching at his head in agony.

With a roar of anger, the last knight standing dropped his sword and bore Arepo to the ground in a tackle, putting all the weight of himself and his armor behind it.

Arepo hit the ground and felt the wind leave him in a rush from the impact. The enraged knight atop him raised his kite shield high.

Arepo pulled the dinner knife from his belt and jammed it up into the knight's armpit. The man's shield arm fell listlessly as blood gushed from his side. Arepo twisted and bore the man to the ground, then finished the butchering with a swift cut to the neck.

Old Phil snorted and bleated at the coppery smell in the air and Arepo sighed in agreement, he was sick of the smell of blood too.

Arepo bent down and took the sword in its sheath and belt from the first man he had killed and considered the mercy blow for the final man writhing on the grass.

A glint of light caught Arepo's eye and he looked up to see a company of infantrymen charging up the hill. Arepo strapped the sword belt to his waist, bent down to grab Philoctetes and charged up the hill to his solitary hut

let the man's retainers provide what aid they could to him, and be diverted from the chase alongside it.

The Hunt was begun