Sir Galahad trudges forward through a violent storm that has suddenly descended upon him. The wind howls mercilessly, and his hair is drenched, clinging to his face as the torrential rain lashes against him. He pushes through with determination, holding his shield in front of him. Its metal surface cutting through the wind in a futile attempt to shield himself from its relentless force.
The ground beneath him feels treacherous, as if the earth itself is crumbling beneath the storm's fury. His footing falters, and with a sudden slip, he crashes to the mud-soaked ground. Scrambling, he tries to regain his footing, but the wind seems to have a mind of its own, relentless in its power. It feels as though invisible arms wrap around his back, gripping him tightly and forcing him back to the earth, mocking his struggle.
Desperate, Galahad reaches out for a nearby branch. His fingers grip its rough surface as he pulls himself forward, using every ounce of strength to continue his journey. Behind him, eerie, unsettling sounds echo through the woods, sending a chill down his spine. The wilderness is no place for solitude, especially not in a storm this fierce or in a place so steeped in mystery.
But turning back is no longer an option. His path is set, and the Holy Grail awaits him. He must continue, even if it means facing the journey alone. The storm may try to break him, but Sir Galahad's resolve will not falter. His quest is greater than any challenge nature can throw his way.
Sir Galahad crawls forward, battling through the relentless storm. His muscles scream in protest from the effort, but he presses on. Slowly, he pushes himself upright, his legs trembling with exhaustion. In the distance, a dark silhouette emerges through the rain, a castle standing imposingly against the stormy sky. It seems to promise shelter from the tempest that rages around him.
Above the structure, the Holy Grail shines with an ethereal glow, its radiance cutting through the storm like a beacon. Galahad's heart swells with renewed hope. The sight of it feels like divine confirmation, a sign that he has reached the right location. But there is only one way to be sure.
"Open the door!" he calls out. With a clenched fist, he bangs forcefully against the door while leaning on the other arm that rests against it. The water pours into his eyes, a sharp sting causing him to blink involuntarily as it momentarily clouds his vision.
"Open the door!"
Despite his efforts, no one answers. He doesn't hear any movement from the other side either. Perhaps they can't hear him. He slams his fist against the door once more, his tone growing more insistent and urgent.
"In the name of King Arthur, open the door!"
Finally, the door opens, and Galahad, still leaning against it, falls forward. He crashes onto the floor and lies there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The door slams shut behind him with a loud bang. Startled, he looks back at the closed door.
"Hello," several voices say in unison, their tones soft and welcoming.
Galahad looks ahead. A group of five women stands in front of him, their presence calm. Four of them are young, their youthful faces illuminated by the dim light, while one older woman stands at the forefront. They are all dressed in neat, flowing white dresses and the oldest woman wears a habit around her head. Their voices, when they speak, are gentle and soothing, carrying an almost melodic tone.
The woman at the front, the eldest of the group, holds a torch in her hand, its faint light flickering. She smiles warmly at Galahad, greeting him with a voice that is both friendly and inviting.
"Welcome, gentle Sir Knight. Welcome to the Castle Anthrax," the woman at the front says with a warm smile.
Galahad, still lying on the floor and now propping himself up on his hands, furrows his brows in confusion. "Castle Anthrax?" he asks, his voice dripping with disbelief and surprise.
YOU ARE READING
MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL
Humor"Bring out your dead!" "Here's one.", a man says, who approaches with a body hanging over his shoulder. "Nine pence.", the dead collector says. "I'm not dead!", the person, who's supposed to be dead, says. "What?" The dead collector thought he...
