Collection of knights

The three knights gathered around their campfire, resting after a long day of riding hard in order to cover the ground that they had lost after their last skirmish. It was less than an hour after sunset, but they were exhausted, yet could not sleep. There was still adrenaline pumping through their blood after the long day, so while their horses slept peacefully only a few feet away, they continued to stare into the fire, as though it held some kind of secrets that they could no longer live without. They were a strange collection of knights, for they had no owner. They maintained their own codes of chivalry, and traveled together from land to land, doing what work needed to be done, and never asking for anything in return, oftentimes leaving before anything could even be offered to them.

They sat in a row on a log facing the flames. On the left, dressed in blue, was the female of the bunch. She was graceful and swift in every movement, even as they rested breathless and pained. She flowed like the water rushing through a river, and under her helmet she hid a pale, sharp face with deep blue eyes and well maintained blonde hair. Were she not to have taken up her mantle as a knight, she could easily have had any man she wanted from any kingdom, and a life of ease and untold comfort. But she was strong of both will and mind, and sought for strength of body as well, and she trained hard to become what she was. Her two companions felt not lust or love for her as other men had. There was only respect in their hearts and in their eyes, and she felt at ease amongst them.

In the center sat a tall, but thinner man, dressed in oranges and reds, and his armor reflected the light of the flames to bring him brightness, as though he were the last vestibule of the sun. He was harsh and strong in his judgement, and when he spoke, his tongue was sharp as a knife. He could cut down even kings with his words, putting them in their place without the need of his sword. And when he drew his sword, he was just as quick and sharp. He was not a strong man, but he was a quick thinker, and he had an eye for precision. His combat was reflective of that, striking at the vital points of his foes until they simply fell apart.

And on the right, much shorter and stouter than his companions sat the third knight, his armor trimmed with purple furs from a far off land which had long since been abandoned and forgotten. He was the last of his people, and he was looked down on as alien and strange. Yet none could deny the fortitude or strength of his character and body. He could lift both of his partners on his back and continue to fight on, hacking and chopping at his foes until there was naught a bit left of them. It was a terror to behold, but when you knew that he was on your side, you could not help but feel safe.