Dark surreal tales: The Black Champion

In black he rides, his armor hidden, A shadow on the battlefield. No one can see his face, his features, Only the glint of his golden shield.

A cross hangs from his neck, a symbol Of his brotherhood, his faith. The front of his helmet is filigreed, A small touch of gold on his wraith.

He rides alone, a silent sentinel, Unafraid of the darkness. He knows that his faith will protect him, That his brotherhood will never desert him.

He rides for justice, for honor, For the right of all to be free. He is a knight, a warrior, A defender of the weak and the weary.