(Listen to audio version here: https://konsensus.network/read/fiction/sir-coinalot)

In a far off land of knights and knaves, A lowly peasant tilled the soil... In a far off land of knights and knaves, A lowly peasant tilled the soil. The strongest soul in all Economa, Selfless, kind, and brave

In want of storage for their lot His neighbours asked him to keep safe Their precious jewels, silver, gold And so they called him Coinalot.

Through donations, enough was raised To pay the entrance fee For the noble swordsmen contest The winner gained the King’s great praise.

And one by one, they fell to his blade Coinalot patrolled the ground. Spectators quaffed and watched in shock As peasant into knight was made.

Sir Coinalot discovered the lands bestowed By the profligate King were tarnished By debts which mounted with wages horseshoes, feed and wagons for the road.

The King raised tithes to pay for a war, In far off lands Economans would never glimpse And beasts and harvest went to store In great mountain silos protected by lore.

Sir Coinalot shared what little he had With those who worked his lands And vowed to raise their plight With a King that was rumoured to be mad.

For the King claimed a dragon-like beast Lived far up in Economa’s mount With insatiable desire for livestock and gold Inflarion grew stronger through each new feast

The king and his druid were said long ago To strike a deal with coin for the dragon But with each harvest it demanded more Its appetite never ceased to grow.

Citizens’ gold kept in Coinalot’s guard Ebbed slowly to Inflarion’s cave His ledgers never could be balanced As once-gold coins returned less hard.

No metal had ever pierced the scales Of the growing dragon above the city Sir Coinalot traveled for twenty-one days To a meateoric crater along the trail.

It was most taxing to leave his home And never know if he would return As without a weapon to slay the beast, Economa would wither whilst he roamed.

One night, a hooded monk with an accent strange Did accost him on the way Presenting him an unusual gift For monks rarely strayed to such a range.

The sword he thrust into Coinalot’s grip Was heavier than most could lift Made from unknown alloy strong Unbreakable, hard, impossible to chip

“And you,” said the monk, his robe an orange sun “Have the hands to wield. Noble. Strong.” And with that, he made into the night, Accepting in return absolutely none.

The sword had power, Sir Coinalot had never felt Training endless weeks to wield And when he could, he marched to the mountains In search of justice for the evil crimes dealt.

He had no strategy for attack No plan to shield himself from flames No contraption to fell the beast from sky Only faith, trust and sword of metal black.

The stench from the cave did make him retch A putrid rot of carcass and bone. A low growl echoed along the walls. The sleeping Inflarion, sprawled full stretch.

Sir Coinalot held aloft his sword Aimed it into the dark and charged He uttered no war cry, no words of justice. He closed his eyes and ran toward.

At impact, he forced open both eyes The dragon, towered twenty feet above, Snapping awake, it reared a scaly head Preparing to rain fire until any intruders died.

The tip of the sword did strike Inflarion’s claw And the dragon collapsed to the ground Then disappeared in a hiss of smoke And Coinalot finally believed what he saw.

Inflarion was an illusionary spell And in front of all the chests of gold Stood the greedy, lying, coward King, And his bearded druid, Bankorell.

“You fool,” King suddenly proclaimed. “Without this fear, chaos will reign.” He admonished his druid for Inflarion’s demise. “Your magic has failed, what must be blamed?”

But his words were cut short as our one true knight Plunged his great sword into the heart of his king Before cutting Bankorell to the ground Taking no damage in this flawless fight.

But this evil was not made of smoke Their blood coloured all the riches they stored Their dying breaths tainting the cave’s damp air This, the curse that he had broke.

Sir Coinalot considered his years of plight And shed a tear for those like him Who suffered at the hands of a lie Of powerful dragons and kingdoms’ might.

Yet he could not expose his treasonous act And returned to Economa to report The death of the King at the hands Of the beast with whom he had made a pact

The people rose in furious rage Took up arms and marched uphill Where they found the old slain king And a torn dragon’s claw lying next to his sage

“Inflarion is gone,” our hero hailed Holding aloft his trusty sword “Injured and never to return Its wicked plan has finally failed”.

He promised at the cave to guard To protect the wealth of Economa And record the citizen’s coin and crop By carving the entries into stone hard

There was only one ledger made And entries he could never alter For the only sword which could change it Was thrust into a rock where it stayed.

The people of Economa rejoiced They feasted and began afresh A fair and just system of account And no fear of beast would be voiced.

They say there is a noble man Strong enough to pull the sword from stone And it is he who keeps account of All the coin in the land.

If you like this poem you should check out the stories from our 21 Futures bitcoin anthology 'Tales from the Timechain'.

21futures.com