Breathing flames yet never burns, scales like armor, wings that churn. A myth of old, a tale untold, guarding treasures, fierce and bold.

I appear as lower class, but I am not without a touch of southern sass. People associate me with The Devil going south and being taken to mass..

I stand the height of my wielder, armed of spike and blade alike. Guards love me, yet cavalry despise me. I stand high atop the king’s blade, yet always in his shadow. What am I?

A strategic move to guard the king, protected by his tower; A home surrounded by a ring of stone, a seat of power. The first may have a checkered floor, the second overlooks the poor.

Encased in history a long, long time ago, I am the ancestors of modern day warfare. I pierce the air, hard as stone, finishing one off with a final blow. One hand can guide my way, but once you wish, I won’t delay.