The Heirs of Britain - Game Nineteen

 

The Heirs of Britain

Session 19: 486, The Duel for Devizes

__________ Session 19: 486, Northern Salisbury __________ 

The muster is typical for Salisbury: Most knights are there, with the notable and grievous absence of Sir Iwan the Modest. Sir Cadel is here, and looks well: The enigmatic knight’s gear and attire are well-kept this day, and his face less sunken. Sir Vandagild points him out: Enormous Uhtred notes that the man’s clothing, though modest, is excellently tailored and fitted; his Worldly experience informs him that this kind of craftsmanship doesn't really exist in Salisbury; this too, he conveys. The mystery of that strange knight thickens.

Sir Elvorix notes that the muster is a little short, bringing knowing nods from his Aquitanian friend, though neither can tell who is missing. Inquiring, they hear only that, as part of this muster, the Duke Gorlois of Cornwall has sent men to harass the Summerlanders on the Cornish border; through this manoeuvre, the cunning Gorlois and Roderick hope to draw the foe’s soldiers away from the real fight.

__________

 

As has become tradition since Parisium, the good Earl Roderick knights several squires before the battle; this includes Uhtred, who towers over his fellow squires and knights (Size 22!). Uhtred is a Berroc-Saxon, as his stature suggests, and he thus favours a long-hafted Dane Axe over the traditional blade and shield of his colleagues. As the butt rests in the dirt, the blade stands above the head of most men. His particular weapon is exceptional: Some antique from the continent, a Germanic masterwork of generational quality. The damascened blade is a work of art.

As a man: Uhtred has a nasty streak, which his companions hope dearly reserved for his enemies. Though his size and strength impress, he is not a dextrous warrior. He is famed for his Chastity, Justice, and Valour. Fond, too, of sharp humour, his Deceitful streak too is well known, though his constant lies are mostly wrought for the dark humour discovered behind them.

This man, Uhtred, kneels before the Earl, still almost eye-to-eye; Roderick slaps him in the face:

“Let this be the last blow that thy taketh without recourse.”

Thus, the shield, spurs, and sword, are granted to he, and the man is told to rise to his imposing height. There is decent cheer, but the ceremony pales in comparison to those knightings that occurred under Aurelius. These times offer less cause for such joy.

Sirs Vandagild and Elvorix congratulate their companion, whom they have known for years as the squire of Sir Iwan the Modest. He grunts in assent.

__________ Mending the Fractured Lance __________

Elvorix looks around, brow a-furrow. He carries some unexplained agitation.

The Roman comes beside Sir Vandagild, who gently takes his shoulder in quiet solidarity.

Sighing, Elvorix now notes the sharp absence of Iwan's fine steed and calming presence. Vandagild squeezes, briefly embracing his fine friend; they share a moment of grief.

"We will fight well, for our fallen friend. May God guide our hands.”

The quiet moment lingers, before it is broken by the approaching Earl:

“Sir Vandagild” Comes the steady voice, drawing that knight to attention, "I wanted to once more extend to thee my condolence. Knoweth well, do I, how close were thee to Sir Iwan. But his death hath brought more trouble than just heartache to those who loved him; there lingers now a gap in my army. I appoint thee, Sir Vandagild, to fill it: I nominate thee leader of this Eschille.”

“Sir Uhtred”, he continues, turning so, “thou are to join this formation; Sir Vandagild is thy lord in battle; follow him.”

“And Vandagild, follow ye me; I expect ye already know that.”

Uhtred nods, and Sir Vandagild bows, with brief words of gratitude and promise.

The Earl nods, holding each man’s gaze a moment, and strides off to other business.

Sir Elvorix, though of similar claim to the role, has no jealousy: He quickly and warmly congratulates Sir Vandagild. The latter offers a half-smile for he wishes the promotion were under better circumstance. He would rather follow Iwan.

"Well” replies Elvorix, “be’est that as it may: Among the living I would have no other lead us into battle." 

Vandagild bows in gratitude and modesty.

Sir Elvorix now joins hands with mighty Uhtred; he is glad the man is on his side; for he would hate bring battle to the son of a Giant! Uhtred’s face darkens, his hatred for those enormous monsters, who so recently killed his Lord and friend Sir Iwan the Modest, conquers his love of joke. Elvorix laughs off the scowl, but finds quick reason to stand elsewhere.

__________ The March to Devizes __________

The Knights, still called the Wolves of Logres, approach Devizes Castle.

Scouts ride and report, and the Salisbury muster forms to battle lines: A massed Summerlander force is before them!

Rumours swirl: A Knight Riding atop a Green Horse leads the head of the mysterious force. This man is known to the older and more learned knights: Sir Melwas, the Sword of Summerland.

The Earl works his flags and horns, and his eager men respond, keenly manoeuvring to gain advantage over the field. Roderick’s leadership is the better; and he brings his line to abut the walls of Devizes, closer than his men expect, well within the reach of enemy shafts. Though some mutter, they believe in Red-Blooded Roderick, and they trust that he knows some secrets of the garrison. Thus, through his keen manoeuvring, it is the noble forces of Salisbury that earn themselves the opportunity to charge!

The knights of Summerland scramble to be in position; Sir Vandagild finds opportunity for the Wolves charge a formation of enemy knights!

Beside him, Sir Elvorix, heart still swollen at the loss of Iwan, and now riding under the command of his good friend, summons the passion of his loyalty to Companions. Sir Uhtred, eager to impress in his first battle, tightens his grip on his brilliant Dane-axe, fighting crushingly for the loyalty to his Lord! Sir Vandagild glances not his colleagues, but only at Melwas, and spies real or not, fae markings on the livery and arms of his foes: It is rage that drives him now, these men who so allow themselves to fall willing pawns to evil Fae tricks. Godless mannequins! Changelings! Suffer thee at the irresistible hand of Godly men!

__________ Charge! __________

The rumbling thunder of hundreds of galloping horses, like the warning thunder of stormclouds yet unbroken… and then, the terrible rip and snap of lightning, as lances plunge healthy young men into wretched oblivion. Screams, horsely cries, wet ripping, and dying chokes fill the air. The crunching sound of fallen men trampled.

In the chaos, the Roman gets the better of his youthful foe: His practiced lance punches through the Summerlander’s maille, who tumbles from his steed with a thudding gasp. He urgently scrambles to his feet, wounded sorely, and glances around in a near panic. Elvorix turns his steed and, so inspired, charges once more into his hapless foe! Galloping back, the young knight is barely back to keenness before the Roman’s long blade rips up through his foe, wedging into the back of his neck and ripping the helmet into the air! The Summerlander corpse collapses into a wet mess.

Sir Vandagild too hits his younger foe, but the desperate young Summerlander takes the worst on his shield, wounded but keeping his saddle. For long moments the two battle, the Aquitanian showing greater skill, but unable to defeat the man’s shield and maille.

Uhtred, wielding his axe in two thick hands, sweeps the terrible weapon into his older foe, slipping aside a skilfully thrusting lance; the heavy blow rips through chain and flesh, but the veteran Summerlander keeps his saddle! Sir Uhtred grits his teeth, relentlessly pressing his advantage, laughing at the terror of his smaller foe. He lands his blow again, but it is not the telling blow he hoped! The foe keeps his steed again, but with two deep wounds, he shows growing concern…

"Needeth thee a break, old man!?" - no response, only another chop of a Summerlander blade.

Lances shattering, a single great-axe whirling among the knights; the Salisbury line enjoys similar success to the Wolves, though men on both sides fall! Alas, the men of Summerland have more knights, and this advantage now starts to show as some of Salisbury battle two foes…

__________ The Mangling of Maille __________

Sir Elvorix, fresh from his quick victory, is at once pressed by a pair of more senior Summerlanders: One perhaps in his prime, notable among his own colleagues. He narrows his eyes, keen to fight well and keep these foes busy while his friends tackle theirs; perhaps these knights engaged him for the Roman’s gruesome display against their own companion? Regardless, they engage with swords drawn! The Roman fights well, but these knights are not green - they both overcome his sword, but not the best of his armour!

Beside him, Sir Vandagild unhorses his foe, his heavy thrust driving the younger man from his rearing steed and cutting into his fae-touched flesh; the ailing knight hits the ground hard, but lurches clumsily to his feet still ready to fight. Sir Uhtred continues chopping at his foe, but once more, miraculously, the maille holds! The huge power of the hulking Berroc, well known among his sparring partners, has yet to manifest in the engagement...

Sir Elvorix is pressed hard; once more his two foes, working well together, overcome his broadly flashing blade: And woe! His fine sword is sent tumbling from his hand as the notable knight strikes home! Sir Elvorix holds his steed, but the small wounds are amassing. Blood trickles down both arms, and the edges of his vision darken. Nearby, Sir Vandagild bears down on the dismounted knight before him; he slams aside the enemy's shield, and with a back-cut cleanly separates the foe’s head from shoulder.

Uhtred, to his weakening opponent: "I have to give thee credit, old-man! Be’est thee a tenacious foe!"

And with that, he slams his huge weapon home once more; jerking the enemy's shield aside with a heavy pull and ripping the blade back, tearing open the man's throat. The veteran summerlander tumbles, gasping and torrenting blood, to die in the dirt.

As the battle rages on, the eschille’s manoeuvring, engaging and disengaging, battling enemy footmen as they each keep track of their knightly foes. Neither side has taken many losses, the robust armour of the Britons making telling blows uncommon.

Sir Vandagild takes his chance to survey the battle: From the flank, a formation of knights emerge: A full eschille, which slams with full head into Sir Melwas left flank. Sirs Vandagild and Elvorix recognise the banner: Sir Brastias! The forces are equalled!

With their foes fallen; Sirs Uhtred and Vandagild turn to each other; the younger man calls first – “Go! Help Elvorix, I'll fight the newer foe!”

Sir Elvorix fights defensively, re-arming with the help of squire Vandimund, while calling to his friend’s aid. Sir Vandagild engages the notable knight, who slashes at both Salisbury men, trying to put the hard-pressed Roman away!

“Elvorix!” the Aquitanian calls back, already riding hard, “I come! Hold!”

The passionate hunter thrusts his blade deep into the skilled enemy’s rib, driving him irresistibly from his steed! The shocked Summerlander thuds hard upon the ground, smashing his head and unconscious!

From the lines, another Summerlander knight engages Uhtred, ripping his sword into the young man's shoulder, driving broken links of maille into his broad muscle.

__________ The Sword of Summerland __________

A great green steed manoeuvres deftly among the men of Salisbury nearby: The rider, Sir Melwas, wreaks wretched, fae-touched havoc with his grey blade! While the rest of his forces take losses, the Sword of Summerland carves a swathe through the good men of Roderick.

Sir Vandagild clunks Elvorix, now fighting on even terms, with his shield: "Hold, Elvorix! Yonder demon calls for my wrath; I will be back!" he growls, nodding toward the enemy champion by explanation. The Aquitanian, enraged, spurs his horse away from his friend’s battle, avoiding the Summerlanders slashing parting stroke! Sir Elvorix takes advantage of the man's distraction, whipping his sword into the foe's head, denting the helmet, cutting his brow, and knocking him from his steed! But still, the man lives! Beside him, Sir Uhtred gets a good cut into the side of his foe; he winces but continues the battle!

"We meet again!" Sir Vandagild growls, as Sir Melwas turns to meet him.

The Sword of Summerland is clad in exceptional maille, and his face maintains a still, eerie calm. He glances briefly, systematically, methodically landing his blows on a falling foe, and soon calmly readied for the hate-filled Aquitanian’s assault.

But the manoeuvre is folly; Sir Vandagild, in his spiteful, furious rush, is impeded by the churning men of the battlefield, and cannot commit his full skill to the first engagement. The Aquitanian’s face is twisted in rage at this Fae Foe; Sir Melwas, in complete serenity, a polar opposite.

Sir Vandagild fears not the man’s power; he trusts his armour, resilience, and horsemanship; and he cannot allow this fiend to live a moment longer. His warrior-mind calculates in an instant; his best chance is aggression. Thus, ignoring the warning feints and sharp point of Melwas’ blade, he angles for his own perfect strike: The Aquitanian raises his weapon high, to strike second, an irresistible blow that will whip the demon-touched head from its cursed shoulders.

But Sir Melwas is enchanted, and God wishes Vandagild some trial: The Sword of Summerland misses not his opportunity; his own long thrust indeed lands first, and lands well: The blade cuts too keenly, too deeply, slicing through the man-made maille, to the hilt, into Vandagild's side; not a powerful blow as the Aquitanian knew, but a perfectly placed one, and guided with foul magic. Though he does not feel the blade, Vandagild knows of it; for his arms at once weaken, and his own blow never lands.

The Aquitanian’s red his eyes lock those tranquil pale orbs in Melwas’ face; and as grey mist sneaks into the edges, sword tumbling from a dangling fist, he sights down to the blade in his rib. In the hilt is set an enormous, impossible, green jewel in the hilt; it is too brilliant for this world, and it absorbs the light around it. The blade itself he sees, as it pulls cleanly from his rib; it is a dull grey, unable to shine beside such a magnificent thing as the stone. Vandagild scowls weakly, still vile, and falls to the dirt, unconscious.

__________ A Battle is Won __________

Riding down his unhorsed foe, Sir Elvorix leans low from his horse, driving his blade through the enemy's helmet; it takes him a moment to prise the ruined helm from his blade. Sir Uhtred lands another blow, once more uncommonly gentle, but enough to knock the man from his steed.

Alas, squire Atticus, still busy securing the unconscious notable knight, Vandagild’s earlier conquest, cannot help the Aquitanian escape; the wounded man is captured.

Though Casualties mount on both sides; the battle is in the balance; Sirs Myles and Porkins still fight beside their eschille companions! Sir Elvorix rides to assist the latter, who has already once wounded his man. The Roman and his former squire both land blows, but the enemy holds firm; deflecting Porkin's blow with his shield as Elvorix cuts deep. Uhtred charges past his dismounted foe, cleanly cutting him in two through the abdomen!

The Roman berates Porkins for attacking the foe's shield, demonstrating the better technique: Elvorix's blade thrusts into the Summerlander's eye, and a bloody fountain follows as he pulls it free. "You'll have to teach me that some other time!" Porkins calls! Elvorix winks, and rides off. Uhtred rides after the withdrawing foe, trying to bear down on an evading knight! He outmanoeuvres the man who, separated from his foes, wisely surrenders to Sir Uhtred.

The two Wolves of Logres continue to battle the forces of Summerland, smashing infantry formations, driving knights away, and consolidating the growing advantage of Salisbury. Though Melwas is an unnatural terror, he cannot be everywhere at once. Soon enough, the Prince of Summerland quits the field, pulling such men as he has away and toward the forest.

__________ A Battle is Won __________

Earl Roderick takes stock: He has lost some knights, but winning the battle has lessened the casualties and captured. Sir Vandagild, alas, is not among the knights recovered.

The Aquitanian regains consciousness in the company of Summerland Knights and priests, who retreat back to Summerland. Vandagild, still enraged by the Fae around him, spits bloody insults at his captors. Despite this, he is surprised by the reasonable and, honestly, good treatment by his hated foe - he is given good food, water, and medical treatment.

Meanwhile, Salisbury settles his army in to siege Devizes. At once he calls for the defenders to surrender; they do not. The men of Salisbury start to encamp around the castle. Sir Brastias is still there with his Cornish Knights. Roderick is happy to see him; several wounded are being treated in the rear, and many Summerland Knights are held captive. Sir Elvorix is surprised that the foe did not surrender; clearly the Salisbury force is the better, and by choosing to hold so long they are offering themselves for death and slaughter when finally the bastion falls.

The siege continues, as sieges do.

Several weeks later, Sir Melwas reappears, once more on the hill of his first battle, and once more a sizeable army is at his back; not quite as large as the first, but still large. The men of Salisbury murmur; how muster he this force? So many were slain and captured…

A rider is sent forth from his lines, wearing the livery of Cadwy. Notably, previous messengers did not bear this heraldry. The messenger rides forth confidently, directly to Roderick’s tent; knights of Salisbury, of course ride forth, blades drawn, to escort him safely forth.

The rider calls forth: He addresses the Knights of Salisbury; and calls Roderick by his full set of epithets; compliments he offers, knowing well that Roderick is a noble and just man. He continues, for some time, filling the tense void with kind words and politicking.

Soon, Roderick grumpily thrusts open the flap of his tent and steps forth to hear.

“King Cadwy offers an accord, in order to avoid bloodshed, and a costly winter siege. In exchange for Devizes, Earl Roderick shall renounce all claims on lands further into Summerland's territory. Moreover, Earl Roderick shall release a member of his family to be kept as a ward, and to be educated in the ways of Summerland.”

Sir Elvorix scoffs at once: “Pft! Ridiculous. Time, be it, to kill the messenger?”

Sir Uhtred nods simply by his side: “It is time to drive Summerland into the sea”

Sir Elvorix scans the arrayed forces: The numbers seem even, with Brastias at the Salisbury side. The Roman is confident Roderick would destroy the foe once more. Sir Uhtred notes that they do have the hill; and they could charge into the camp presently. Moreover, Salisbury's forces are not arrayed in battle lines; Uhtred is not so confident as his senior companion. Still, he shrugs and says this:

“Eh. From swampy land to Summer Point, all of Summerland will become part of Salisbury.”

He hefts his masterwork axe, appreciating its weight and edge.

The Silence in the camp fades, as other knights start to murmur, mostly about the demands set by Summerland. Finally, the Earl himself speaks; his chest swells as he does:

“Sooner would I see my family burned at the stake, before I relinquish my claims to Summerland, and thee, dishonorable bunch!" He spits on the floor.

Now begone, wretch! Lest my knights arrest thee proper!”

Sir Elvorix cheers, and other men beside join his proud chorus!

From atop the Hill, Sir Melwas awaits the return of his messenger and, after a brief consultation, retreats; he does not charge down the hill and crush the disarrayed forces. Perhaps the force was a trick? Some fae magic wrought to dishearten the men of Salisbury? Still, there are relieved men in the ranks of Salisbury.

__________

The Siege continues into the fall. Roderick asks for additional time beyond their obligation. Most Knights give it eagerly. Sir Cadel is among those that leaves. Brastias withdraws, but he intends to send more knights to replace the men of Cornwall. Sir Elvorix sighs, sending a letter to Prince Madoc - we are fighting the Summerlanders, and we must delay our hunting trip until next year. The Roman opts to stay, but summons his wife, Lady Diane, to the front. He wishes for a son. The difficult nature of the war camp somewhat impedes their efforts.

Uhtred volunteers to stay eagerly.

__________ A Magical Mystery Tour __________

As Winter comes, Summerland's camp is disbanded. Sir Vandagild, still captive with some small number of fellow men, spends most of his time healing and praying. Though he knows not well the holy words of Arian Christianity, he has been spending many hours with the erstwhile Father Perticus. The British Christian exorcist resides now, by Vandagild’s request, in the Church of St. Amphibalus, constructed in the Aquitanian’s own lands at his own expense. Thus, the two men often share words, Holy and otherwise. Thus, Vandagild prays in the more well-known phrases of British Christianity, which he can bring more easily to mind. He asks God for protection against Fae Sorcery, the strength to heal, and the opportunity for vengeance.

As he rests, scowling and restrained, Sir Vandagild watches the lands of Cadwy roll past. He expects more and stranger things; but though they march past some bogs, these lands seem unexpectedly normal. A trick, no doubt, to deceive the Godly outsiders. Finally, they traverse a vast swamp, where he and the other captives are brought to a castle. A giant marsh stretches to the horizon, spanned by a huge bridge that leads to a grand bastion, which sits sturdy among the reeds and swamp-water. He scoffs: Clearly it is daft to build a castle in a swamp, but they have built it just the same. His opinion of them lowers, incredulously. He has heard of this castle: It is known as The Castle of the Great Bridge.

Within the long hall, a very, very old man rests comfortably on the throne. Beside him, and all down the hall, great stone pillars hold up the high, ornate roof. Between the pillars and the wall are pools of water; each is somehow illuminated from beneath, causing watery shadows to dance about the room in beautiful, intriguing patterns; aquamarine, cerulean and shadowy cyan twirl slow, dancing turns about the ceiling. There is but one fireplace, a haven of warm light. Judging from the banners, and grandeur, this must be King Cadwy himself. It smells, in this hall, of healthy, living moor; soft earthy tones, fresh herbs, and kind frogs. The scene is beautiful, calming, and serene. Sir Vandagild hates it.

The voice from the throne, unlike that of the other Lords of Logres, is a quiet, modest one, softened with age and calm.

It asks this: "Will ye abide by the rules of Hospitality in this, my home?"

Vandagild thinks a moment: He knows Cadwy is a noble, and given rightful lordship of this Land by the king. And the man has him at advantage. Unlike the demonic beaver, the Aquitanian hunter respects this man's claim to Hospitality. Moreover, he must bide his time until his freedom can be gained.

He replies slowly, carefully: “So long as no Fae trickery wieldeth thee, to undermine my will and senses, I will abide by Hospitality.”

The king nods slowly; the nearby men release the Aquitanian’s bonds.

The King’s soft, calm voice breathes forth once more: “If triest thou to leave, my men will not put thee to the sword; but this is a manner of Honour. I hope, as a man of Roderick, that thou still havest thine. I, at least, keep my word.”

Sir Vandagild nods, half turning to leave, but not:

“Captured, hath I”, the Aquitanian adds, “a knight of thine; a man, if men thou do lead, of notable form and arms, it seems. Seek Earl Roderick: A good man, and man indeed. I urge thee: Trade thy vassal’s freedom for mine; I wish not dwell here.”

He turns away: Striding tall, whispering prayer, he glanceth not to the fae-touched pools at his flanks. The Salisbury knight is henceforth given fine meals and a place to sleep and, more presently, released to freely wander the strange halls of the Castle of the Great Bridge…

__________

 

King Arthur Pendragon 5.2

 

Image from: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ywain-Gawain.JPG

 

The Heirs of Britain - Game Eighteen

 

The Heirs of Britain

Session 18: 486, You Have Goat to be Kidding Me…

__________ Session 18: 486, Northern Salisbury __________ 

Returning to patrol the north of Salisbury, the Wolves spot their counterparts from Summerland; a patrol of knights from that fae-touched realm. The latter retreat at the sight of Roderick’s Glorious men! A small victory; the stature of the Wolves of Logres no doubt precedes them. Sir Elvorix shouts jeers; Vandagild pisses on the ground where we found them. Victory! The knights return to the road.

Shortly thereafter does present an aged man, clad in beard, stink and tattered furs. Clearly the man has not bathed in a time, and he approaches the knights with a strange confidence. He opens his foetid maw, bestowing the warriors with a strange smile full of weird, gross teeth. The knights halt, sharing curious glances; the old man sits now on the ground before them.

“Knights: Wouldst thou be willing to help an old man out yonder?”

Iwan: Yes. Elvorix: Yea, we are honour-bound to do so!

“Grand! For I have lost my goat, and have not the energy to find it. Yonder it went, up thine hill here; alas, the slope is too steep for these old bones. Wouldst thou be so kind…? It is my largest goat, and I need it returned...”

The three Knights assent, each for their own reasons, and ride carefully up the hill; atop it stands a large goat.

 

Very large. Almost the size of a cow.

Vandagild’s eyes narrow, and he shoots a glance at once back down the hill. Famously suspicious of Fae, the enormous size of this beast raises his hackles.

The scarred hunter draws his sword, rasping to Elvorix at his side, who reaches for a rope: “Elvorix! Be cautious; remember thee the Beaver-Demon! This fiend is too large for some earthly beast…”

Elvorix sighs, telling the vengeful hunter to put his sword away.

“I will do no such thing!”, he spits back, locking eyes on the unholy monster and carefully urging Deadwind to take its flank .

Sir Elvorix slowly approaches with his rope; Sir Iwan ambles along beside him.

The Goat locks eyes with the flanking foe; the hunter holds its demonic gaze for a moment...

It snorts once; Vandagild’s eyes narrow further.

With no further warning, the hulking animal whips around, fleeing at a pace in the opposite direction!

At once, Sir Elvorix is after it, Sir Iwan at his side!

Sir Vandagild too spurs his horse by instinct - he will not see his quarry escape... but! He reins the charger in, turn down hill: There he spies the old man, still seated.

“Knave!” he calls to the Demon Wrangler, “What manner of giant demon beast have thee summoned!?”

“…Waaaat?” the confused and distant reply.

Vandagild watches the man with spite, snarling with frustration: “Hold thy place, villain! If thou be not here when I return, I promise to God I will bring thee thy justice!”

“Whaaaaat!?!”

Vandagild gestures at him, some effort to convey the message ‘hold thy position at pain of death’; he turns Deadwind again, spurring him hard after his pursuing companions. If a demon is to be captured, he will not let his friends do it alone!

Thus, Sirs Iwan and Elvorix pursue the beast closely, Sir Vandagild shortly behind. 

The closer men spot the behemoth darting through the thickening trees of a nearby copse. Alas, the dense terrain foils their horsemanship, and they lose sight of the fleeing goat. Nonetheless, they follow its heavy tracks, darting quickly through the trees, dodging low branches and keeping their steeds as they do.

The beast bounds through a large hedgerow, the two knights keenly behind; they urge their great steeds to leap the shrubbery, shielding their faces from the twigs and branches. Beyond: A larger clearing, with fewer brambles on the ground. There they spy the goat, which is still as a statue having skidded to a halt. It looks up; very up; frozen in fear.
 

__________ Big Goat, Bigger Problems __________

A great hand, broader than a charger, reaches down from on high, clutching the hapless goat and lifting it high in the air: A giant! The monster is enormous, three times the height of a normal man! It looks hungrily at the thrashing beast in its hand, but turns slowly its great head toward the two knights and their lathered steeds. Flecks of nauseating mess spit from its mouth as it breathes. The behemoth is grotesque. Its right eye is somehow split, and there lay two eyes: Each takes in the men before it, but it does not move to action…

 

Sir Elvorix shoots Sir Iwan a wide-eyed stare: He opens his mouth to speak, but saying nothing in his shock. The handsome Cymric knight returns the stare, raising a questioning eyebrow. Sir Elvorix gestures to his sword: Sir Iwan nods, and they both draw their trusty blades. They look up to the foe:

The goat is no longer in the giant's hand: “BLLAAA-AAAA-AAA-AAAAA!” comes the cry! It hurtles through the air, the enormous beast winged with great strength, aimed unerringly at Sir Iwan; the missile bleats in terror!

The hulking, airborne goat slams into the shocked knight, who brings his shield high to cushion the blow! The flailing beast does not knock him from his horse, as he skilfully twists in his saddle, laying deeply back against the rump of hit steed!

"Oof! I... I think yon Giant threw a goat at me!? I… think my nose broken!"

"Lo! Then let us hurl ourselves right back! Chaaarge!" The two men spur their steeds!

__________ To See the Wood for the Tree… __________

Sir Vandagild, delayed from his harassment of the elderly, sees only the limping goat trampling rapidly back through the shrub, angling swiftly to avoid his pursuit.

"I have the monster! I have it!” He calls, to the companions he assumes pursue nearby.

Deeper, his two friends call forth their battle-cries! Alas, the normally sharp Sir Vandagild is caught now in the thrill of the chase, and he finds not the difference between the call of the hunt and the call of war! Onward he rides, confident his friends hunt behind him and quite unaware of their plight. His excellent horsemanship leads Deadwind precisely through the wood, bringing him swiftly alongside the wily demon…

The Aquitanian’s galloping steed rides up hard beside the huge goat.... the man grabs its shaggy, wooly scruff, firm but unhindering, and with strong knees rides swiftly beside it... a broad Oak looms thick before the careering entanglement of men and beasts, and this is his target. The entwined pair speed onward for the tree - the goat tries to step rapidly to the left to slip past it, but Sir Vandagild, counter-steering Deadwind, wrenches it back firmly, and timely! The beast slams into the unyielding trunk at full speed, folding its great body around the width of it and skidding to a halt in the dirt. 

Vandagild, cheering, slows Deadwind, bringing him around; he scans the defeated, unconscious goat and nods satisfactorily. The talented hunter calls for Atticus to tie the groggy beast, raising his arms in victory over the elusive demon-goat!

__________

The giant rips a tree from the ground; clods and dirt shower the field! Sirs Elvorix and and Sir Iwan draw their blades, spurring hard their steeds to cut down the towering monster!

Lo! The skilled knights are mistime by the haste of their foe: The giant steps forward, a half-skip, sweeping the great tree through them both! Each man can do little but bring his shield to the fore, as the improbable stave rips them both from their saddles! The knights are crushed, their sturdy maille helping but little against the terrible blow; they fly, as leaves in the wind, tumbling to a halt near the edge of the clearing. Each man is conscious still, barely, and slowly pulls himself to his feet.

In two steps, the giant towers over the. A final glance; each man takes in his good friend, bloodied, companions for life, and companions unto death. Their shared love for each other brings fire to their hearts! Sir Iwan roars in terrible passion, possessed for the sake of his fellow Wolf. They rush to battle, ducking a sweeping kick from the soaring abomination, slashing with warding blows!

Alas, the giant's attack is irresistible: Though their blades leap skilfully for a monstrous home, it is the crude tool of the giant that gets the better. Sir Iwan is caught high, the great bludgeon twisting his helm and body, driving him lifeless across the mossy grove to lay still, nestled awkwardly in the twisted trunk of an old oak. Elvorix curses Vandagild's absence, lunging accurately with his own sword; but he too is caught, the giant’s reach and strength slam the man the several yards the other way, where he clatters into a bush. Face down, writhing weakly, the Roman knight does not stand.

__________

As Sir Vandagild binds the goat, heareth a rumbling yell, a roar, of the loudest and deepest timbre he hath ever listened. From whence else, might it come, but the clearing where his companions did last ride! Sweareth he, this knight, knowing now the foul nature of this Summerland trick; an ambush! Some behemoth summoned from the mystic swamps of that wretched place, sprung now to lay waste and death upon his friends! He will kill that deceptive goat-herder! Bidding Atticus to finish the binding, he remounts Deadwind and spurs him firm, urging the great steed to fly forth as fast he might!

And lo, in no terrible distance, Vandagild doth spy two squires adodging; Vandimund, his brother, and hulking Uthred, the squires of two fallen knights. They look to each other, holding the clearing but staying far from the terrible foe and their broken Lords. The deadly giant persists in unchecked anger, furiously thwomping the ground with its great tree.

“Nay! Fallen, mine two fine friends? My heart, it bursteth! But yet, they may breathe? Hark thee, squires: Attend to thy Lords! Hyaaaa!”

So speaketh Sir Vandagild who, driven to passion by the sight of his broken friends, charges forth to battle the great giant alone…

But cursed be this day: The sorceries of the Summerland witch, that wretched herder who did scheme this treacherous trap, defy in this moment the honest battling of Godly men. Sir Vandagild is struck from mighty Deadwind, the sweeping tree too broad for any man of honest stature to keep his saddle. He rolls, sorely winded, and not yet in full recognition of his injury, and leaps forth once more, sword and shield wielded for thorough defence, to close the gap with his steed and gain the advantage of his height… A glancing blow he doth take, with two arms he does deflect the crushing tree over his head, though he is the worse for it – but his steed he does take, and so mounted he surveys the scene.

There, the feet of broken men disappear into shrubs, dragged to safety by loyal squires; there, the giant strides forth with deadly intent, his awful assault guided by the fae-fortunes of devils in human form. Sir Vandagild whispers prayers to God: The answer is flight.

Gripping his shield more tightly, the knight turns his steed, spurring him free of the calamitous clearing – His friends now safe, he will ride free of the ambush, to seek vengeance and justice on the betrayer who led them here! Fae trickery, once more! No shame nor honour have these demons!

Keenly he darts his charger, reining hard to lead his fine beast in erratic routes – a great rush of wind whips his hair and cloak, mere moments before a thunderous crash rumbles and shudders the earth beneath him; clods of dirt from the terrible impact flick past his face, but he is safely away! *

__________ You Know Not with What You Trifle __________

Beyond the hedges he now rides, this Aquitanian Knight. There spyeth he: Two ruined knights; Sir Iwan is too pale; three squires, who look not to Sir Vandagild, but upward, to a nearby man; aged is he, clad in beard, stink and tattered furs.

Beside him, an enormous goat, calm and unbound, chewing slowly.

Sir Vandagild, aching from two strong blows but still able, wastes no moment: “Explain thyself, knave! Were thee a knight I would have cut thee down whence; but I give thee, lesser wretch, this chance: What part hath thee in this? Speak swift and true, I tell thee, for I have a heart to set thy head some yards from thy neck!”

The man holds the Knight’s gaze, responding calmly: “No business have I with this; I only asked of thee to fetch this goat. No knowledge do I have of what fate awaited this men yonder."

“Psha! There standeth thy goat, villein, so tell me nought of that! Tell me how ensorcel thee a giant, and what hope thee have of keeping thy head! My fine friends lie broken by thy evil schemes; it is only by my good nature that I have not already cut thee!”

"I cannot say I have any knowledge of this giant; are you in need of help?" the man replies, with unsettling calm in the face of so furious and armed a knight.

"Help?! Nay! Not from thee; asketh me to trust thee with my helpless friends, mere moments after thy horrid designs brought them low in a monstrous ambush? Nay, Summerlander! Nay, Elvish scum!"

Turning now, the knight bids the squires tend their knights, and stop staring at the demon.

“Nonetheless” the liar begins, “Since you have aided me I offer thee-” 

“I need not thy help, filth! Set thy tongue still!”

The old man sighs, and turns to leave, his devil-goat trundling beside him.

Vandagild shouts at him, bidding him hold to face the Earl’s justice.  The man continues his soft walk, unheeding, and veers left suddenly, trying to lose the vengeful Aquitanian among the trees. Furious, Sir Vandagild chases, grabbing the old man to wrench him; but all he holds in his shaking grip are ripped tufts from his old, stinky, goat-hide clothing; a second grasp, too, slips away strangely!

“I have offered thee my help, and I have been made unwelcome; pay me no mind, Knight!" 

“Fiend!” the call comes; once more the dextrous Aquitanian tries to restrain him, and once more the militant man finds only confusion in his grip. A demon, playing Godless tricks!

Convinced now this man is no peasant, safe from his wrath by status, the hateful hunter charges! Sir Vandagild whips his blade forth lunging to bury it deep in the monster’s spine; but the blade flies from his hand! No longer does the old man lean on his staff, but onward he strides, not even turning.

The Aquitanian, full of rage and impotence, retrieves his sword to once more rid the world of a demon… The old man slips past another tree, strangely agile...

The knight sprints in pursuit, rounding the tree:

The old man is now standing, facing him, broadly set and staff in hand.

His stature grows beyond that of a humble farmer: "cease your baseless accusations, Knight, and stop pestering me! or else..."

“Baseless? Then knoweth thee what occurred! Serve thee some greater demon, knave? Spill thy rotten guts, then; lead me to thy better so I might smite him!

“I am no-one's minion, and you know not with what you trifle.” Cold, now. Warning.

“Explain, then! What part have thee to play, Summerlander? My friends lay dying and if you have answers I will have them of thee! Speak, or defend thy-!”

"Fool!" he says, cutting the scarred hunter short; he moves not, but Sir Vandagild is stunned.

The raging knight’s vision rushes full to black, a soporific wave irresistible. He does not feel the ground as it rapidly approaches.

__________ The Aid of Men __________

Squire Vandimund cannot render effective aid to his Knight, Sir Elvorix; he sees the dire nature of the cunning Roman’s injuries, and knows proper skill is needed. Lifteth he the lolling knight ‘pon his steed, and doth ride him to the nearest village. Hence, a priest is fetched with urge. So summoned, the holy man prays in rapid whispers, working and plying his careful skill. The worst of the damage is soothed, but the tall knight is set to rest a long while in recovery. 

Uthred, too, brings Sir Iwan to the village. Woe, despair, and alas: the modest knight’s injuries are severe; mortal. His fair body is crushed, and swiftly seeketh his soul the stairway to heaven. The man is roused for his last, and whispers wet words:

“Uthred; bless thee. Harken: Speak unto my younger brother; bid him raise my children well. Also: Send him forth to Thornbush castle; tell him to meet there a servant; Anaise. Bid her give a fond farewell to Lady Eleri; it shall be some time ‘til I see again her gentle face.”

With this, he sighs, slackens once more, and passes into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Uthred holds his hand firmly, nestled gently in his vast grip, until the end.

__________

Sir Vandagild dreams: Rapid, incoherent scenes; a swirl of events recalled and imagined. Flashing, flickering, terror and love, battle and birth; war after war, though he recognises not the fluttering banners nor the churned battlefields. Try as he might, he can wrangle no sense from the wave of worlds and emotions. One thing he does recall, however: Visions of a King. Not Uther, another. A crown rests atop a throne. He looks young. This alone he brings clear to waking; this alone from the wave of nightmares.

Atticus looked for Vandagild, but could not find him. Finding his fellow squires, they are each summoned to the Earl, interrogated about what happened.

__________ Rouse from the Nightmare __________

Sir Vandagild awakens; his lips are dry like the Saracen sands; a thumping headache rumbles incessantly; everything hurts. Where? When? He stands, aching, and searches for water. Luckily his hunter's skill is not diminished; he finds himself some meagre nourishment and a trail; soon, weak but steady, he finds his way to yonder village.

Food is brought, and water; what fortune befell thee, knight? And such strange time; another rests in our humble village!

"One? Are there not two?"

"Yea, Sir, there were. Alas, one sadly passed…"

Sir Vandagild collapses to his knees by the church, sinking into despair. He sees a glimpse of himself in a muddied puddle; His face is haunted, and how a shock of grey streaks from his miserable brow.

He weeps, and demands to be taken to his friend. Soon findeth he Sir Elvorix, still unconscious though healing well. The man seems shrunken, stiffer somehow, but alive. He takes his hand, weeping long, bitter tears over his broken companion and their fallen friend.

Later, He asks where Sir Iwan lies; he was taken with the squires - to his manor or to the Earl, it is uncertain. Sir Vandagild writes letters, to his own and Iwan's family - he must remain by Sir Elvorix's side until he wakes, but will return as soon he can.

Some time later, Sir Myles arrives with five other knights of Salisbury. Hearing of Sir Iwan's death, and that a giant slew him, the men are hurried out to the village to rid the realm of that creature’s reckless violence. Sir Myles, a good friend of Sir Iwan’s, was among the first to volunteer; Uthred is among them. The good knights declares they will hunt the giant. Sir Vandagild, still battered but unbroken, declares he will ride with them. 

__________

The Aquitanian tells the gathered knights what he knows: The demon-herder lured them apart, and his friends were ambushed by a Giant in the thick underbrush. He drove the Summerlander away, who would not spill his knowledge, but was subdued by witchcraft.

Sir Myles turns stony when Sir Vandagild tells him he turned away the “goatherd’s” help.

The knights return to the glade and find the giant dead; slain clearly by the blows of several knights. The Aquitanian checks the battlefield with his hunter's eye - looks like four or five knights, shattered lance-wood is pushed into the earth by hoofs.

Sir Myles: "Looks like some bunch of knights did lay it low. Damn. Not much we can do now..."

Sir Vandagild swears in frustration; he wished for vengeance, but is glad it is dead.

Dejected or relieved, the knights returns to the village. Sir Vandagild tells Sir Myles he wishes to remain by Elvorix's side until he awakens, but will of course return if the Earl requests it. In Sarum, Sir Myles gives his report; Roderick nods his head, but says nothing else. He seems brief, and strangely uncurious…

__________ Ashes to Ashes __________

Sir Elvorix awakens in several weeks; exploding violently into consciousness, spitting forth dried blood and other gunk. "Gah! Where in hell am I!?" He lurches to his feet, stumbling from his cot in the priest's house, swaying into the street.

Sir Vandagild, writing at a bench in the square, lurches to embrace and calm his friend; the urgent questions are asked and answered: Sir Iwan is dead.

Lurching in rage, almost twisting his ankle, the Roman shouts his lament!

“Tell me this; Did I miss the funeral?”

“Good friend; if thou did, then didst I also. I have bid them await thee, and have not left thy side.”

“O Sir Vandagild! No truer a friend might a man hope for than thee!”

The two embrace again, causing Elvorix to wince sharple. The Roman rips open his tunic, a broad bruise covers the whole of a flank, much of his torso, and his arm. As he helps him back to rest, the Aquitanian explains the story once more; Elvorix's shocks are repeated and relentless. They share embraces and tears at the tragedy of the events; sharing concern for their own and Iwan's families. Vandagild fetches food for the ailing man, but the two soon depart. They spend some small time at Shrewton together.

Elvorix is grateful once more for his friend freeing him from that glade alive; Vandagild is saddened that he could not have been there sooner.

__________ Dust to Dust __________

The two men organise a memorial for Sir Iwan, to be held at the newly finished St. Amphibalus' Church, Winterbourne. Sir Vandagild had hoped the opening of his church would be more joyous.

Many Lords are in attendance; all the great people in Salisbury, including Prince Madoc. The familiar, weathered face of Duke Gorlois also graces the hall, as does the noble visage of Prince Meliodus.

His Eulogies are warm. Sir Elvorix tells of this: Generous, Modest and Valorous, Good Sir Iwan just wanted to see us all do well. He died valiantly, as a knight should.

Sir Vandagild speaks to Iwan's leadership - his modesty, guidance and skill are in keeping with the finest traditions of knighthood. He was an example for us all. The calming tone of his gentle words, and the fierce sting of his swift swordsmanship will stay with all of his friends ‘til they see him once more in Heaven.

Posthumous his glorious death, he is known as Sir Iwan the Modest.

__________ War and Wizardry __________

As they talk, Prince Meliodus is surprised by Vandagild's account of the Demon-Goatherd, and claims of his sorcery. Though friendly, he is slightly skeptical; perhaps your sword slipped from your hand, Sir Vandagild? And how do you know he cast thee to sleep? With no intended offence, sir knight, I have known of many men overcome by grief at the loss of one so close to them. Perhaps that fell heart did affect thee?

Sir Vandagild considers the Prince’s words, but thinks it unlikely; he knows himself, and trusts well his own senses.

“Of course, of course. And I do not mean to press thee but… By thy own account, Sir Vandagild, struck, were thee, by a tree. Twice! Praytell; could not the trauma of such violence have played tricks on thee?”

Once more, the Aquitanian considers long his words. But nay; twas no trauma that flung his sword aside, like the leaves of autumn, not lulled him to dream of strange places and unknown Kings.

At this third assertion, the Prince nods, and his face sets into some seriousness.

“If sure are thee, then… Well. I know not many Wizards of this land, save for Merlin himself. And I know not many who might meddle with goats and giants. Perhaps there is someone new? But… perhaps...”

He shakes his head, sighing.

“Vandagild, I would not concern overmuch of it. Fretting thyself after the whims of those who do have at their beck the very forces of nature… It seems are... Well. It’s outside of my, expertise, let us call it. I know well there is nought I might do to influence such beings. And if asketh thee for advice? I advise of thee the same.”

“To closer matters: Sad, was I, to find myself unable unable to return while Sir Iwan was still with us. He was a good man.”

Sir Vandagild thanks him for attending these halls of God, set within his own; Iwan's family will no doubt appreciate the presence of such fine and great men. He leaves he Prince, mulling deeply over his words…

__________

Some weeks pass; Sir Elvorix completes such healing as God allows him.

Earl Roderick calls for his Knights, and to great cheer announces this: He will retake Devizes Castle, and drive out the Summerlanders!

__________
 

* This fight was a mess. Vandagild missed a 16/20 Awareness roll to figure out what was going on and chased a goat. Then the giant, despite splitting its attacks between 2 (only -5 in our houserules), rolled exactly one higher than both Elvorix and Iwan (30+ damage hits each); next round Elvorix rolled a 1 (Thomp!) and the Giant also crit Iwan (who had just crit his Loyalty Companions for +10 sword, but missed his own 50% crit chance…), wiping them both out. Vandagild then charged in and rolled a 1, failed his 15 Dex to keep saddle, got hit again remounting+defensive fighting, and then barely escaped with his life. Giant was on fire. And then Vandagild, renowned racist, went apeshit at the goatherd/wizard instead of letting him heal everyone. Classic.

RIP Sir Iwan, Long Live Uthred (Size 22!).

__________

Image 1: Stared down by a Mountain Giant, Kamrouz Saifi, 11.2018, https://photocontest.smithsonianmag.com/photocontest/detail/stared-down-by-a-mountain-giant/

Image 2: https://kingarthurpendragon.fandom.com/wiki/Three-Eyed_Giant?file=Three-Eyed_Giant.jpg

King Arthur Pendragon 5.2