The Heirs of Britain - Elsewhere...

 

The Heirs of Britain

Session F: Everwhen, in the Forest of Fae...

__________ Forever ??? – Nowhere __________ 

Meanwhile, outside of time and beyond the reach of God, Sir Vandagild stalks a withered, stagnant wood, flanked by strange trees and beguiling foliage:

He is wrathful; wrathful at Iwan; wrathful at himself; wrathful at the vile demonic fae that plague Salisbury and all men.

He is troubled; concern for squire and brother-in-law Uvan; concern for his young family, Lady Catrin and five bubbling little squibs.

He treads lightly, his practiced steps following a huntsman’s path; soft, trackless. The land is featureless. He searches for tale of Uvan’s passage, but finds nought. Indeed, he finds nought of much; the difficulty of finding... anything.. anywhere.. ever… it builds. But the bloodied Aquitanian is intrepid, robust, and driven. He has sworn to find Uvan. Instead, so far he finds only an unexpected journey. He prays to God that Uvan was granted a clearer trail; but the Pictish squire is no stranger to the wild ways, and so hope remains.

And still, Vandagild’s guard must never falter; the black demon of Imber and her vile hounds are never far. At increments his glimpses hints, familiar now with the signs of their invisible passage…

A few days pass; perhaps. There is no sense of time but for exhaustion; the Sun hasn't moved an inch for… how long? It hangs, the shadows long but the permanent heat dreary. Vandagild travels south, and the great fiery orb hangs high to right. Always and forever. Rocks, streams, woods, he passes; all shadows keep the same long angle, the same weight. The knight adjusts his clothing and cloaks to protect from the eternal rays. It is permanently the edge of twilight; in the world and in his mind. Disorientation is complete, but for the narrow creek he follows. He catches little game on the trail, but digs tubers from the soil, with nourishing barks and forbs.

He doubts all he sees; be these deep, twisting shadows, or foul tricks in the wings? As the eternal day drags, his concern for the foul dogs wanes; it seems now wherever he is, they are not. Still, Vandagild remains as sharp as he can; his keen sense haven't dulled. His wounds heal, but they are many and he still wishes for his full strength.

Lo! He spies movement in the shadows, and certain this time; he has become used to the shadows in this place, and spies the odd shift immediately. He whips his blade forth, and calls out: “Who are ye! What are ye? Face me, Demon!”

This, the first sound he has heard in many days; his own raspy voice crunches through the silence... faint echoes reply, but no other. He halts, and listens intently: A rhythm, deep and resonant is all that speaks back, the steady metronome of his own strong heart.

Waiting a few moments more, he moves to the place he spied; there is no mark on the floor, nor sign of passage. He has little doubt though; the shift reminds of the Black Dogs who tracked them many days past, as they withdrew harassed from that cursed grove.

Using the shadows, in which he has seen the beasts move, and his knowledge of the beast's invisibility, he dashes to an angle to find a lead with new vantage. Soon he spots it! A single Devil-Dog. It moves with him, to his east as he travels. Urgency renewed, he turns to the west, hoping the beast stalks some territory that he can evade. He knows the monster is no normal hound, and he is in no condition to fight. His keen eyes dart as he moves, catching glimpses of the strange shifts yonder and to the flanks.

The monster follows him for some time, but it soon lags, and short hence the beast is left behind him. 

__________ The Weird Waters __________

Free of the stalker, Sir Vandagild turns his anew attention to finding young Uvan… or anything else. He continues West, along the babbling brook  in search for deeper waters; he hopes for a stream, to find a river, to find... anything. Something.

Hunger and thirst weigh as he travels; he gathers more mushrooms and vegetables as he travels, snatching water from small pools and nooks. The food is enough to keep him moving, and his wounds keep their steady knit.

The sun persists.

Sir Vandagild persists.

Ten times, exhaustion forces him to sleep, and as the eleventh encroaches he finds it; the small brooks tributes a larger stream, and soon a modest river! The river rumbles! These, the first sounds in an age, almost defeaning in comparison to the overwhelming silence of the dreary days in the woeful wood. At first he must step away, in mercy of his desperate ears. Recovered, Vandagild follows the water to the edge… Fish twist lazily within! A gift from God, perhaps? Does he see this strange land, or here does he dwell in the realm of some nastier lord? Anxious for sterner foods, the Aquitanian takes time to catch and prepare a meal. A fire he does make, and the warm, nourishing flesh renews his spirit and body. He sleeps.

A sound! And not the rippling river! The pitch punches through the murmur… His clever ear knows beasts; be this the haunting howl of a wolf? Not quite, it has new tones, unheard in the forests of men. Nor is this the terrible call of the Demonic Dogs which did rend his flesh. The call comes from downstream, though he cannot pin the source. He troubles himself; it is something, and thus of vastly more interest than the vast stretch of nothing so far. But his torn body is not yet prepared to battle new demons. And yea, wolves hunt in packs. Not wanting to tousle with strange wolves in his wounded state, Vandagild seeks a crossing; put some hefty waters between this strange beast and its human prey.

Once crossed he travels south soon to near whereby the call emerged. He calls out, across the river. “Ho! Show thyself! Uvan, dost thou hear my voice? Uvan!?”

Nothing. Closer he stalks, along the riverbank; the call comes again! A cry, strange indeed! Then Nothing. More silence, and the burbling river. He is not dismayed for himself; the trip is long, but he now has good food, the friendly company of talkative waters, and the skills to survive. He worries for Uvan, but keeps these fears from his mind.

Still; he has not found Uvan's trail. Though he is used to, and prefers to keep silent, he calls for Uvan as he travels; sporadic, powerful shouts. The anger of those earliest days has subsided. He still reddens with rage when he thinks of the Fae, but he is here for the boy, and there is none he would prefer to have the task.

__________ The Haunted Hunter __________

He walks again, and he calls.

A voice returns! A cry of inquiry? Lower pitched, some questioning voice? Across the way, the bank on which, some time past he heard the strange wolf. Searching once more for a crossing, Vandagild calls as he approaches, eliciting more replies of a kind. Once close, the hunter sneaks forth in the understory; Alas, in this silent place, his armour's soft hushing sounds like a cacophony. He gives up on the idea, instead stepping forth boldly! Into a clearing, wherein: A knight, a horse, a campfire, and a dog.

The knight stands, sword drawn; “What!?” he cries questioningly.

He is armoured in exotic hunting leathers, braced with maille in parts; the man is older and taller than Vandagild, his shield yellow, emblazoned with two sets of seven plain crosses. His gear, though serviceable, is in want of maintenance.

Vandagild, blessed to find another man, sheaths his own blade, raises the empty hand in greeting. The Aquitanian introduces himself, a fellow hunter, and tells the man of his quest. The strange knight withdraws his helm as he replies in kind; though not conventionally attractive, he has a charming and stern look. His greying beard unkempt and full. The man is grubby, stained with grass and rusted metals.

The man tells he is Sir Pellinore; he is also on a hunt.

They converse, sharing their quests, tales and news. Pellinore hunts a specific beast, apparently. The finest beast in any forest, of such glory and challenge that he has dedicated himself to this hunt. Vandagild tells of his own mission, and explains from whence he hails.

Pellinore is confused: Uther isn't a Prince? What? What year is it? Who is Madoc? Vandagild mournfully tells the man that Aurelius is dead and Uther now King, with a son. It emerges that Pellinore fought beside Good Aurelius against Vortigern! Vandagild brings him to date with the affairs of Logres. He wonders how long the man has ridden these strange trails. His affect is odd; he shouts “What?” at the strangest of times. Vandagild presses not.

Vandagild observes the man with curiosity; they share food and there is silence for a time. As the fish roast there is some confused discussion; Strange Pellinore hails from Cambria, he tells, and asks news of his own lands. Vandagild has little, alas, and apologises. He scratches the scrappy hound idly.

This dog, young, small and presumably once white, is leashed to the strange hunter’s horse; it has wrapped itself tightly around a tree and the mount, whimpering softly for release from its eternal prison. Pellinore untangles the creatures, but ends up stumbling over the leashes and tripping into the mud. Unnecessary expressions of "What!?" persist. Vandagild laughs softly, helping the man to his feet. The Aquitanian talks with the dog a little; the houndlet has little to say, but enjoys the fishy morsels that apparently accompany the conversation.

Vandagild prepares more food for the journey. Wordlessly, Pellinore pulls a large shank of salted meat from his pack, and hands it to the young knight; it joins the pot. Pellinore asks of the queer howls; Vandagild tells him heard them several "days" North. A wolf? Nay; Pellinore hunts something much more elusive. A boyish joy covers his face; he tells that he hunts the greatest prey: The Glatisant. The sounds were its trills; it's not a howl, per say, it trills through a snake-like face and neck. It bears the head of a serpent, a body of the cheetahs of Africanum, and the legs of a hare. Among other things. Pellinore, ecstatic and passionate in his speech,  looks to the sky, to the unmoving sun. Wisftully, he explains he has been on its trail for... a time. Thinking of Aurelius, Vandagild does the sums; around fifteen years have passed. Vandagild gently asks if the man has family or responsibilities to attend. Pellinore shrugs, noncommittal: He returns sometimes, but cares not for the dealings with Kings and the like. 

Vandagild turns talk to his own quest: He asks if Pellinore can offer him guidance to find Uvan. Pellinore is curious about these other creatures described; the Black Demon and the Demon Dogs. He knows not of those creatures, but can help the Aquitanian find Uvan! He heard Vandagild’s earlier shouts of that name, and worried that they might have scared off “Glatty”.

Along the river, Pellinore recommends, keep following for what else is there to follow? Keep going; south there is a tower. He might be there; many of the lost end up there. Vandagild asks who the lord of the tower is, but Pellinore cannot say. The young knight stands, eager to off for this tower. He asks if there is anything he can bring to anyone, news, gifts, or the like? Pellinore looks distantly, then to himself, his dog, his horse; he is fine, worry not for him. He confirms Vandagild’s lands; in in Salisbury, under Roderick? He will visit; for he knows his way out. Soon.

Vandagild asks for guidance to leave, once he has found Uvan; how does one return to their lands? By now, however, Pellinore is quite distracted; his glance drawn repeatedly into the deep woods upstream. He tells Vandagild distractedly, as if the most obvious thing, to simply return from whence he came. Vandagild searches for the man’s eyes in confusion, but they do not meet.

Pellinore takes something from his bag and starts to mount; he tosses Vandagild the package; it is caught. Within: A whistle, fiddled neatly from wood.

Pellinore calls behind him: “You find your boy, and then you leave. What what? But, like me, you cannot leave until you find what you're looking for. Once you do, you blow that whistle: Either Glatty or I will hear it. What? If it's Glatty, you capture her; she's yours. May the better hunter win. Got it? Good. What what.”

The odd man spurs his horse, leaving detritus around and the fire going. Vandagild, shakes his head in confusion, takes the leftover food and whistle, and heads south for the tower.

For three more exhaustions, he marches downstream. He heals well.

__________ The Despicable Tower of Deceit and Dislike__________

The next few “days” have brought the river to widen and deepen. Soon, in the distance, a robust stone bridge crosses the river. A simple tower is on the other side, of solid stone with some small windows. A single knight waits, mounted, on the stone bridge; he is motionless. Vandagild approaches.

The bridge joins a road, running crossways to the river; across, Sir Vandgaild spies a flickering candlelight illuminating the inside of the great stone building. Before him, the knight is atop a steed, a lance at his side. But this fellow is strange: His armour is not rings of steel like most good men; this warrior is clad in sleek, flowing plates of some strange substance; they are teal, with curving ridges and ornate markings. His weapons are elaborate, but robust. His eyes are cast down to the approaching Aquitanian.

The mysterious warrior raises a hand, an eerie, ethereal voice wafts forth; “Go no further! No stranger may pass. Give me your name and you may cross this bridge."

Sir Vandagild asks first for this knight’s name.

"I have many names; call me as you wish" he replies.

The knight adjusts in his saddle; on his arm is strapped a white shield covered with twisting black markings; Sir Vandagild cannot interpret them at this distance.

Thinking back to his youth, he recalls tales from his father-in-law, the Pictish Huntsman Sir Golistan; though the details are not clear (for he did not care for Faerie stories as much as his cousin Vandar), he has some recollection of the tricks of the strange men of these lands. Thus, Vandagild makes up a name, and offers to the Knight; the words emerge.

“Then henceforth I will call you that. You may enter.”

The strange knight’s words are heavy; his mount steps one to the side, allowing passage.

The young hunter, still on foot, starts forward across the bridge; he does not recall the words he said to the Bridge Knight, nor does he recall the words he was concealing with them. As he strides past, he catches the shield in his glance; more markings have been added.

But lo, to the tower! It is breached by the young hunter; inside: Uvan! He sits at a table, on-which a great feast is spread! The young Pict leaps to his feet, rushing to embrace his mentor and brother-in-law! A joyous reunion ensues; shared words of thanks to God and each other! Uvan is not injured.

The hunter squints a little, and is confused. He thinks hard. Soon he realises:

He tells Uvan that he has unfortunately misplaced his name... he thinks maybe the knight outside took it.

Uvan says he knows something of this, sharing one of Golistan’s tales. The hunter sighs, and tells Uvan that he gave the Bridge Knight a fake name, and yet he has nonetheless stolen his real one! And the fake both, at that, for he has neither to hand. Vandagild seethes; once more he suffers at the hands of these fae demons! Betrayal and treachery! Violence and deceit! Is there no honour among these cursed monsters?

When queried, Uvan tells the hunter that he told the Bridge Knight that he didn't have a name to give, for he had not yet earned one. The Bridge Knight then asked what to call him, and he said Uvan. This seemed to have been a safer exchange.

Seething once more at the deceptive monster, he grips his hilt in a tight knuckled fist. He will have revenge on that demon for this theft. He need only retrieve his name, and heal his wounds fit for deadly combat.

The hunter inquires after his new foe: Uvan tells that the Knight stays mounted and never sleeps, keeping watch over the Bridge. He neither drinks nor eats, only keeps watch. Uvan himself has food and water and warmth in the tower, this feast-table refreshes through some obscure magic. But the Knight speaks not with him; he is a humble captive.

The hunter nods, and strides strongly upon the bridge.

__________ Wretched Riddles __________

“Hark! Knave! I gave ye a name. A! One! And yet ye took two! This is a breach of thy own foul bargain, and yea, a breach of justice and hospitality!”

The Bridge Knight slowly wheels his horse and replies; “You gave me a false name!”

“I made the name, villain! It is mine to give; ye asked only for my name. That name was mine, for I made it. And ye may keep that name freely; but ye have stolen my better name, for that I did not give! Admit it, and return what ye have thieved!”

The Bridge Knight parleys not, only repeating his initial request.

The Hunter’s face twists briefly in rage, but he keeps his voice steady: “I tell thee, I would gladly give thee my name; but ye, Sir Knight hold it still, unjustly! Ye must return it for it to be so!”

The Bridge Knight offers a wager, but the hunter does not listen to it.

“Parity is not assumed, vile Knight! For a thief, ye are, and have stolen that which was not freely given!”

The Bridge Knight does not rescind.

The hunter looks closely, trying to see his name upon the shield, hoping the sight will bring recollection; it isn't there. But yet, it must be hidden elsewhere? Or it is deeply forgotten? The hunter calls Uvan, who also looks. The Bridge Knight does not resist. The young squire starts reading names from the shield, as the hunter tries them each on.

Pedrog? No, for it sounds too… Fat; Ambiet? Nay, too tall; Cymrius? A little too.... Roman. The Hunter asks the boy to keep going; and he does: Yet none seem to fit well. So far; Caw is most strongly considered; for it sounds punchy and bold, like a heroic huntsman. But still not quite right. Uvan speaks something floral: Vandagild; It sounds far too... ugly, like a pauper-poet. Hyd is too short. Obyn has robust tones, but is a little boring. This persists for some time; nothing stands out. The Hunter thinks for some time. The GM is patient.

Suddenly, he exclaims!

"No stranger may pass! Well, Sir Knight, I will then pass this bridge. Now, harken thee! What is this? I have no name; and thus I am a stranger. As I have passed this bridge, it follows that I must be no stranger to thee. And since I am no stranger to thee, thou must, by thy own horrid tale, give me my name; for only a stranger has no name. I await now, for thee to give it, Sir Knight, and thus pass this bridge as no stranger!"

The Knight, of course, is stubborn and deceitful; he gives the man nothing but a stare. The hunter condemns his dishonesty and theft, but returns to Uvan.

He grips his sword tightly. 

The boy, being more familiar with these fae, has alas little to offer. Uvan suggests that the hunter could take his shield! Then he would have all the names!

“You could fight him for it!”

Uvan looks over the hunter's wounds, and spies the Knight's odd armour and mount...

“Err… uh.. in a few days. Maybe?”

We have little faith in the plan.

The hunter shakes his head in anger, striding outside again. He offers this to the Bridge Cretin:

“Thou hast been deceitful and dishonest; thieving and false; thou dost owe me a chance to win back my name! A chance for thee to regain some of the honor that ye hold of such trifling value! I offer this wager! If ye believe thyself to be a true knight, my equal, then anything I can do you can do. Indeed, thou should truly be capable of anything that all the knights of my land are expected, for I shall not speak of thy own customs.”

“Three tasks, there shall be, Sir Knight, that you must match! Not even exceed, nay, though your pride may wish it for thee. Only to match the three tasks that I choose; for I think thee not the knight thy claims, and think thee incapable of truly knightly action!”

The Bridge Knight considers. His eerie voice gives a slow reply:

“Perhaps. But there are prayers in your religion that I cannot chant.”

“Fine!” the reply, “Religion aside!” the hunter assents.

“Nor canst thou ask that I leave this land” insists the Bridge Knight, “for this also he cannot do.”

“Conceded willingly!” replies the Hunter.

With these omissions, the Bridge Knight accepts: Three tasks, matched!

__________ Deceiving the Deceiver __________

First; swordsmanship! The hunter brings forth his blade, and wields it in so complex and agile a flourish as he can manage! It is impressive; for the hunter is a fine warrior. Alas! The Bridge Knight eyes carefully, and matches the maneouvre cut for cut. And yea, he does add some exceptional swordplay upon the end of the task. The hunter watches carefully and, seething with discontent, nods.

“Very well! Task two! I am a generous man, Bridge Thief, I offer thee a chance to lead?”

He declines.

“Fine. Uvan, come. I bid thee hide in the forest!”

He turns to the Bridge knight: “Each knight in my lands has need to find his foe or food, however well hidden! We shall thus each take turns finding my fine friend and squire, Uvan!”

Uvan, of course, hides less deeply when Vandagild hunts, and yet still the Bridge Knight finds the young squire when his moment comes. Woe!

“Yea, it is no surprise that ye, in these wooded lands, have learned the hunter’s ways. Copy me now then, for thrice, vile demon, and thus win my challenge!”

The hunter enters the tower. He gathers his cloak on the floor, bids Uvan guard him, and lay himself slowly upon on the floor. The knight joins him, copying his motions step for step.

Soon, the hunter sleeps.

The knight too rests on his side; but he does not sleep, for he cannot. Uvan had seen it, and so it was.

At length, the hunter awakens, spying the Knight’s staring eyes. The hunter lurches to his feet, thrusting a finger at his opponent!

“Failed, have thee, Bridge-Beast! My third task eludes thee, and I demand my name returned at once!”

The Bridge Knight protests! He claims there is no difference in the acts! And yet the hunter insists; sleep is not the same as laying prone! The senses are cut off, and dreams fill the mind. The body relaxes beyond that of a waking man. Ye have failed!

“Very well!” the Knight turns swiftly and walks from the tower. The hunter, wary, follows… But the heavy door is slammed in his face! He thrusts at the handle, and slams it with his shoulder: Alas! Locked with fae sorcery! Tricked again! His sharp blade whips forth, and the hunter slams his fist against the door! He swears!  Soon he turns, a deep sigh.

The hunter looks to Uvan and apologises, shoulders slumped.

Through the door; the Wretched Knight's voice echoes:

“You may now have your name, Sir Vandagild!”

A feeling of confidence, recognition and warmth washes through Sir Vandagild, the Aquitanian Hunter, Lord of Winterbourne Gunner! He looks at Uvan, eyes bright, and smiles, for he cannot help it. He knows himself once more, and the perception in Uvan’s eyes brings him joy.

Though he has defeated the Bridge-Villain in a trap of wit, Sir Vandagild is once more tricked and betrayed by the treacherous, despicable Fae. He seethes. His grip on his blade aches for the strength of it.

Sir Vandagild points yonder, and tells Uvan: “I will see him dead, I swear it to thee. And I will get us out of here.”

He turns to the feast, set warmly before them both, and eats to regain his strength.

__________

Image from: https://www.deviantart.com/jasontn/art/Wind-Knight-617874689 

King Arthur Pendragon 5.2

 

The Heirs of Britain - Game Eleven

The Heirs of Britain

Session 11: 483; The King’s Gifts

__________ Spring 483 – Easter at Castle Brown __________ 

Dawn! Sir Vandar rises late, with little pressing business. He sets forth to learn more of how one might impress the famous hunters of Castle Brown. Alas, he knows not the men of this land, and asks a servant for the name and location of a household knight of the castle; predictably he is first directed to Sigurant and Arnoullant. He presses further, for someone less famous. He learns of Sir Nodens, a man known for his love of feast; he may offer some juicy morsel. Vandar goes to find a party; it is a simple task. Hence, he soon finds a Knight matching the description of Sir Nodens: one arm wraps a serving-woman close, and they share cheer together. Enormous Vandar approaches, with humorous phrase praises the man's flirtatious skill. Nodens laughs heartily, and bids the lady fetch them some wine. Vandar settles in nearby, and sips as they chat. Nodens prompts him; Drink up, Sir! Vandar, a temperate man, replies that he wishes to savour the drink; such a sweet gift from a fine lady. Nodens sours a little, hoping for a more indulgent companion. Nonetheless, Vandar entertains by telling the story of Vandagild’s loss, and how he comes to quest for his rescue...

He soon learns that Sigurant and Arnoullant have been gone for three weeks, presumably hunting. This is not uncommon; once they missed a muster for their love of hunt! The beasts of the forest do not play on our timetables. The hunters come back once they've caught their prey, and not often for any other cause. Nodding, Vandar asks the man of Sigurant’s joy at feasts; perhaps he can share tale of past exploits that have cheered him? Nodens happily obliges: While Sigurant likes a show, and the attention, don't try to appeal to him directly; it won't work out. The man is mostly disinterested in lesser knights; not that he means an insult by this.

Nodens leans back, swirling his wineskin thoughtfully: “I know not, Sir, do thee something spontaneous! Once, a poor knight, name quite unrecalled, loudly got himself into a tizzy about some girl... Needless to say he let fly a lengthy tirade, in the middle of the feast no less, about the other man's lack of honour. It went on a full ten minutes, I tell thee, in the midst of the whole affair.” He laughs, “Sigurant liked that, he truly did. It must be genuine though. From the heart” he says, thudding his chest. 

Vandar floats the idea of the story of his cousin, which he feels dearly about... Nodens nods, but adds: “Thou can't be seen to be outshowing him, nor can thee force the thing; just wait for an opportunity. It must be real, see? And fit.”

Vandar replies “Thank thee, Sir Nodens! Truly. Is there anything I can help thee with, except drinking more than is my due?” He chuckles.

“How about drinking as much as your due!” Nodens hands forth another wineskin.

Vandar spends some time with the man, drinking the second skin even more slowly. He makes up for his temperance with witty jokes, and by ingratiating the serving girl unto Sir Nodens with his Aquitanian charm.

__________ Royal Refreshments __________

Elsewhere, Sir Iwan seeks some glorious quest for Sir Myles from among the knights and lords present. He finds an old knight, with men around him; he is treated with grandfatherly respect and deference. Iwan courteously introduces himself, and learns he speaks with Sir Mativan; the venerable man is respectful and polite in response.

Iwan shares his cause: “One of my closest friends, who trained me to be the knight I am today, does court a lady from a wealthy family. He hopes to propose a compelling suit to her parents, and thus must gather Glory and Honor to himself.”

Sir Iwan asks Sir Mativan if there are any tasks they might complete to that end. Mativan doesn't recognise the Lady Trenia's name, but is familiar with this type of plot. He thinks for some time, staring into the distance... He eventually tells that he has no trouble on his lands, for he has none, but he does hear things; people still enjoy his company, even in his age. He assures Sir Iwan that he will send news of any opportunities he hears to Sir Iwan's manor. Iwan tells him his manor in Pitton; Roderick's man, Mativan notes. The esteemed man offers that Roderick is a good knight, and Iwan is lucky to serve him; The young man nods, declaring that nothing can get between his loyalty to the Earl. An approving nod: Mativan has similar devotion to his King; he's served him faithfully for two years, and his brother before that. They talk for some time, and Sir Iwan learns something of the Knights in the area. 

Sir Elvorix, meanwhile, wanders the yard and talks with the other men. Soon this leads him to a slowly growing party; Prince Madoc and Sir Jarren have predictably created quite the event. Little of substance is discussed, and drinks are drunk solely for the pleasure of it. Madoc drunkenly wraps an arm around Elvorix's shoulder, asking how Castle Brown has treated him: Elvorix is frustrated with appointments! Madoc laughs: He directly refuses to have appointments. He doesn't bother.

The prince downs his drink, “I mean... my father… it's hard for even me to speak with him sometimes! Lunacy!”

Elvorix shares his lament, “Yea! I could run in, shouting about the end of the world, and they'd still make me wait three days!” 

Sir Madoc declares that regardless, we will keep drinking. To the end of our days! They raise their glasses. Elvorix, though typically temperate, is easily swayed by the easy charm and Princely power of Sir Madoc; he drinks happily.

Sir Nodens, lightly frustrated with Vandar's repeated resistance to his drinking offers, hears the party and promptly attends. In the first moments among his true people, Nodens thrives, quickly abandoning Vandar for the other drinkers. Happy with this development, Vandar spies Elvorix laughing uproariously with the Prince, and settles in near the edge of the party, hoping to catch some more knowledge of this court and the party. His stature and looks draw some visitors, but it accounts for little.

When Iwan enters, he is espied by the Prince; Madoc thrusts a finger at the knight: “Iwan! You! Join us!”

Iwan does, drinking comfortably, dancing impressively, and enjoying his time. Doing so Iwan makes eye contact from across the room; his heart skips a beat: Lady Eleri! Beside her, a man he does not immediately recognise. Iwan cannot resist his powerful feelings for the woman. Later in the evening, when the man, and many other Knights lay slumped on couches and against walls, Iwan approaches, introducing himself to the Knight beside her.

The latter looks up, laughing pleasantly on hearing his name: “Sir Statirius,” he declares a little haughtily, “I'm uh, the Baron of Thornbush; you may have heard of me”.

Iwan has, and liked not the hearing. He swallows the urge to stab the man in the throat.

When prompted, dashing Iwan tells Statirius of his manor in Pitton. Practically neighbours! The Baron says he should have him visit some time, once the roads are better; he glances aside at Madoc, perhaps a hint of accusation in the look. They continue to converse until it tires and Statirius speaks elswhere; Iwan holds his composure throughout; it is an effort.

His moment present, Iwan feigns a mock introduction to Lady Eleri, who playfully matches it. They converse easily and pleasantly; outwardly it appears natural and untoward. Inwardly, they burn with passion, hearts aflutter with the mischievous meeting…

__________ The Duke of Diapers! __________

Dawn! Once more, her rosy fingers and warm glow bring a magical light to picturesque Castle Brown; birds tweet happily beside the gently murmuring river. The Feast is due this evening, and Elvorix has important meetings today. Indeed, most folk seem busier today, with less time for leisure. A knighting ceremony takes place: Several young men enjoy this honor, and our three young knights attend; the procedure and repetition drill the courtesy for them. At the end a child enters the hall, dressed in fantastic clothes but barely able to walk. Beside him, a stately knight in fine attire; behind them a lavishly dressed lady. They take the threshold.

King Uther rises and brings them forth. At the foot of his seat, he calls the child by name: Lucius. The three stop onto the dais.

The King of Logres announces: “Under the guardianship of Baroness Pompobia,” the lady to which he gestures, “and Sir Marvais De Revel,” the knight, “young Lucius will assume responsibility as the Duke of Saxon Shore after the untimely death of his father.”

A murmur ripples through the room.

Uther, before us and the crowd, Knights the toddler, now Duke of Saxon Shore. There is a brief silence, until the first clap raises a wave of tense applause.

“We have fallen on sad times” Iwan whispers.

Sir Elvorix agrees; “That is very strange. I can hardly wait for him to ride to my aid.”

Vandar nods, but is quiet: It is not his place to question the King.

__________ The King’s Grace __________

That afternoon, Elvorix waits in a lengthy queue to see the King. Earl Roderick, Duke Ulfius, Baron Duach, Duke Lucius with his guardians, and Sir Blains are will see the King before him, among many others. Eventually, Sir Elvorix is called forth, gift in hand, to enter the hall. The King is meagrely attended: Two Knights are beside him: One is a giant, larger even than Vandar, the other far less intimidating. The Roman's courtesy is fine; he bows formally, greets appropriately, and steps forth.

Sir Elvorix brings forth the scabbard, and kneels: “O great king! I have a great gift; Little in comparison to the riches thou already possess, but for a knight of such modest means as myself, the journey and expense to gather this blade his been great.”

The King raises a curious eyebrow: “A sword? Hmh…”

He gestures; the smaller knights steps forth to take it.

Elvorix explains: “It is of Roman origin, like myself; when Your Grace sees it, I hope it will remind of me. I hope it a good improvement to thy royal collection!”

The King takes it in one hand, stands, and flourishes the blade. An appreciative grin crosses the King's face, and he nods.

He holds it long, inspecting the edge: “It is indeed quite old, but a fine blade no doubt” nodding approvingly once more.

He asks for Elvorix's name, and it is given. The King has heard it before; where do I know you from? Perhaps Sir Iwan, Elvorix offers? No, the King knows him not. The King continues to admire the blade, and the black opal at its hilt.

The King sits: “So, Sir Elvorix; what do you need from me?”

Elvorix explains his proposed union with Lady Diane. He knows this is unusual, for one’s Lord is the usually path for such a request, but the Roman’s first meeting with Diane was unusual, and he is quite smitten.

The king nods in recognition: “So you're the Knight she was telling me about.”

A pause; he narrows his eyes in careful inspection.

“One of Roderick's men, right? From Logres? Why you? Why should I award her to you? For I have grown quite fond of her...”

Elvorix tells he is young, but has accomplished much. He sees himself becoming a great knight; one of the greatest of his land. His tale has been told throughout the realm; the tales of Sir Iwan, Sir Vandagild and Sir Elvorix catch the ear of many! We captured a banner in battle of Salisbury, our first muster!

The King admires the sword as he listens; at the end he looks back and forth between his two knights, and shrugs.

“Alright, Sir Elvorix. I will grant you her hand. And I will have the writ delivered to your Lord today.”

The tall Roman thanks the King; he is a very happy man. The King sheaths the blade, and Elvorix is dismissed.

This act, bypassing his own lord to secure a marriage, is bold. Doubly so for his current disfavour with Roderick. Alas, Elvorix's loyalty to Roderick wanes in the public eye... 

__________ Moving Up in the World __________

Elvorix, a pep in his step, seeks the Lady Diane; she sits with a small group.

A knight raises his hand as the Roman approaches: “Listen man; have you need of something?”

He clearly guards.

“Not I, Sir, but Lady Diane has need of my news: We are to be married!”

The knight raises an eyebrow, laughs openly, and turns: “Hey Diane, there's a guy here to marry you.”

Diane puts down her drink, spits some wine, and comes running to Elvorix.

“You're not lying!? Has it happened!?”

Sir Elvorix tells that the gift impressed, Diane asks, and he explains the sword that he had no business affording.

“I'm impressed”, she tells, “I uh… kind of thought thou would fuck this up.”

“I don't fuck things up!” Elvorix insists.

“I see that!”

“Sir Elvorix is a man who gets things done!” Elvorix persists.

She bites her lip a little.

“Ohhh kaaay.... We must plan our wedding of course! Have you told your lord; have you told Roderick?”

He shakes his head; “You are the first to know, unless the King has been talking!”

She laughs softly, “Oh I doubt it,” she says, “that guy... ehh” she trails off with exasperation.

They chat more, lamenting the necessity of more conversation with Sir Argan, who she pities. Elvorix is grateful for his help finding the sword at least.

Diane says The Constable is a bad man to annoy: “Oone time I spilled wine on him, just a little, and he still despises me!”

Elvorix tells of the door ajar, and that he probably hates him now; she laughs openly: “Yea. Yea indeed. He likes ye little, Sir Elvorix.”

The Roman is invited into the group; more wine is served, hastened along by Elvorix’s joyful celebration. Among the celebrants: Sir Mativan, who Iwan met earlier; Lady Wynflaith, his youngest daughter (unwed) also parties; Sir Minados of the King's Guard; and... Rolf? The latter is obviously not a knight, nor is he well dressed. His hands are gnarled and unclean.

Elvorix inquires about the last; Rolf is King Uther's huntsman. Rolf won't be at the feast tonight, for he needs to fetch game for the next dinner. This, therefore, is his easter feast, and he's glad to share it in this celebration; The huntsman raises a toast to the betrothed! Elvorix, temperate, does not indulge too heavily, but the party continues. 

Sirs Iwan and Vandar find the party; Elvorix welcomes them happily! Iwan sees sir Mativan, who raises a glass to him at once!

Mativcan starts to, with regret, stammer some attempt to ask Iwan to leave, but Diane shoves him: “Shut up, he is a friend of Elvorix!”

Elvorix amends; “Not just a friend, but a brother! We fought side by side against the Saxons!”

And Iwan: “And this man was at my side in the dark forest, and will be when we return.

Elvorix: “To the defeat of the Dark Forest!”

Vandar raises a drink, as do many others...

__________ A Magical Meal __________

 The Feast!

Appropriately, we sit below the Salt. Alas, Prince Madoc sits at a more glorious table; he laments our absence for he enjoys our company, but formalities insist.

This feast is large: Castle Brown is grandiose, somehow more alive and festive than the King's Hall in London. The three young knights present well, and are dressed finely.

Cod Tails are served.

Uther gives a grand speech, welcoming the folk from across Logres and congratulating the Toddler-Duke and others. Before long, everyone digs into the waiting cod.

Alas, we do not see anyone matching the descriptions of Sir Sigurant or Sir Arnoullant. Sir Vandar frowns in consternation.

We eat for some time.

Our lesser table affords us one advantage: Sitting near the hall entrance, we easily spy this: The doors burst open and two enormous men enter. One is wondrously attractive: Long blonde hair, jaw sculpted like a roman statue. The other, slightly smaller, wreathed in curly black hair, like that of the Castellan Sir Galahaut. The latter is hunched beneath the weight of a massive beast: It looks like a deer, but horns larger than any other seen; These vast trophies almost dragging on the ground as he carries it in.

Vandar and Iwan look at one another in recognition of the beast; A Yale? A wonderous fae elk! Incredible! The horns are mobile, sharp, can strike at a man independently. A silence fills the hall; the hunters trudge directly to King Uther.

The black-haired titan drops the heavy beast before the King: “A gift to you, my king!”

The two knights kneel and bow in deference to the King. Uther is obviously pleased. Truly wonderous!

The King directs to Galahaut: “Have your servants dress the beast: We shall feast on it tonight together!”

We presume these are Sir Sigurant or Sir Arnoullant.

Quite the entrance.

__________ Feasting Intensifies __________

Sir Vandar, below the salt and among the lesser knights, finds not yet the opportunity to catch the hunters. While searching for them, he spies a respectable and comely lady catching his eye nearby; she is beautiful. He approaches at once, holding her gaze with his silver eyes as he introduces himself. They chat easily, and without a care flirt joyfully and comfortably. She is Lady Elaine, he learns, another Aquitanian. Vandar, honest to a fault, asks clearly if she is single.

“I am not married, Sir Vandar; quite thankfully for thee! Your honest art may have had thee troubles otherwise”, she laughs.

They enjoy their cod tails together...

Sir Elvorix, lacking money to gamble per his preference, takes every opportunity to make the journey upward, Near the Salt, to spend time with his fiancé. She sits beside Sir Minados. The betrothed flirt openly, sparks ignited to flames: Elvorix proposes they soon take a short break from the feast; he has a room, courtesy of Prince Madoc. The twinkle in her eye lights up the room. Filled with youthful joy, they fathom excuses for a short absence...

Sir Iwan, mistrustful of the fae creatures, asks probing questions to discover the location from which this Yale was discovered. People are confused by his anxious questioning; which forest, he demands, and how far is it? They only know it was Sir Sigurant; though many share his idea that the fae are mischievous and not to be trusted; many will not eat of its meat. Alas, he learns little of value.

People are mostly enamoured of the two hunters; a small crowd forms around them, and they work their way through the social morass.

The Host and castellan of castle Brown, Sir Galahaut wanders the hall.

He double-takes near our table, spying the lofty, broad-shouldered Sir Vandar. “Sir Knight, art thou not the man who made fool of himself trying to... what was it? Speak with me?”

Vandar smiles, little embarrassed, and lowers his eyes: “The same, my Lord.”

Vandar explains his designs: The missing sir Vandagild and his quest to recover him with Sir Sigurant's help.

Galahaut raises a hand, interrupting: “And why would he meet with you? You're big, sure, but do you know how to use that sword? Would he trust you to fight a demon beside him?”

Sir Vandar convincingly tells the man of his swordsmanship; demonstrating some skill and flourishes by request. Galahaut nods; he tells that, skilled as he is, Vandar might yet impress his son by himself. He claps Vandar on the shoulder and moves on.

Sir Elvorix returns to the feast with Diane; they share shining eyes and intimate winks. As he passes the more glorious tables, Sir Sulian, one of Diane's companion's asks of him: Sir Knight, my sister Lady Heled knows no-one in these lands and needs a conversational companion. Elvorix assents, though not overly pleased with the development. Sulian gives up his seat for Elvorix to sit beside the lady; but Diane has no seat of her own and must return to her place. Elvorix bids hisfiancée adieu, forlorn. He soon learns his new companion is from Bedegraine, and her brother a knight there. Sir Elvorix nods, not pressing that farther, and they chat. He tells her stories, though not well. They pass the time in pleasant company.

Meanwhile, Sir Iwan is approached by a servant: There's been a seating rearrangement and there is now a place for him near the Salt! Sir Iwan raises an eyebrow and accepts. He moves to the table, and soon finds the true depth of his fortunes: He is placed across the table from Lady Eleri and Sir Statirius! Eleri's eyes shine warmly at him; Statirius greets him in friendly manner. The Baron tells Iwan that someone was ill, couldn't handle their liquor, and a seat became free.

“I saw thee all the way down there, with no friends of fame or note, and figured; why not!?”

Iwan thanks him and talks politley, though he does not like the man at all. Sir Statirius, noting that Roderick has brought a great offering for the King this year,  asks pointed questions about this; perhaps he has fallen from favour and wishes to regain it? 

Iwan knows not; for he is not kept in that counsel.

“But surely, Lord of Pitton manor, a man of your status would be included in such talk? Ah, but I pry too much…” he tells. Iwan struggles to not bare his teeth at the insufferable man.

__________ A Cat among the Cymrics __________

Iwan, perceptive, and near the top of the table, spies that Sir Sigurant has been gone some time. Taking note, he sees he has still not yet returned...

Sir Vandar, enjoying his time with Lady Elaine, raises his glass. A toast! To her beauty and grace, and the gratitude we must all have for such pleasant company! She blushes at the sentiment, and, sitting beside him, slides closer. Vandar, honest again, tells her that he is not a man of great means; he has no lands of his own, nor to inherit. He finds her fantastic and swoons in her gaze, and may be falling for her; but he may not be the match that she wants. As he says this, he is struck once more: Silky brown hair, warm clear skin, gorgeous. She is stunning. His silver eyes lock once more with hers of green. She seems conflicted, but receptive nonetheless.

She hushes him; “Worry not of these trifles for now.”

The touch of her finger on his lips makes him shudder in pleasure. His heart swells.

Sir Elvorix keeps spending time with Lady Heled; it is an inglorious responsibility, but he keeps his word to Sir Sulian and persists. Elvorix, ever scheming, learns a little of their financial status. Lady Heled skirts the answer, but she hints that they have recently started doing quite well for themselves...

The Castellan Sir Galahaut, returned to the High Table, calls for song! Many folks offer their voices to the hall, many tunes of joy and loss and glory. For his part, Vandar sings well, his deep Aquitanian rumble adding beautiful depth to the chorus. But it holds no candle to Sir Iwan who, sitting beside his beloved, once more excites royalty with his singing voice: His effort is perfect, impressing all and drawing great cheer! 

Kerfuffle!

Eyes turn to the source of disturbance, great doors near the head of the hall. Costumed men march into the hall, clad in fabric ‘chainmail’, miming their passage on a horse.

They halt, and a servant calls to the hall in a reverberant voice: “In the Honour of our host Sir Galahaut, and King Uther, we bring this tale of Valor from Sig Sigurant!”

The play begins. A leading ‘Knight’ steps forth from the actors, his voice a dramatic exaggeration of noble parlance: “Lo! A fine day to ride, is it not, men? With the wind at our back, and these fine steeds, we shall make London by nightfall...”

The play continues for some time. The story describes a journey to London, in which our heroes encounter a Saxon raiding party. The Lead character, it is revealed, is Sir Sigurant, who slays a dozen saxons himself! The Saxon commander retreats! The actor playing Sir Sigurant proceeds on foot, his men embroiled with the remaining foe. ‘Sir Sigurant’ follows the Saxon Thegn into the woods; the nefarious foe clambers atop a pile of bones in his encampment! ‘Sigurant’ is not dissuaded, and strides forth to battle: He slays many a saxon, until only the chief and Sigurant remain…

From another side door: A low, rumbling growl! A feline sound, full of malice and threat. The noise brings hair to end throughout the hall...

Soon, a huge, cat-like creature enters the hall; it is collared, with a chain trailing behind it. On great paws bearing terrible claws, it slinks low to the ground; dorsal hairs erect. There is no fabric in this beast; its threatening musk wafts through the hall.

From atop the fake bones, the ‘Theng’ claims gloriously, his accent a mockery: “None survive my pet! Flee, before it claims you too!”

“Your beasts do not scare me!”

The animal is real, though the play is not. Several spearmen prompt the animal forward into the hall toward ‘Sigurant’, and a man clings worriedly to the chain to restrain it. A servant hands fake Sigurant a real sword.

With a flourish the actor calls: “I will slay the beast!”

A tense moment: As the beast is pushed forward, it lunges with murderous intent, attempting to leap upon the actor; the chains restrain it! The crowd gasps!

“Fear not, for I am.... Uaaaaaahhh!”

The beast leaps once more, and is upon him! The actor's face at once rendered a red, flapping mess, as a slashing claw rips through it! The swords clatters to the floor; the chain is unheld! The men who were holding it flee; the spearmen attempt to corral but cannot! The lithe, muscular beast slashes a squire as it moves to a corner; it crouches there, lips pulled back to reveal deadly fangs; it hisses and snarls with terrible intent.

Sir Vandar’s eyes flick to Elaine, and then to the beast. He moves without thinking; bursting to his feet; cutlery fly. 

He roars: “Fear not, Elaine! I will protect thee!” His chair clatters across the room, he is the first and fastest to move: He rushes for the blade, his long fingers wrapping the hilt tightly. He is unarmoured, but crouches into a comfortable stance before the animal. Among the screams, most of the guests push backward to the opposite end of the hall…

Sir Iwan, eyes darting, sees King Uther: In his great throne, the King sits easily, flanked by his guards. A smile slips onto his face.

Iwan takes a carving knife and runs up to secure the flank of Sir Vandar…

__________

Image 1: Barneportræt af en prins, Jakob van Doordt, 17^th Century. Nivaagaard museum.

Image 2: Alas, I can’t track down the original source since this image has turned into a meme. Apologies to whichever unnamed medieval monk had such talent and whimsy to produce such a wonderful thing.