The Heirs of Britain
Session 12:
483, The Hunters and the Hunted
__________ Session 12: 483, Castle Brown, the Court of Sir Galehaut __________
A rasping, baleful snarl rips the air; the great Saxon Cat, a bundle of tensed muscle, crouches threateningly in the corner of the hall of Castle Brown. Clad in short golden hair, a ridge of the wiry stuff stands bolt upright along its spine. The feline’s face is a twisted snarl…
The King, Uther Pendragon, sits in his throne nearby, his guards armed before him.
But it is the young knights, the modest and skilled swordsman Sir Iwan, and the towering Aquitanian Sir Vandar, who corner the beast. Sir Elvorix, the cunning Roman, rushes forth to fray, his dining blade to hand. He steps over the grand table, trying his best to look big and mean! Scanning quickly, he spies a ceremonial sword on the wall; its edge is no razor, but it is sturdy and steel.
Snatching it from the wall swiftly, he flanks the cat with a bellowed threat; “Back ye foul creature, back I say!”
Beside him, Vandar’s heart is a blacksmith’s hammer. He risks a glance at the cause: Not the beast before him, but the woman behind. This threat to the Lady Elaine, met this very evening, brings fiery blood to rush to his long muscles, and inhuman haste to his limbs. His great, new love for her overwhelms, and thus, clad in no arms but his gallantry and finery, he rushes to battle with the ferocious beast!
As Sir Iwan prudently claims a spear from a terrified guardsman, the other men engage! The speed of the cat stuns Sir Elvorix; in a blink a ripping claw has torn his arm; the shredding strike sends his blunted blade skittering across the stone hall! Distracted, the cat cannot slip a chopping, overhand strike from Sir Vandar, who hacks with his hefty limbs at the vicious monster; feline blood sprays wide!
Alas, overconfident, the Aquitanian swings again, powerful but wide; in the brief opening the Saxon Cat is upon him! Its claws plunge into his broad trunk; but its terrible maw latches deeply into his neck and shoulder! The bite is savage and the impact ferocious, the tangling foes tumble struggling to the reddening stones, bathed in their shared blood! Gasps and screams from the gathering courtiers; Vandar’s wound is brutal! Few men would survive it, but mighty Vandar fights on, unto death if she calls, thinking only to keep harm from Elaine…
But
yet, the noble Sir Iwan is here! In a moment, his purloined lance thrusts
deeply now into the creature’s lean, muscular flank! The creature snarls and
twists away from the prone Sir Vandar, but Iwan will not relent! He stays on
the beast, twisting the embedded weapon! It weakens; blood pools and torrents;
some failing snaps and helpless slashes mark its final moments; the cat writhes
weakly on the spear’s blade!
Vandar, roaring, barely conscious, lurches to his feet and, two handed, rips his blade down through the ailing beast's neck; the air is treated to a shower of blood, and sparks from the stone beneath! Without a thought, he claims the fanged trophy and flings it at the feet of his seated King in one fluid movement. The lofty man’s gaze leaps to Elaine; she stands, concern heavy on her face, but she is unharmed. Alas, the young knight’s own blood rushes like the great river of London; his neck is punctured deeply; his clothes are wet to the knee with the leaking of his own life. Iwan, unburdened by such passion; rushes to aid the taller man; but Vandar brushes him away. In two long steps, the Aquitanian is before the king, at kneel. The silence in the hall is punctuated by the rapid dripping on the stone beneath him; he is joined by Iwan and Elvorix.
A slow, single clapping begins in the hall: It is the King’s own hands.
"Hah! I've not seen so fine an end to a play as that, in... Well, I might say my entire life!"
King Uther points at the three men, his eye following.
"Well done, knights! I am sure I know not what the… Intended outcome was…” he looks down to the side, to the now sheepish Castellan and Host Sir Galahaut, “but that was a fine display of martial prowess and camaraderie! The three of you work finely together!"
He raises his glass: "A toast! To the three slayers of the Saxon Beast!"
Glasses
are raised around the hall, and a great cheer erupts! Thrice, the thrilled
voices call!
__________ The Power of Love __________
So dismissed, Sir Vandar raises his hand from his wounded neck in gratitude; a spray of blood erupts in pulses; he stands, weakly and searches for Elaine…
Many of the gathered folk offer drinks to the trio. Elvorix, with polite smiles, departs to find a source of skilled medical aid, while Sir Iwan quietly returns to his table.
Vandar struggles unsteadily back toward his seat; a wet, red trail marking his passage. He pushes through the gathering crowd, eyes only for Elaine. Holding her eye true, he kneels heavily at her feet, gathering her soft hand in his own sanguine grasp. Her face is a beautiful mess of concern, shock, and adoration…
She speaks breathlessly: "Sir Vandar, that was… Quite brave! I know not what to say… I..."
“Worry not, dear lady; I know what to say, truly: I love thee."
He holds her emerald gaze, as a halo of black emptiness closes in around her face.
The Aquitanian’s paling, silver eyes turn lost, and he collapses forward; gently at first, but he is vast and caught in oblivion. Elaine clutches to hold him upright, but is soon at seat on the cobbles, the ashen-faced man atop her lap. A ruby tide climbs steadily across her exquisite skirts…
Sir Iwan, unwounded and glorious, returns to his table Near the Salt; he sits carefully across from his unattainable paramour, Lady Eleri. Beside her, slung casually in his own seat, rests her arrogant and ignorant husband, the Banneret Sir Statirius. The modest young knight catches Lady Eleri’s glance; her eyes swim with adoration.
Still, Statirius reaches forth, clasping the young knight's shoulder firmly; “What a show! Hah! Truly! Such a well-struck blow, Sir Iwan! Doubtless, I wish I might have fought beside thee, but of course I had to protect mine own Lady. You understand, I trust.”
Sir Iwan is a picture of composure.
“I am sure thee knoweth well a valorous blow when seen, Sir Statirius”, says Iwan.
“Indeed! I've seen mine own share, bringing battle to the Saxon raiders in my vast lands. Of course,” he replies with feigned modesty “I would not, in normaler times speak such of myself, but, you see, I am quite the warrior…”.
He speaks thus at length, seemingly incapable of reasonable modesty. He suspects nothing of Sir Iwan’s heart, and seems to genuinely enjoy speaking with, or at, the young knight of Pitton Manor.
For his own part, the impressively well-collected Sir Iwan would happily murder this man. At the first polite convenience, he excuses himself to share a drink with one of the many folk offering them.
Sir Elvorix returns to the hall; the King’s physicians follow hurriedly behind him, rushing to a nearby table upon which Sir Vandar now lies. The Roman sits beside the larger man, letting his arm be tended, as the skilled chirurgeons work quickly to save Sir Vandar.
Soon bandaged, and attended still by eager courtiers, the roman is back to the feast, so abandoning Lady Heled (Sir Sulian’s sister, who he had earlier promised to attend). The promise does not slip his mind; he just figures the Saxon Beast, and his glorious melee, is sufficient a distraction that he can get away with it. He goes to Lady Diane's table; there is no seat, but Lady Diane unmaliciously bids a man to “Fuck off” to make room for the wounded Roman. Sir Hywell, the Banneret, and several other senior knights sit nearby.
Diane, a flirtatious twinkle in her eye: “Well now Sir, look at thee! Only just engaged, and already thou doth make quite the name for thyself!”
She smirks playfully, and punctuates with a quick kiss on Elvorix’s cheek.
The Roman tells proudly of his own quick thinking to claim the hanging blade, though he wishes it was kept sharp.
Sir Hywell nods, “Yea, yea. I can claim not that I would have thought of such a tactic. Quite brave of thee.”
So
accompanied and admired, Sir Elvorix spends some time awash in the joy of being
the life of the party.
__________ Never Meet Your Heroes __________
Soon, servants address Sirs Iwan and Elvorix: Sirs Sigurant and Arnoullant request thy attendance in their chambers. Iwan keenly attends; Elvorix clears himself of eager courtiers and follows. Sir Vandar is also visited by a servant with a pitcher of wine, offering him the same. The handsome Aquitanian rests in an infirmary but is conscious, and no longer a crimson fountain. He is slightly aggrieved that he, in his terrible state, is not attended personally. Nonetheless, he accepts: He carefully rolls to his feet, and walks gingerly through the halls of Castle Brown. The journey to the chamber pains him, and fresh stitches are pulled; his new garments, clean and white, gain fresh clouds of red. He holds clear in his mind his love for his cousin Sir Vandagild, whose life rests on the success of this meeting, and for Lady Elaine; so driven, he suffers the pain with reasonable regard.
He joins his companions in a hall. A head of some great monster is mounted high within: A twisted, mannish visage, mouth agape full of a serpentine tongue and rows of razor sharp teeth. It has a full head of hair, and a rictus of rage. Vandar knows the creature: It is a Manticore! Truly an incredible kill! Iwan speaks: What a fine trophy, if only one could be so lucky to defeat such a monster! Vandar nods his agreement; Elvorix walks onward.
Before long, they reach the chambers of the two great hunters. Within: Tall, handsome pillars hold a high ceiling; the room is furnished in tremendous finery, and an enviable bookshelf lines on full wall. On the right, a dinner table with several polished and cushioned seats. The beautiful giants, Sirs Sigurant and Arnoullant, occupy two of them, sharing a jug of wine.
The black-haired Sir Sigurant speaks: "So,” he sips, “I hear thee have looked for me.” he gestures casually to Sir Vandar, "The decrepit one in particular; is this true?"
Ignoring the slight, ashen Vandar responds: "Yea, indeed Sir Sigurant. But I had hoped not to sustain such a wound to achieve it."
The famous man nods; "Indeed, we all hope not. Come, come, sit; have my husband pour you wine!"
The sorely wounded Aquitanian does, in gratitude and relief; his companions join.
Sir Arnoullant, the taller of the pair, yea taller still than Vandar, circles the table; in his strong hands a fine pitcher delivers ruby wine to each man’s goblet. He is stunningly handsome, flowing golden hair framing smooth, masculine features; he moves with a grace and strength uncommon. As he passes behind the young knights, his perfume warms them: he smells delicious. Creamy and soothing, gently spiced, like some perfectly subtle dessert; this wafts kindly from his sturdy form. The knights mention it not.
Sir Vandar sips the nourishing wine, and praises the Manticore trophy from the hall.
Sir Arnoullant, from behind the group, sighs wisftfully, his voice deep and magnetic: "Aaahhh… yea. Siggy and I did bring battle to that beast that in the misty mountains of Cambria. That was… Hmph. It was uh… How long did we toil there? Two moons? Yea; that was, in likelihood, our third quest in those strange peaks, to find that very beast. We are very proud to have it.”
“And fairly,” follows the Aquitanian, “Good Sir Iwan here did rightly say how lucky we might be to earn such a trophy.”
Sir Sigurant: “Indeed, so lucky would thou be! If ye have any such ambitions, I wish thee good fortune.”
“My own immediate ambitions are much smaller,” Sir Iwan, “I must slay some smaller fiend. though I know not its awful name, it is a Hag in the Fairy Forest near Imber.”
“Imber?” Black-haird Sigurant inquires; “Never heard of it.”
“A small village, of little consequence” tells Iwan. He explains how he lost Sir Uvan, and Sir Vandagild, and thus seeks the particular skill of these men to help find and rescue, or avenge them.
A silence fills the room; the two great men share a look as Arnoullant returns to his seat.
Sigurant: “For us to help? In what regard?”
Sir Iwan continues: “I was told that thee were the only knights who might find their way in those cursed forests; I do not wish to lead more knights within, only to best lost so. Thus we need thy help to navigate our cause.”
“A Hag, in A forest? And a knight and his squire?” Sigurant is sceptical.
Iwan explains that we were forced to retreat from the deadly grove; this causes Sigurant’s eyebrow to raise.
Iwan covers; “There were many black dogs, plus the Hag itself; we would have fought on, but our withdrawal was as much for Sir Meliodus' sake; his squire was mortally wounded, and he himself; we had to find safe ground to save the squire’s life.”
Elvorix adds, “Prince Madoc fought too with us; he can confirm the tale; If ye trust us not, surely thou must the crowned Prince!"
The hunter thinks for a moment.
“So. The two of thee, and this man's cousin, went to a forest with two princes to find a hag? Which you promptly found, and fled from?” He does not look impressed.
Vandar interjects; “The second Prince was found within the Hag’s Grove, this Meliodus of Lyonesse, wounded and sorely outnumbered; these men had honest mercy for a wounded knight!”
The two men laugh openly at the thought of Sir Meliodus getting lost and so beaten.
Unspoken, Prince Madoc’s past words rush back to the memory of the men: “Sir Sigurant is a
prick.”
__________ A Gambit Pays Dividends __________
Vandar tries to re-explain the story properly, but the two men are too busy enjoy the fantasy of Meliodus' bumbling.
Elvorix, with some frustration, interrupts: He openly suggests that ignoring the plight of fellow knights of Salisbury is cowardice!
There is a moment of silence.
Sigurant places his goblet down: “Be careful what words thou uttereth, Sir knight. Asketh thee for our help. And we are no lords of Salisbury.”
Arnoullant interjects dismissively: “Hear this; Siggy and I are men of many pursuits. One Hag be not the end of Logres. It befits us little to simply…” he sighs, and he too places his goblet down, “Truly, in all likelihood this hag of yours is already gone.”
Elvorix shakes his head, sighing with exasperation; he ploys his cunning.
As he starts to stand and turn, under his breath: "Meliodus said you wouldn't help, I knew it".
A brief, tense moment: Arnoullant starts to stand; but Sigurant puts an arm on his shoulder, urging him back to his seat.
Arnoullant bites back proudly: “Meliodus knows not his ass from his head! I tell thee again; it is most unlikely this Hag is still there. With three of you, plus Meliodus trampling around... These monsters are temperamental, and witty. Too witty by far to let thee retreat alive and hence dwell in that same lair.”
Elvorix: “Indeed, Sir! We expect it not where it was, which is why we need thy help to find now where it stalks!”
When asked, the Roman explains the location of Imber and the forest.
Sigurant sighs: “The Forest of Gloom. Known for its desolation. Yea, perhaps that is why the Hag does dwell in that dismal place…”
Iwan mentions the days dragging unnaturally.
“The last time we hunted the Forest of Gloom was, what, ten? Twelve years whence? It was similar then. Unnaturally empty. Interesting that a Hag would take up residence there. Perhaps it found safety in its solitude?”
Arnoullant nods at this from Sigurant, who continues.
“Thy cousin, thy friend; was he lost in that same forest? And how didst thee find the Hag?”
Vandar, proud for his family, and thus of Vandagild's skill as a hunter, explains it.
Sigurant replies: “He followed Meliodus' tracks, and thee with him?” he nods with some admiration.
“Ok. We can accompany thee; yea, to the forest, and to lead thee within. But this fight is for thee and thine; it is not ours. Once within, it will be up to the three of thee to achieve thine own quests. If the hag is gone, I advise thee not to search for it; risk not getting lost.”
The Roman explains that our first goal is to find Sir Vandagild and Uvan, and the second is to kill the Hag: “If we find it, we are Honour-bound to deal with it; but the priority is our friend. Logres can't risk losing such an important son of our country.”
Sigurant nods; “Fine. As thee know well, we hath recently returned from a hunt. We can not leave yet”; he looks to his Husband, then continues; “We will set off in a month; if your friend can live this long he can live a little longer. And if he can not then... Well, it is of no consequence either way.”
Sir Elvorix mentions the strange twists of time in that place and, with confidence, declares that if anyone can survive in the forest alone it's Sir Vandagild; he's quite the hunter!
Sir Vandar then recalls that strange period, several recent months wherein he had forgotten entirely of Vandagild. And then, stranger still, when all at once the three knights remembered him once more, suddenly and entirely. He tells of this.
Arnoullant's eyebrow raises in interest; ‘Hm. Well. Lose not hope for thy friend just yet.”
“Hope was never lost”, Vandar replies.
The
companions are granted hospitality in Castle Brown until they set off; each
seeks his Lord’s permission where required. Vandar is permitted to recuperate
there by Baron Duach, and to hunt for his cousin; there are no more wars to be
fought this year, and the Baron respects the dedication to one’s family.
__________ An Enmity Boils… __________
The next day, Elvorix prepares for his meeting with Bishop Roger.
Sir Iwan begs time with Earl Roderick. He learns that the King has decided on the marriage of the Lady Ellen, heiress of Wynchbank: Her hand will go to Earl Roderick! The Earl seems very happy about this. He also learns that the miscreant Sir Blains, steward of Levcomagus, is very upset; he stormed from the hall with several knights in tail. While waiting to speak with Roderick, Iwan spots a verbal fight between Roderick and Blains; among the barbs flung: Betrayal, cowardice, and dishonour at Bedegraine; Such tricks that Roderick played to win Ellen's hand; among others.
However, a daring new accusation is slung: Earl Roderick accuses Blains of hiring the men that ambushed his caravan! They almost come to blows at this, the dispute only simmering by a formal decree from Uther: There will be no fighting in his court. If they wish to settle the dispute, they may do so on their own lands. Sir Blains departs with his men, seeking counsel with Duke Ulfius as he does. Earl Roderick remains; he has been heirless for too long, and he is keen to start planning his wedding.
Iwan,
shortly thereafter, approaches to confirm his permission and intent to Quest
for Vandagild. Alas, after the conflict with Blains, Roderick is now unhappy. But,
the Earl is committed to honouring his earlier word of permission; he wishes he
could have more of his knights at home, given the recent circumstances and
Uther’s decree, but he will honour his word. Next year, however, he will
require every knight’s full service. Sir Iwan thanks his Lord, and resolves to
spend the next month searching for Sir Meliodus, with little luck.
__________ Soldiers of God __________
Sir Elvorix searches legal texts in the castle chapel for some precedent to help with his meeting with Bishop Roger; he is able to find a passage that supports the use of church resources to combat demonic practices. He brings this text to the meeting hence.
Bishop Roger, a portly man, is dressed very finely; indeed, moreso than most of the Lords at the castle.
"Ahhhh” the Bishop begins nobly, “are ye the man who doth seek a Demon in the forest?"
"Yea, Sir: A Hag in the Forest near Imber. I dared hope a representative of the faith helpful in the quest to slay this foul creature, and sanctify its cursed lair."
"A
serious issue!"
“Yea, verily. And, hence why I came to thee. I presume thou haveth many fine
men of cloth trained in the art of exorcism."
"Yea, of course. But, Sir Elvorix, the church is quite overburdened, what with heresies popping up hither and yonder, and yea, the ever present threat of the pagans... Surely thou doth understand..."
Elvorix assents, but argues that the proven presence of this pagan witch, verified by the Crown Prince Madoc, is of paramount importance.
He produces his text; “See here, I beg of thee; the church is tasked with the protection of the land through Holy means!”
The Bishop mutters under his breath "Father Matthew and his tomes..."
Elvorix interrupts: “Prithee help us, your Grace! We need only one man!
"The life of a man in our sacred order is valueless, Sir Knight. Simply Priceless! But thou doth speak true: The Church does have a role to play in this."
“Thank thee, your Grace. I have also spoken with the Castellan Sir Brannoc, and he hath pledged a Knight to protect this priest; we know truly the value of such a man!"
“Yea, yea, I have heard this from Brannoc also...” he sighs, “Very well, Sir Knight. I will lend thee the service of Father Perticus. You will find him... around here. somewhere. Tell him that I bid him to aid thee. God bless thee, Sir Elvorix: Rid the lands of this abomination."
Elvorix bows in gratitude: “The evil in this land will not last another season!”
“Be sure to remember the generosity of the church the next time the tithes are due, yea?”
“I always pay my tithes in full”, the Roman replies, bowing, “perhaps a little extra may come available next time.”
The
companions collect Father Perticus; he is a STANDARD PRIEST; he has little to
share and is clad in a modest brown robe. They soon, too, find Sir Kentwyn, the
Knight of Sir Brannoc's pledge. So bolstered, the party ventures forth.
__________ Ingress to Imber __________
The prescribed month passes; Sirs Galahaut, Arnoullant and Sigurant do not spend time with them in the interim. Sir Vandar heals well, but he still suffers from his morbid injury. Truly, the savagery of the wound would have killed most men on the spot. For his trouble, the handsome man suffers a gnarled, ugly scar on his neck and jaw. A man of letters and fan of Golistan’s fae tales, Vandar nonetheless avails himself of the hunters’ well-stocked library; he favours the tomes that describe hunts in the Faerie Forests.
The troupe sets off: The three Knights, Arnoullant, Sigurant, and the handful of squires, with Father Perticus, carrying books and ointments, and Sir Kentwyn, his guard. The ride is uneventful. The handsome monster-hunters camp with us, but do not seem keen to socialise. We reach Imber after several weeks, where Sir Cadel greets us once more warmly; his lands have somehow deteriorated further. We learn, however, that the attacks have ceased and he is beginning to rebuild. He wonders why we have returned; we tell him. He is disconcerted; he hopes they find Sir Vandagild, and offers them hospitality and luck.
We proceed to the forest edge, once more where the river splits the trees.
Sir Arnoullant scans the grove for some time; speaking with Sigurant at intervals. They take a hunting dog and, from a small pouch, sprinkle powder over the dog; it smells potent, almost like sulphur. They released the treated hound into the forest: it does not come back. Arnoullant takes us all near nightfall, leading us onward through the dark. We see little but trust to his skilled huntsman’s eye.
Once more, the journey is sorely tedious.
But
Lo! As we proceed at length, we see the sun begin to rise; but not in a fair
and truthful place; it rises in the West! Creeping dishonestly from its dark
lair beyond the horizon, it claws its way skyward in a most uncommon way. The
young knights are shocked; sharing troubled glances but speaking little. The strange
shadows shorten as we ride, and soon the sun settles in its familiar unsettling
place. So shines the troubled sun in the Forest of Gloom.
__________ A Testing Trail __________
Sir Arnoullant asks if this looks familiar: Iwan says he thinks it does; Elvorix says the time acted strangely, the sun didn't move backward, but it did hang in that same spot. The Roman adds that it was a long trek; it will be some time before we reach the fallen log or horse carcass. The two famous hunters converse, ask if we are confident heading forth.
Elvorix raises an eyebrow: This is only shallow in the forest; we would hope for more help finding signs of Vandagild's trail, or the Hag itself. He turns back to Father Perticus, mounted on his Sumpter: Does he know much of where the Hag may be hidden? Perticus admits he has never seen one in the flesh; but he knows from tomes and scrolls that if it lingers, its presence can be felt from quite a distance: Such creatures corrupt the very lands they live upon. Perticus starts to talk of the sun’s strange behaviour, but shudders mid phrase, and does not finish his sentence.
Sir Elvorix is out of his element, he wishes for the expertise of these folk he hath brought with him.
The new growth of this strange place continues to confound; an extra layer of herbs occludes any trail, but such paths can be discovered beneath the greenery. Sirs Elvorix and Iwan both talk awkwardly of their lack of trailsmanship. Sigurant rides forth, speaking, sighing: He would hate to see them all languish in this forest, and leads them farther in.
Elvorix warns about the fate of Melodius' fallen horse farther down the trail; Sir Sigurant laughs; “We can ride better than Melodius…”
Curious about the obscuring herbs, Arnoullant makes a decision: He orders the four knights to clear it, and hence make clear the trails he seeks.
Elvorix refuses; “Nobility such as we should not fall to such tasks!”
Arnoullant shrugs; “take us much time as you wish.”
Vandar sighs; he wishes only to make progress and find his cousin; he dismounts, and orders his squire to help also. This scrounging takes some time: and it is Sir Kentwyn who shouts first that he finds something! Men gather to see.
Sirs Vandar and Iwan note the tracks that he's seen; the soil looks dry and hard, but the tracks look very well preserved. Indeed, they look as well imprinted in the ground as fresh tracks, but very dry. Like a mud puddle, somehow? Arnoullant nods, rallies on the track, and we progress!
We travel for a long while, and soon the familiar density presents itself; Arnoullant and Sigurant hesitate a moment, but continue on horseback, as do their squires. The others all leave their horses, once more leaving squires behind to guard and attend the fine animals. The journey continues to be long, and exhausting. Sir Iwan is sorely fatigued by the slog through the dense and oppressive vegetation. By the grace of God, the impending sense of dread from the last trip is absent. But soon enough, the knights find the fallen tree; which Iwan declares he recognises.
Once more, the famous hunters ask if this is far enough.
Sir Vandar, searching nearby, asks for aid to find Vandagild; his trail is different to this one, and we know it not!
Sir Arnoullant looks at Vandar: This land is desolate, there is nothing but tree and stone. He gestures dismissively to the indistinct trees, this is all there is; what you ask is to find a needle in a haystack!
“That needle is our cousin, our friend, and also our task, Sir Arnoullant.”
The larger man sighs.
“Well. Given how fondly you speak of thy cousin’s hunting abilities, I can tell thee what I would do in his quandry, and we ought best hope that thy cousin hath done the same”
He
points through the trees.
“Yonder; a stream. A small one, down that way. It's the only uh, "landmark",
nearby. If I were he, I would follow yon stream and seek shelter nearby. That's
where I would start. The stream should lead to something larger, and then
larger still; one’s best hope is where the waters gather.”
Vandar
thanks the famous hunters for such advice as they have offered, and tells him
he will find him when we succeed at our quest. The hunters depart, wishing the
remaining knights luck.
__________ The Discarded Grove __________
The three knights, with their priest and his guard, descend the slope to Prince Meliodus’ slain horse: The undergrowth has wrapped tightly around the corpse, flattening it, almost dragging it into the earth. The horse looks quite similar to when eyes were last lain upon it: It is clearly not a year decomposed, but is very dry. Its chest is sunken and hair brittle; its dead flesh crispy and morbid. The stream persists beside it.
"At least we have some food, hah” Vandar quips, to little cheer.
The knights approach the Hag’s wretched lair, the clearing uphill. The feeling of dread as they approach is clearly gone; the stench remains, but much milder; it suits the pile of rot and death more truly, and lacks the evil amplification of the Hag’s magic. Still, it sticks in each man’s throat as they close.
Stepping within, the almost perfectly circular shape of the lair has deteriorated; saplings grow at the edge, and shrubs encroach. The grass is still dead, but less sickly. The corpses too, are still dead. Each is older, drier, but otherwise similar.
The Hag's tree, centrally, has changed. Previously blackened and ichorous, it now lacks the robust, fleshy-red mushrooms that lined its rotting bark; these have now retreated to some lichenous coating on the cracking surface; several branches have also fallen from the cursed boughs.
No hag or dogs beset us.
Sir Vandar inspects the bodies, hoping to find trinkets or signets to identify the fallen; he hopes to bring something back to the families of these poor knights and folk. The best hope comes from the shields; cleaning them of growth and grime, the heraldry becomes clear. Sir Elvorix looks over each one; he does not recognise the heraldry exactly, but recalls that he saw these banners in Summerland! We take them, and hope to return them to the folk of those strange lands.
As he works,
Sir Iwan bids Father Perticus to begin his work; here dwelled the foul
creature, and though the dreaded aura of its foul magic has dispersed, no doubt
some unholy touch remains. The knights keep watch as Perticus reference his
tomes, gently searches among his tools and offerings, and begins his cleansing
rituals…
__________ Kicking Ass and Taking Names __________
Sir Vandagild paces within his tower-prison; frustration and anger ebbing with each step. His squire and brother-in-law, Uvan, son of Golistan, sits heavily on the single bed in the corner. The knight chews grumpily on some morsel of the ever-present feast that endows the table. Vandagild bids Uvan keep the bed; he sleeps well enough on the floor, and the younger man is no doubt used to that nest.
Thus, Vandagild paces, and seethes. He still carries wounds, though they heal steadily, so he eats greatly of the food, hoping to build his strength. He schemes of ways to free himself, and bring battle to the knight outside. Some great time of many sleeps passes like this, though the passage is difficult to trace; the sun moves not. Sir Vandagild acquires a taste and preference indulging in the fine and nourishing as this cursed tower provides.
After weeks, perhaps months, the Aquitanian is once more perched at a window, glaring with malice at the mounted demon outside. He strikes the glass once more, with little hope; he knows it will not break, protected by some fae or demonic power. He idly consumes pinches of fresh, ripe pomegranate. His target: The Knight of Names, he calls it; some deceitful knight of the unseeliest of courts, clad in flowing plates of mysterious turquoise, astride some mighty great charger. In its right hand, a long lance, the blade awash with a similar blue hue; in its left, a shield, white, and covered in the scrawled names of the many victims of his dishonest chicanery.
But Lo! The Aquitanian squints thorough the thick, cloudy glass; another approaches, from across the sturdy bridge! Another Demon Knight, it seems, similarly clad in curious plates; behind it an entourage of tall, angular folk, in fabulous finery and outlandish dress. This second demon is coloured all in black, and it approaches the Knight of Names formally; there is some brief discourse, before each knight spurs its enormous mount at the other! Alas, the ruddy window obscures the finer details, but they battle long and hard! Still, their movements are… obscure. The longer he watches, the more Vandagild is sure these fiends are not human. Their ranging, agile movements remind more of that wretched Hag than the honest combat of men.
Evenly matched, the battle persists for a great time; each having struck solid blows, the battle ends on foot. The Black Knight gets the better: The Knight of Names stumbles, clearly exhausted from the hours of fighting, and struck sore by the former’s long blade. Advantage is consolidated, and the shadowy foe slips quickly, like a dancer, to exploit; the point of its blade slips into a gap near his struggling foe’s neck, and with a heavy, jilting heave, it plunges deep. The Knight of Names falls, and is slain. The Black Knight cleans and sheathes its blade; an alien hand pulls the White Shield from the corpse, and then two hold it aloft, high above its head. The Black Knight turns, so, to its entourage, who bow in deference and admiration. He leaps once more atop his mount, and leads his foul pack away.
Uvan, now pressed tightly against Vandagild’s shoulder, watching too this wretched parody of knightlihood, utters his confusion. Vandagild turns from the window, and to his friend to speak; but Lo! A great rumbling sends each man clambering for hold; the tower itself cracks, the clatter of falling stones a vanguard for greater chaos: Apart, it comes! The roof falls in, the table shatters and food is scattered; vast blocks of unearthly stone fall around the tower, exposing the open air above! Each man dives for safety, and is unharmed!
The destruction takes only seconds.
Sir Vandagild checks Uvan; who is dusty but unhurt. The lock on the thick wooden door is now loosened; the Aquitanian shoves it and reaches through, but alas, it is still blocked from the far side; great piles of stone impede! Glancing outside, the great bridge too is fallen, crumbled whole into the river. The path, stopping abruptly on either side of the broad waters, is the best evidence that ever a bridge there was.
The window, no longer protected by unholy magic, is breakable; Vandagild hurls a brick through. It is small; only Uvan can fit out, the benefit of his smaller Pictish heritage. The squire looks about from outside, and shrugs his shoulders.
"There many stones blocking this door, Vandagild…" he does not sound hopeful.
Nonetheless, there is only one course; the tower is still too tall and sheer to climb. Uvan steels himself to shift rocks, and Vandagild takes a table leg to start levering from within. The two young men work for such time as they’re able; they have no more source of constant nourishment, but can snack on the dusty ruins of the fine morsels within. After time, the door slowly starts to give way; Vandagild can almost fit through! Uvan works mightily!
Vandagild’s keen eyes spot something encroaching; some small creature from the river!
"Quickly Uvan, crawl inside!"
He
does. The men arm, and wait inside.
__________ The Strange Demons of the Forest of
Gloom __________
A small face pokes through the gap, perhaps 3 feet up; brown fur, long whiskers and rapidly searching eyes. A beaver, but shaped like a man. Vandagild trusts it little. It slips into the room; the creature is clad in loosely fitting finery. Vandagild assumes it stolen from some poor noble’s son, no doubt eaten by this demon.
"Excuse me, are you the owner of this tower", the thing asks in rapid phrases.
It is very fast; it darts effortlessly around the room at the speed of a blink. As it speaks, long, sharp teeth, are revealed. Each is the length of a decent blade. The creature glimmers with Fae magic.
Vandagild replies slowly, with great caution: “That is unclear. I know not the laws of inheritance in this land, nor whose land upon which this tower stands. The last owner was slain, and my squire and I now dwell within.”
“Excellent!” comes forth the swift reply, “Just splendid! This is now the tower of my new court! I will move my court here. And what a fine court we already have, looking at the two of us.”
Vandagild’s eyes narrow.
“I am not of thy court. I have a fine court already.”
“Nonsense!
You are my courtier, and you’re in my court!”
“Not so. I am leaving for my own court.”
“Leaving? No no no no nonono, you’ve only just arrived!”
Vandagild is silent a moment; his rage builds.
"Nay. It is ye who hath only recently arrived. I have been here for some time, though I wish it otherwise. And now I am leaving, hence these rocks are shifted”
Alas, the demon is, of course, insistent, ignorant, and miscreant: “I will let you stay, as part of my court. But we need some improvements!”
It continues to dart impossible quickly around the room. Vandagild rests a hand on his pommel.
“Wait here!” it bids the two men, darting outside; they have little choice.
The men share a glance of concern. The beast returns promptly, however, with two large fish.
“Viola!”
it declares, in a mockery of the Aquitanian tongue, “food enough already!”
“I want not thy fish, beaver. Move thee aside, so I may heft these stones.”
“You know, I've grown quite fond of you; you simply have to stay, my courtier, my friend!” the beaver continues to declare falsehoods, though its tone is sweet and amiable.
“I hope I can call you friend, friend! I must insist you stay in my court” it utters charmingly.
It smiles a menacing smile, full of razor sharp teeth and barely-hidden malice; “One would hate for there to be a horrible gnashing of teeth. I will fetch more fish.”
Vandagild tells Uvan to be ready; he loosens his blade. Uvan softly asks if this is a breach of the creature’s hospitality; for he feeds us and claims this tower.
Vandagild stares at him.
“This be not his tower, Uvan. It is a demon; it can claim no hospitality. This fiend is a monster clad in pretty lies, and I will deal it as such” he states firmly, hefting his shield to hand.
“And
we eat not these cursed fish, if fish they truly be. This fiend of malice
wishes us his captive, and I wish it not. Lo, it comes!”
The creature returns, two large fish once more flopping desperately in its evil maw. It blinks rapidly within, staring uncertainly at the armed Aquitanian before him.
The fish drop wetly to the dusty floor.
Vandgaild levels his blade at the monster: “Defend thyself! Thou be’est deceptive and evil, and I like thee little!”
The hunter swings a rapid blow at the demon, and Uvan thrusts with his own blade… but the creature is like some demonic cat, darting impossible from the blows! It gnashes terrible teeth into both men, opening modest wounds; their man-wrought armour holds not against the beast’s cursed fangs!
The beaver darts back, and spits more trickery, dripping heavily with undoubtedly feigned insult; “I try to help you, and you respond with such violence! I will not help you again!”
The demon turns to escape, but Vandagild kicks forth a loose stone, tripping the monster! Leaping to advantage, Sir Vandagild's blade cuts a broad wound into the nefarious cretin’s flank! It screeches, and clambers to its wet feet, evading more heavy cuts and soon darting outside!
Vandagild swears, checking the injuries of the pair to little gain; “Valiant effort, Uvan. Good man. Quickly now, keep thy watch, and I will heft these stones!”
The hunter keeps digging, but soon, the horrid monster darts forth from some secret flank, biting his makeshift, table-leg-lever in half!
Vandagild is patient. He fetches his hunting bow, and notches an arrow. The beaver, it seems now builds a dam to replace the bridge; it darts impossible quickly, shunting logs and material into place. Vandagild watches carefully, picking patterns of movement.
He waits.
Soon, the beaver stands still, observing its own work. It spies him not.
Leaning from the doorway, the hunter notches, draws, and looses an arrow! It flies true, but the wretched demon spins in a blink, hearing the heavy crack of the bowstring; it is gone before the arrow plunges into the wood where it stood!
Hopeless!
The
demon beaver of the Forest of Gloom has the men under siege!
__________ Despicable Faerie Games __________
Elsehwere, Sir Iwan leads Sirs Elvorix, Vandar, and Kentwyn, who hangs back with Father Perticus. The latter has completed his tasks, and the group have journeyed for some unknowable time, eating too many fish for any man to be pleased by.
Here they spy this: A half-built dam, the apex acting as some damp and clumsy bridge; it joins two paths through the samely forest. On the far bank, a half collapsed tower.
Not yet seen: A seething Sir Vandagild, and a patient Uvan, chewing on some dusty pastries within; an arrow, embedded in the dam wall; and a rather wounded beaver, in slashed and bloodied finery, being evil somewhere nearby.
Sir Iwan speaks first “A dam? Who so builds a dam here?”
Sir Vandar grunts, “A beaver?”
Sir Elvorix says nothing, instead flushed with hope at the sight of the tower; surely Vandagild would seek shelter there, were he in need? He reaches the dam, and starts to cross the damp top, which is unsteady and slightly submerged.
The evil faerie-beaver quickly makes itself known, rushing atop the dam from lair unknown; it carries a heft log, biting it cleanly in half; “No no, there is no more room for guests! And beside, there are bandits and brigands within!”
“People dwell within? Have thee prisoners, then?” Elvorix demands of the diminutive menace.
“Prisoners? No no, I have claimed the tower, and they assaulted me! Brigands, I say!”
Sir Elvorix shakes his head, and strides forth across the makeshift bridge.
Once more, like a flash, the demon strikes, snaking past Elvorix’s slashing blade as faewrought fangs cut effortlessly through the Roman’s maille and leg!
Vandar and Iwan draw their blades, but alas, there is no room to reach melee atop the dam!
Sir Elvorix steadies himself; “Right! One Beaver stew, cometh right up!”
Atop the dam, the Roman tries to press forward, but at each step the demon strikes! He fights valiantly, but the monster’s inhuman speed and irresistible gnashing fangs are too much! The Roman collapses, bleeding from a number rapid, slashing bites from big, sharp, pointy teeth!
Vandar rushes beside him, grabbing the sinking man quickly and dragging him back to the shore. Iwan quickly his friend Elvorix’s side. Father Perticus is summoned forth, who attends the tall Roman’s many gashes; the latter soon flutters back to wakefulness, and snarls at the amphibious devil.
With little regard, the despicable monster continues its foul construction.
“Harken thee, beaver! What manner are the men in yon tower? Have they arms like these? One of a height with this poor man thou have savaged, the other smaller?” Vandar asks, restraining his own fury.
The beaver is elusive with his words, describing the “brigands” in his own terms; but the description matches.
The beaverfiend tells them to speak no more to it, for it has taken unkindly to them and has had a terrible day. He bids them silence, lest there be another great gnashing of teeth.
Vandar persists; “Nay, beaver! No brigands be those men; they do dwell inside yon tower, and thus the have the claim of it! Whosoever holds the castle owns the castle. Thus, you besiege it! Tarry not with thy honeyed words; admit thy evil! Deny it not!”
Elvorix says, nursing his own great wounds, shouts angrily from the bank; “Bah! You are a mere beaver! Beneath us!”
The tower Aquitanian continues; “Those men are my family, beaver! Thou hast my family besieged within! I will not leave here ‘til they walk free, with me, from these cursed lands and return to our own!”
The beaver pauses a moment, before darting up to squat wetly before the men; “You wish to rid me of the bandits? Fine. I offer you a chance to earn them. It is custom to offer three tests: A test of Wit, a test of Wim, and a test of Will.”
Vandar narrows his eyes, knowing well the deceptive ways of the faerie. Elvorix growls, but is in little shape to contest the matter.
Sir Iwan steps forward, and replies calmly; “Give me thy first test, beaver. Let us get this matter over-with.”
The beaver is clearly joyed to be part of this new game; it bounces a little in barely suppressed pleasure.; “The first test of Wit: A riddle!” he declares, pausing a moment for drama.
“When young, I’m sweet in the sun; when I’m middle-aged, I make you gay; old valued more than ever. What am I?”
The knights talk for some time, deliberating many options. They discuss the merits of “Youth”, and “Memory”, but find they fit imperfectly. Sir Vandar, knowing well the grapes of Toulouse, offers Sir Iwan the answer: Wine! Correct! The beaver takes some steps back along the dam.
“The second, a test of Wim: If I am to hold court in these lands, you must give me name which is suitable to the proper native lords of this realm.”
The knights look uncertainly at each other. Of these this realm? This river? The Forest of Gloom? Salisbury? England? There are no Lords of this realm, for no men live here. Mean he the realm of man? The knights are for a time confounded.
Sir Iwan, with consultation and confirmation from his companions, at length announces the following: "Then I name thee, Lord Cadwy, Beaver of Caerbannog!"
The beaver looks away thoughtfully for a moment… “Yes! I think that name will do."
It steps back farther.
He looks once more to Sir Iwan: “You have Wit, and you understand Wim. You may cross into my court… if you WILL.” He says, with unusual emphasis…
“But but but! Be warned: If you do, there will come a day when your first-born son will be called upon to pay a very heavy price. Choose now: Will or Won't.”
Iwan considers this deeply; he has come so far for Sir Vandagild, his good friend. The price this beaver asks is steep; but perhaps that problem can be solved in other ways, in its own time…
The handsome young knight stands tall, shoulders back, and confidently declares: “I WILL, Lord Cadwy of Caerbannog”
The Beaver smiles, it’s awful, bloodied teeth taking centre stage; "Very well! You have Wit, Wim, and you Will. You are free to enter my court, and retrieve anything you will from there. As much as I'm happy that you passed my tests, I would be lying if I said this was a pleasant encounter.”
Iwan mutters the same.
“Very
well! I will let you take what you wish from my court. If you're still here
when I get back, there will be a terrible gnashing of teeth! But worry not, I
will give you plenty of time.”
__________ Rescued and Reunited! __________
An overjoyed reunion! Vandagild is full of gratitude, and spares no time sharing it. He is sad to learn that his friends did not slay the monster, but pleased that he may one day have a chance to do so. He embraces his valient friends and lofty cousin. The group spend some time catching up on the missed events. Learning of the beaver’s tricks, and Iwan’s riddling is disconcerting to the Aquitanian.
“I believe I hath offered that creature my son” Iwan says dispassionately.
Vandagild swears, both profanity and an Oath; he promises that he, and his sons if necessary, will aid Iwan’s family with whatever trials come from this. Vandagild clutches Uvan warmly, learning that his lovely wife Catrin, Uvan’s sister, is well, and his fifth son healthy and hale.
Soon after, Sir Vandagild produces Sir Pellinore's whistle, and blows it; a clear tone emerges. The others raise questioning eyebrows, and the Aquitanian explains the source. Soon thereafter, the rumble of hooves, and a dog tethered to a steed. Sir Pellinore! He is still filthy, his armour almost rusty; green moss grows in his beard He rides forth to us, darting from the trees and slowing his steed as he approaches.
Sir Vandagild introduces the cursed man to his companions, and thanks him for coming. Pellinore shows some concern about the bridge, and asks what happened to it and the tower. Learning of the fateful duel, worry creeps onto his face.
Vandagild offers the tall man hospitality at his court, he owes him much and would love for him to meet his family. He declines, looking deeper into the strange Forest of Gloom, clearly pining for his hunt for Glatisant. Pressing further, Vandagild asks if he has any words or gifts for anyone at home? He would make such journeys as necessary to aid him; but the man asks nothing.
Father Perticus once more plies his healing skills on the injured; to the gratitude of the wounded men. Each gathers such belongings as he has, and they set off, led by the mounted Sir Pellinore and his faithful hound.
“Feel thee welcome to keep that whistle, what-what”, Pellinore calls back to the Aquitanian, “If once more ye find thyself in these lands, do thee blow it freely.”
“I thank thee once more. I hope one day to hunt with thee, but I first have family and loyalty to attend. Have thee some of your own?”
Pellinore smiles, and replies: "Why think thee I am here."
They
walk onward, and depart the Forest of Gloom.
__________
Image 1: Leopard, 12th Century, Folio 8 verso from the Aberdeen Bestiary, University of Aberdeen
Image 2:
Image 3: https://pikeknight.wordpress.com/2012/12/17/the-life-and-times-of-mr-quack-quack/evil-beaver/
King Arthur Pendragon
5.2
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