Tuesday Night Pendragon

Sir Trently continues the tale...

As if the choking dust between the City of Glass and the king's White Castle weren't bad enough, the darn road was booby-trapped! Phantoms kept appearing in the guise of crones, mysterious knights, friends and enemies, all posing challenges in order to prove our mettle. But we've adventured together many a mile, and even though one (or two or three) of us would slip up, the group was there to lend a hand. Also, fortunately, we never came across the Armoire of Modesty; that would have been difficult to pass.

Just before coming upon the White Castle, who should we see coming cross-country but...Sir Wim! Amazing! He completely missed the tomb, the City of Glass, the Trail of Chivalry, but was with us as we first laid eyes on the home of the Fisherman King, as he is called in these parts: a beautiful white castle (naturally), besieged by a large, dark army and burned fields. We debated how to enter the castle, since we were neither known to its lord and peoples nor expected, and had the not-insubstantial matter of opposing forces parked in front of the main gates. My squire, Count Garin, recognized some of the banners flying from the pavillions in the enemy encampment as belonging to the devil's son-in-law! By the paps of Saint Anne, we were stumped until our knightly sensibilities reasserted themselves and we decided to charge through the camp to the closest sally port, sure that those in the castle would recognize us a friends by our hacking and slashing of the enemy forces. As good a plan as any for men in armor.

The surprising thing is, we actually made it into the castle! Only Sir Wim took a major wound, but he stayed ahorse and so was saved, for once we were inside a handful of nuns dressed all in white took him into a chapel for care. The rest of us cleaned up and prepared to meet the lord of the castle. Who, it turns out, is gravely injured with a wound that constantly drips blood. Needless to say, it was a somber evening meal, despite Sir Galinors attempts at humor. Dame Brisen, a good woman in her way I suppose, scolded us for not helping the king—like we know how!—and sent us off to find the king's allies, to dissuade their enemies from joining the besieging army, and to find new allies if at all possible. We left the next day and found ourselves, somehow, at Castle Brandigan.

Because we only have until midsummer, we have decided to split up: Sir Galinors and Sir Leodigrance are riding to the City of Legions and taking ship for Castle Pleure; Sir Wim and Count Garin are heading to Carduel; Sir Berel is off to persuade King Carados not to join the devil in his unholy assault on the White Castle. I am riding pell-mell to Camelot.

Wish us luck!