Tuesday Night Pendragon

566: Denouement

2007-07-26T23:57:00.000-07:00

Lancrius here...

You've heard, I'm sure. How could you not?

But I'll tell you some things you probably haven't heard, though God knows enough rumors have been swirling around Salisbury in the months since.

One, I can tell you for sure, as sure as I'm sitting here, that Lancelot did come back at the end, and with every intent to succor the King. Anything anyone says to the contrary is false. It was I who showed him where the King fell, and where Mordred's body lay. And the look on his face no one can fake, not even someone as skilled at trickery as that traitor Mordred, or the Orkney lot (Gawain and Gareth excepted).

Sir Bors accompanied me to Stonehenge and helped me erect the memorial stone to King Arthur Pendragon. It was Bors who chose the words on the tombstone; he was always better at that sort of thing than I ever was. Once the stone was in place among the rest of Arthur's kin, we parted ways and I have not heard of him or his whereabouts since.

Lancelot I did hear of, though: my cousin Alinor, the Abbotess at Amesbury, sent me word that Lancelot had come by to see the Queen. Alinor said that Guenevere refused to leave the safety of the building, and only allowed Lancelot to speak to her through the closed and heavy oak door. Alinor did not say what their parting words were, only that their conversation was brief. No one has seen Lancelot since.

So, so many good men died that day...I don't want to talk about it. It is still too fresh.

In all the confusion of the aftermath, as I made my way from Stonehenge to Silchester, I neglected the wounds I received on the battlefield. I'm afraid that by the time I got to Father's bedside my leg was quite green. Father's doctor had it removed at the knee, and after a bit of the old touch and go, I recovered. One of Ragnar's Sussex men brought me Cynfyn's saddle, the one he got from my brother Clarian, and with that I'm able to ride tolerably well, though it does ache something fierce.

I left Reynald in charge of Silchester and rode with Elliott to Durnford with father in a litter. The old manor had really been ravaged in all the fighting, but we got it tidied up and installed Father in his old rooms. He died about a week later and we buried him in the old garden next to Lady Ysabet. He was aged 93.

A few months later the King's cousin Constantine came to visit me at Sarum. Earl Robert died last year, and with Elliott back in Silchester I was doing my best to keep things running smoothly in the old keep. Constantine had been appointed King, and asked me to be his Constable. I pointed out to him that I really wasn't much of a strategist, but he asked me if I had ever seen a second layer of cream form on a pail of milk already skimmed, so I accepted the appointment.

***

Now, this I have told to no one: not Father's old friend Bors, not Lancelot, not King Constantine. The pieces of body we buried under the tombstone at Stonehenge are not my lord Arthur's. On that terrible day, after the fighting was over and the corpses of men, horses, and monsters lay strewn from horizon to horizon, two figures stood amid the ruin: Arthur and Mordred. I was too far away to see if they spoke, but when Mordred speared the king, Arthur reached out, grabbed the shaft and pulled himself within striking distance of Mordred, whom he smote with Excalibur where the neck joins the shoulder. They both fell, and when I had reached them, I kicked Mordred's body and cursed it. And, to my surprise, my lord Arthur opened his eyes and spoke! He told me to take Excalibur and throw it in the lake and, when I had done so, asked me to carry him to the shore. It was difficult with my leg, but I managed, then stood there dumb while a barge with six women in mourning clothes took Arthur's body onto the barge and glided off into the mist.

Arthur told me that if I threw Excalibur into the water he would return. But it's been over a year now, another man wears his crown, and he hasn't returned. Part of me thinks he died of his wounds, but another part...people thought I was dead but I was only in Faerie. We thought Monroe was dead twice, but he was in Faerie both times. Part of me wants to believe that Arthur is in Faerie, too, and will come back to us someday.

I should like to see him again before I die.

Lancrius, a knight of Salisbury.

565: This is The End

2007-07-26T23:41:00.000-07:00

Sir Monroe checks in

The four of us—Sir Bradwyn, Sir Cynfyn, my brother and I—were in high spirits as we rode off from the Duke de la ROUSse's manor. We joked that Cynfyn should perhaps add tiny mouse-ears alongside the bull horns adorning his shield or, if that was too confusing, perhaps affix the ears to his helm...we took a bend in the path and it seemed to me and the others that we were in Camelot-wood in the southern reaches of Salisbury, not Anglia. Before we could become overly concerned our attention was taken up with a large body of riders overtaking us on the road east. Brother suggested getting OFF the road, but that most upright and respectible of knights Sir Bradwyn, son of the Great Duke, would have none of that and instead hailed the group as they came within earshot.

The riders halted and we were hailed in return by a voice most rustic and uncouth...Sir Doon! mounted on the largest destrier I have ever seen, and encased in what seemed solid steel armor. We pressed forward, raising our helms so that he might recognize us. He did, somewhat incredulously, but when the men with him then asked "Baron Doon, do you know these men?" it was all we could do to stay in our saddles. Baron Doon?! And he looked aged, and smaller than I remember. Quite a bit smaller. Gerin the Weaker was there, and Sir Tulga and a knight who turned out to be little Ragnar, Leo's boy, all grown up and dressed as a knight. In a rush they told us that we hadn't been seen or heard of in twenty-one years. Twenty-one years! By the pickled balls of St Alban! They also said that:

Lamorak was dead at the hands of the Orkneys...
The Orkneys were all dead at the hands of Lancelot;
The King had spent the last two years on the Continent warring against Lancelot and his cousins (including Bors!), because...
Lancelot had been caught defaming the King in the person of the Queen and had fled with her to Ganis lands...
Lancelot had returned the Queen, whom the King welcomed with open arms;
Our friends Doon, Gerin, and Ragnar were the outriders of the King's returning army, headed for war in Camelot because...
Loholt was dead [at this Lancrius let out a cry and began to weep]...
Mordred was declared the King's natural son...
Mordred had attempted to usurp the throne of Logres while Arthur was away on the Continenet and was now holed up in London.

We rode with our old comrades as fast as we could toward Camelot.

***

Neither Bradwyn nor I had any news of our families. No word from the Great Duke or Father, though the King said that Mordred had been assassinating enemies, and he said that both men were quite aged, and that Father was taken to his bed these past few years, with the running of Silchester county in the lands of my brother Elliott. Poor Bradwyn had no way of knowing whether his family lands—nay, his family!—was intact, as there was some dissent about inheritance even before Bradwyn disappeared into Faerie. But the King seemed somewhat heartened at our unexpected return, and had messengers sent out to those lords still loyal to him to announce that he had returned, and to muster all available troops. In a few days we had our answers: the Great Duke still lived and was riding south at the head of his army, and my brother-in-law Reynald was marching south with Silchester and Robert with Salisbury.

We also learned on that hurried ride that Mark of Cornwall had, a decade ago, invaded Salisbury, nearly taking Camelot but for the heroic defense of the castle by good old Sir Leodigrance the Lesser and Sir Clydno, who saved the day with his family's relic, the finger of St Alban, but that both had perished in the effort. All of us were sore grieved to hear that news. Both were good men, and Leodigrance was well-loved in these parts. He might not have been the best battlefield general, but his way with his fellow knights and the men-at-arms under him was unequaled. A great gift for choosing the right man for the job. We could really have used his skills for this contest!

That night his son Ragnar had a dream in which Sir Gawain appeared to him, imploring him to warn the King not to march out and meet Mordred on the morrow, but to wait a few days as Lancelot was on the way with an army from Ganis.

Ragnar looks uncannily like Lady Raeburgh, and has developed her unfortunate taste in axes to an art. He told me he even prefers to wield that great axe of his on foot rather than fight from horseback! Fortunately, he appears to not have followed her taste for alcohol.

We rode toward Camelot two days later, with the King determined to parley a delay.

***

The Battle of Camlann

Some quotes from the battle:

"Gawain is surrounded by happy people..."
"He must be in Gwaelod."

"Ohh...we're fighting faerie knights."
"Does my book of law help me here?"

"Oh...9 on 4d6."
"Wait—that was a crit. You roll double dice."
"That was double dice."

Player: "Can I inspire myself with my Loyalty (Arthur) here?"
Other players: "Oh, save it. There's worse stuff coming, believe me."
Player: "Well, okay...ooh, 20. Fumble."
GM: "Ooh! I crit!"
Other players: "Sorry."

"53 points? I need chirugery just to be presentable in a coffin."
"You need a seamstress."

Sir Monroe one last time

Wow, what an incredible collection of riff-raff assembled under that traitor's banner. When the parley went badly, most of the men rallied 'round Arthur to get him to safety, but with a look Lancrius and I, and wild-eyed Cynfyn, charged Mordred. I would have happily been hacked to pieces if I could have gotten that son-of-a-bitch. But his men got between us and we could only thin their ranks before the armies clashed all around us. We fought Welsh bowmen, Welsh "knights," Irish kerns (always!), Cornish knights, Malahautian footmen, Saxon berzerkers, Genoese crossbowmen, trolls...and damn, look at that, Uno, the last son of Ulfius, the Original Logres Traitor. He and Ragnar went at it most fiercely, and I'm sad to say that it was Ragnar's lifeless body that hit the ground first. That's the way of the world sometimes, but then I rode that sorry excuse for a man down and lopped his head from his shoulders, finally finishing what dear Leodigrance, Marshall, son-in-law, friend, started so well those many years ago.

At one point we got off the field to patch ourselves up, remount and regroup before heading to the front lines again when a sad event occured on this day full of sadness. Bradwyn had been off his mark after engaging the footmen, as though the passion had gone out of his fight, when both Belias and Gerin the Weaker had attempted to rally his spirits. Instead, Bradwyn very quietly stood up and thrust at his cousin with his sword! Even worse, marvellous Uren the Timely at that point interposed himself among the three and took the blow meant for Gerin. Poor Gerin's reunion with his father was to hold him dying in his arms as the Great Duke's usually stalwart and pious son ran off screaming Lady Cliane's name.

We suited up and rode to the front, weeping at this terrible scene of a family wrenched apart, to engage with a pack of five-headed dogs.

Sir Doon writes to his companions...

2007-07-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

It be te year 564 in of Our Lord Jesu Christ to Camelot an udder partes be this lettre tayke.

Oy thar Hounds!

I hope this lettre fynds ye well and whole. A ten year a come synce I last heerd of ye an I been busy. I took the good Sir Bradwen's example and kilt all te cats and sprayed ther bloode on me fields and won'tcha know it worked! Fields bloom ryte quick after tha, so now we have a new plantynge tradition here at Black Hills called The Cattin'. Priest got his loincloth all knotted up o'er it, but he eats the bread and drinks the beer, so he hasn't a ryte te be fussy, like.

Me ladye, the Goodlye Alyce of Crediton, been breedin' pups like a champion. Now I gots six children, and I'm proud te say tha I've a third son, whom I named Leodigrance after my former sponser and friend, and when he grows he'll be the Knight of the White Hen. I'll miss Peck, but she'll lay the tin anew for him. Bless the littl' chick.

I'm havin' the priest scratch this here lettre to tell ye that I'm throwin me support behynde King Arthur and am musterynge for next summer. I hope ye will be thar te meete and togethyr we'll fyte that bastarte Mordred. He tryd te levy troops and taxes from Devon, beyond our yearly tribute, an we ain't hearin none of tha. Arthur's our man.

You'll see me hort unner the Banner of te Whyte Hen as usual, but look for Black Hills on a Green Field an you'll fyn us. Looks like two black tits, like. Ye canna miss it.

Evver yer Doon.

561: the Queen accused!

2007-07-26T23:24:00.000-07:00

Elliott here

Father continues to fuss and grump at all the servants and family who come to visit. Sister Oriana has been a sweetheart though and soothes things over. Without her bounteous charms and warm heart I should be all alone and bereft of family. But really, I can understand why he goes on like he does. I have seen few men of action that can stand to be laid up or confined for any length of time.

Shortly after Pentecost Reynaud and Ragnar came tearing through with dreadful news: my lady the good queen Guenevere stood accused of trying to poison Sir Mordred! And, since her champion Sir Lancelot was gone no one knew where, was due to be burnt at the stake by May. I wasn't there, I don't know what transpired, but I cannot image the king letting this happen! Or any good knight.

We are all of us praying for Sir Lancelot's speedy return.

560: A Pox?! Don't Want!

2007-07-26T23:20:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer fusses

Damn it all to hell!

I caught a cowpox from one of the maids, and got deathly ill. I recovered, barely, but am still to weak to get out of bed. It's been months and I still feel awful—and she wasn't even that good a lay!

Drat it all. I hate lying here day in and day out, useless and old and alone. Why did Monroe have to ride off and take Lancrius with him! Every son of mine who was ever knighted is dead. Monroe is dead, my granddaughter Rosemeade is dead, even Zenobia, Monroe's illegitimate daughter (shut up in a nunnery all these years) is dead of the plague...oh, it makes me weep. Rosemeade's little one, her one and only son with young Leodigrance, is the only issue of Monroe still alive. As the autumn closed in I sent word to my lord the good and just king Arthur to confirm little Raymond as my heir under the regency of Earl Robert.

I wish Ebble was alive.

We heard that Brian attacked Lindsay and Malahaut; Leo would have liked that.

559: Feeling old. Again.

2007-07-26T23:16:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer pines

That Brian, who's been raiding here and there on the borders of my lord Arthur Pendragon's kingdom, this spring struck in Anglia. Oh, how I wish I could go out and kick his ass! But all the companions of my youth are dead save one, the Great Duke, whom I have not seen since the battle before the gates of Sarum four years past.

Another damp winter, another round of fevers, this time striking my daughter and new daughter-in-law. Both recovered, though one of the little ones did not.

Sir Bors came back. Reynaud and I are riding to court next week to hear his tale.

558: Nice horse!

2007-07-26T23:12:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer grimaces

I hatespending winters in Silchester city! That place is always damp. But there you have it: I had work to do and I stayed until I couldn't ride out on my own, and there caught a fever. I am too old for that nonsense. And to make it worse, my daughter Oriana was there to help care for me now that I have no wife and am too ugly to get another (despite my wealth and charm), and her little one, never the healthiest of babies, succumbed to the same fever and died. What a shame, especially since Lady Ernestine, Elliott's young wife, is with child.

And despite it all at Christmas court we had promised a tournament, so a tournament we had, there at Silchester. Those knights who came back from the grail quest last year attended, as did many of the young knights my lord king Arthur promoted to the round table in place of those who'd perished. It went well I suppose, and the prize was a very fine destrier, a liver chestnut trained to fight. I saw that horse kick a groom once in the stable and break both the boy's legs! Caught him on the side of the leg, and broke 'em both.

Needless to say I was not allowed to ride him.

Oh! And we had a good enough of a harvest that I was able to pull some coin together and get more siege equipment. I love the smell of grease and oakwood!

557: Easy come, easy go

2007-07-26T23:08:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer explains

My boy Elliott, my steward and right-hand man these many years, has been working like a dog to get Silchester and our lands in Salisbury back in production. He's done a mighty fine job of it. It was rough there for awhile, especially after his little daughter died just after the new year. A skittish horse, and she landed on her head, they say. Snapped her neck. What a pity, she was full of vigor, that one. He tried to blame me for letting her ride a horse beyond her abilities. The nerve! And after he's confined me to geldings. Oh, I gave him what for. Our shouting made all the little ones cry.

At Pentecost he apologized and we were reconcilled. At court, my lord Arthur announced that he'd found Elliott a suitable wife (at my asking), a lovely maid from the southern part of Salisbury, near Portchester, to be his third wife. I'm afraid he takes after me in that regard. They married midsummer. We all needed a bit of a celebration. The king and queen were there, gracing us with their presence: we really pulled the stops out on that one. The party went on for days! Feasts, a tournament, even a court of love for the ladies and the softer gents. And a county fair for the peasants. My daughter Oriana and her husband, good Sir Reynauld were there with their newborn—another daughter, naturally!

The king looks better than he's looked in a long time.

In the fall we received the shocking news that Lyonesse sank beneath the waves! Everybody in the hall cheered at first, thinking it was part of Mark's demesne, then we found out it was the homeland of Sir Tristram. Oops.

556: Just like the old days

2007-07-26T23:05:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer laments

I admit: I have more pride than the churchmen say is good for my soul...but sweet Jesu! it sure does a body good.

That damn Cornishman's invasion hurt us, hurt us bad. If it hadn't been for the meager surpluses in Silchester and Sussex we would have had famine in Salisbury. Famine! It was never so bad, even during the chaotic years after Uther's death, with those Saxon princelings gorging at our tables while they waited for us to knuckle under...ha! They've had a long wait, those dogs.

So: disaster averted thanks to the neighboring counties. Not enough to replentish my stocks of siege equipment; that will have to wait til next year. Shortly before Pentecost court—my first visit to Camelot for the year as I had absolutely no time during Christmas—during a rare quiet moment, my lord Arthur and I looked over the Round Table. Fifty-four seats whose men, good knights all, will never come home. All for a silly cup! What a waste. I didn't say that, of course: Arthur takes that much more seriously than I. But while we were discussing relief supplies, he turned to me and said he was glad of his leniency with me and my castle-building obsession. I know many have advised my lord Arthur over the years to tear down the many manorial fortifications I've made before and during his reign, but this is the first time he's ever said that to me, that he was glad I did it. It was just the two of us sitting there; no one else heard it, but it warmed this old heart, and made me feel young again.

Sir Doon writes to the Archbishop of Canterbury...

2007-07-26T22:59:00.000-07:00

In te year of Our Lorde 556, to Canterbury be this lettre tayke.

To the Ryte Worshippful Lord Bishop of Canterbury, I am Sir Doon of Devon, Lord of the Manor of the Black Hills, still Knight of the Whyte Hen, liegeman of the Goodly Kynge Erbin of Devon, and lykequise servant of Kyng Arthur.

I'm writin te ask wha's all this business wit te Holy Grail. Me priest is all goggle-eyed and says its a cup of Jesu blood or some such. Whats so specyal about it? I get me fill of Jesu blood at leas two, mebbe, three tymes a week at Mass. An I eat Jesu, like a Goodly Christian aut. I think its better to eat Jesus first then drink his bloode, caus if'n its the other way around, ye get dry mouth.

Anyhoo, me priest says I aut to go on Quest for the Jesu cup, but truth be tol I'm a bit busy at te moment. I got a new wyfe and two girls te look after, and te lands still sluggish. Is it all ryte that I stay home and eat n drink Jesus on me own? Can I stell git te heaven?

Your humble servant,

Doon of Devon

555: Salisbury invaded!

2007-07-26T22:58:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer fumes

During the gentle spring rains I received word from my liege Earl Robert that I was urgently needed for a council in Sarum. The reason? That misbegotten son of a three-legged cob! Mark, who styles himself king, was marching east at the head of an army. The Earl had read to me missives describing how Devon had been overrun, and intelligence reports from scouts indicating that this vast army was headed toward Somerset. I can only assume he means to overrun the Pendragon's breadbasket, fertile Salisbury. Our county's fine marshall, young Leodigrance, advised raising Salisbury troops as well as asking our old allies Marlborough, Rydachan, and Gloucester for aid, plus raising troops in areas where we have strong land-holding ties. Earl Robert, a wonderful liege but no strategist, handed the defence of the county over to Leodigrance, and the messages were duly sent.

I was pleased to see my dear old friend, the great Duke Bellengere himself, riding into Sarum at the head of an army of Gloucester and Rydachan knights and men-at-arms. We haven't seen each other in many years, and while we are both older, the bonds of affection are still strong. I sent word to muster Silchester's troops and bring them to Sarum. Sadly, the Lady Cleena of Marlborough rebuffed our call for aid, something I'm sure that is making her uncle Charles roll unhappily in his grave.

We have a good strong army, but it's small. So many men have left on that stupid grail quest, others are lost, or dead (oh, my sons!), others ignored the call. But it is a quality army: I have done my part over the years to bring the Silchester knights up to the level of a knight of Salisbury, and I believe I've done my job well. Young Leodigrance has seen, over the years, to the maintaining of emergency provisions, so we are well-victualed, and I have salted away enough siege equipment over the years that we should be in good shape if it comes down to that.

We've sent out scouting parties under the leadership of young Leodigrance to assess the situation.

Sir Vonne, a knight of Sussex, reports

Well, when the word came in from the marshall Sir Leodigrance the Lesser to muster at Baverstock, away in Salisbury, me and those of the boys still at the Earl of Sussex's court got leave to march away west to the marshall's aid.

We weren't at the big castle long before Sir Leodigrance took a handful of us out on a reconnaissance party. We soon enough encountered the leading edge of King Mark's army, and found it to be made up of not only King Mark's own Cornishmen, but Irishmen and Brittans, too. A sizeable force, they say. We skirmished with a band of archers and some Cornish knights, whom a man called Sir Doon almost single-handedly slaughtered. Unfortuantely, Sir Leodigrance's son, Sir Ragnar, took a serious wound. Almost a death-blow! Sir Leodigrance took several prisoners back to Sarum, though I think he cut our mission short over concern for his son. Natural enough, as they are quite close, though most of the Sussex men fear Sir Ragnar. Too much like his mother.

Count Mortimer advises

Well, we now know that Somerset is overrun, and that the army is heading this way. They have some devilry with them the Cornish call a "canon." I don't know what this churchman does, but he certainly did a number on the walls of Wells. I suppose now I'll see just how well I did on Sarum's walls.

Argh! We have received word from my lord Pendragon King Arthur to bring our troops to the aid of Camelot, which is also under threat of Mark's armies, and is sorely underprotected as most of her knights are questing, lost, or dead. There was great confusion and gnashing of teeth in Earl Robert's council chamber: what to do? If we leave, Sarum will certainly fall and Salisbury be plundered. But can we disobey the King and not come to his aid when we have the power to do so?

In the end, I decided that my first loyalty lay with Earl Robert and the people of Salisbury, but Leodigrance and Bellengere and their men said they must answer the call of the Pendragon. Half of Salisbury's knights stayed behind, and all of Silchesters, but the knights of Gloucester and Rydachan, and the other half of our local boys marched to the second jewel of Salisbury, Camelot.

Sir Vonne reports

We Sussex men followed Sir Leodigrance to Camelot. A few days after we arrived, we were surrounded by a sea of Cornishmen. They were riding high, too, because in their midst was their diabolical canon, black and mounted on a large wagon, painted with mystical signs and attended to by scores of acolytes. Much to my surprise, instead of hunkering down for a long siege, or riding out to fight in the fields surrounding Camelot, Sir Leodigrance told us to prepare for a night raid. Hmm.

Count Mortimer weeps

We know that Mark's army is provisioning itself off the land as it goes, then burning what it does not take. With heavy heart, my men and I rode out Sarum's gates and burned our own lands ahead of Mark's army. We are destroying everything we cannot move into the castle walls. Oh, the gardens of Durnford! Forgive me, Ysabet.

Sir Vonne reports

We were ready to ride, all twenty of us, in the hours just after midnight. We waited and waited some more before someone finally ran off to get Sir Leodigrance. I don't know what the hold-up was.

But we rode out, and the Cornishmen weren't expecting a night sortie, so we met with little opposition...until we approached the diabolical canon. That was heavily guarded. We finally hacked our way through, though we left behind many comrades. I could not tell what was happening in the confusion and the dark, but at one point I saw Sir Clydno rip his most holy relic off the chain on which it hung around his neck, stand up in his stirrups and shout, "No good for me in life, serve me now in death O holy St Albans!" and he flung the finger into the maw of the diabolical canon. I then heard popping sounds as men with torches rode 'round...the next thing I know I was flying through the air in slow-motion, deaf and twirling like a leaf caught in an autumn breeze. I hit the turf hard and lay there dazed while pieces of horse, man, and the wagon under the diabolical canon landed around me. Then I passed out.

When I woke up, days later, I was told that our sortie had managed the destruction of the diabolical canon though it cost us the lives of most of our party. Sir Leodigrance was dead (sob!), as well as Sir Clydno. They say it was the saintly finger that in the end overcame the devil's evil canon, and I believe them. Those of us that lived, Arthur showered praise upon, and we are now, I can scarcely believe it, knights of the Round Table!

Count Mortimer sums up

Well, they could not breach the walls, though the fighting at times was tough. And we made enough sorties to keep them on their toes, though we did not have the troops to repulse them...until reinforcements came up from the south and we were able to crush them between our two armies. Oh, was I happy to see Bellengere! After we had cleared the field he told me of young Leo's heroics in the fields outside Camelot. That boy was some knight, and I will miss him sorely.

***
Later that year, owing to the scarcity in the lands, my daughter Oriana's little son died, damn Mark to hell! I hate King Mark with a passion. The stress sent Oriana to her bed. And my son Elliott's wife...died in childbirth!

Sir Doon writes to his companions...

2007-07-26T22:57:00.000-07:00

In the year of our Lord 555, to Camelot and Othyr Partes be this lettre tayke.

Oy thar, Hounds! It's me yer Doon. A long time te say Haloo!

I n'ere did git te say me sorries for leavin' y'uns. I hope ye killed te Kynge of Cats and that Goode Sir Bradwen's lands are ryte agin. I'm not sure how killin' a cat will make te crops grow, tho killin' cats is goodly fun. In Devon we kill yearlins, the wee calfs, and sprinkle te blood on the fields, like. Priest says we should na do it, but everyone knows it'll work. Hmm. Maybe I'll trys a cat next plantynge.

So, I'm writynge te let ye know that I'm now Lorde of te Manor of te Black Hills. My bruvver Madoc wert kilt at te Battle of Wells and his missus, God bless her, died of te shock. They's got two wee girl pups, which I'll take as me own. Been sad fer manye months now. I got no bruvvers left so I'm alone, but Kynge Erbin says he's gonna fix me up with a ryte ladye from Devon so tha I kin rut me sads away.

Oy Hounds it bin a bloodye mess here in Devon. Whole countryeside wasted by Cornishmen and Irish. Luckye tha our Manors up in te Hills and wert passed bye for te moste parte. I had te kill scores of reivers an udder scum. Wert wounded a ryte bit, but now I'm mend. Manors na doin' so good, tho. Nuffin's grown, but I been buyin' food and stores for us and te villages here abouts. How're your lands fairin'? I hears its a same in moste partes.

I miss our manye goode tymes together and hope we sees each te other soon.

Your Doon.

554: Claptrap and Other Ill Tidings

2007-07-26T22:51:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer grumps

At Pentecost feast an apparition of the Holy Grail appeared. The religious knights made such a fuss that soon the whole hall was clamoring for a quest. What rubbish! But would anyone listen to reason? No. The round table positively emptied of knights, and many of the younger knights from the lower tables as well, vowed to take up the hunt for this magical cup. All that food, gone to waste. The servants ate well that week, that's for sure.

Did I go? Are you kidding me? I admit, when Lady Betty passed away I spent some time in the chapel, but I'm no fool to run off half-cocked on some quest for a cup, even Jesus's cup. A lance, a sword, a horse, a mission: that is all a knight ever needs. I spent the rest of the week at court gaming with the pagan knights in attendance.

Later that year my son Elliott's new wife had a son, but a flu swept through Silchester, making me ill and killing two of Oriana's daughters.

553: Orkney Revenge

2007-07-26T22:46:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer says

They say the grave of Sir Lamorak was found. Sad news, indeed. He was a fine young man.

Everything north of Lindsay is wasteland.

My daughter Oriana finally has a son!

552: Something is Amiss

2007-07-26T22:43:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer muses

My lord and emperor, Arthur Pendragon, looks like shit. He looks worse than me! But he isn't talking, at least to me.

Also, this spring, Oriana's eldest daughter was crushed by a cart and died.

551: Family Matters

2007-07-26T22:36:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer recounts

Well, well. My daugher Oriana and her husband Sir Reynald of Oxford, had another daughter. Four girls now! Reynald was looking positively worried when I mentioned paying for all those wedding feasts, ha! They came by shortly after Oriana delivered to lend a hand at the tournament. Yes, I know, I still think they're poppycock, but somehow the queen talked me into it during Christmas court last year. I don't know what I was thinking, but Reynald and Elliott were superb organizers. We had for a prize a ladies litter trimmed in red samite, with four white sumpters in matching red samite caprisons. Very nice. Of course, that Sir Lancelot fellow won it and promptly turned it over to the queen, but it was a fitting prize for such a beautiful and gracious lady, if I do say so myself.

Hmm, do you know what the buzz was during the tournament at Windsor? That my lord King Arthur Pendragon has another son. Yes, yes! Unfortunately, this new son turns out to be that layabout Sir Mordred, a fact confirmed by young Lancelot. Poor Arthur! If any of my boys acted in the fashion of Mordred, I would tan their hides, arthritic knees be damned!

Sir Loholt would have made a much better king than Mordred ever will.

550: So Lucky!

2007-07-26T22:24:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer gushes

A very special year for me: I turned seventy-seven years old! The entire family gathered at the family seat of Durnford for a party: my sons Elliott (with his son and new wife!) and Orestes, my daughters Anabel and Clarissa, my son-in-law Roderick and their children, daughter Oriana and her husband and three daughters, nephew Clarian and niece Emma with their families, my great-niece Brienne, Leodigrance the Lesser and his son by my granddaughter Rosemeade, Altis of Bedegraine and the children (you know, my granddaughter Zenobia's husband and children). Plus well-wishers Bellengere, Griflet, Bors, Lady Cleena...there must have been fifty, sixty guests all told. Baker Tom, from Winterhaven Stoke, made the most marvelous cake in the shape of Silchester's keep. We had a great time dismantling it, especially the ladies and young ones!

Do you know, I've had five wives and fifteen children, eight of them sons. I attribute it to my zest for life.

The downside of 77? My arthritis is killing me. I'm okay in the summer, but come fall, when the bad weather sets in, I can barely hobble up and down the stairs, much less ride. The king and queen held Christmas court at the new castle at Sarum this year, and it was all I could do to attend. It took four days of hot compresses and those delicious hot toddies Earl Robert's man makes for me to recover from the journey.

549: Doldrums

2007-07-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer says

The king is looking terrible, and he hardly seems to spend any time with the queen. I spent most of the summer away from court, attending to matters at home and in Silchester. I even rode north with dear Elliott to inspect our lands in Hertford and Lonazep, though it was quite a long journey for me. I was happy to return home and spend a few weeks recuperating in Durnford. It's a comfort to me to sit at times in the garden next to my wife's grave and listen to the wind, and the birds.

548: Loholt returns home

2007-07-26T22:02:00.001-07:00

Count Mortimer relates

I was chatting with Earl Robert before heading down to Pentecost court. He said that, last year, an invasion force of French landed in Cornwall, followed shortly by another of...I believe he called them Sara-mens. From Spain or some such. Ha! I bet Mark wished he'd paid his taxes now.

Anyway. Another of my lord Arthur's customs at Pentecost is to not only hold it at Camelot, but to start the proceedings with some little show—some of the younger knights call them "miracles." The miracle this year? I remember my son Lancrius telling me about Logrin the giant, who apparently wouldn't stay dead. He and his fellows rode north several times at the request of a charming young lady, killed this giant and rode home, only to hear over the winter that he was back and still rapacious as ever. Well, this year at court the lady with the giant problem, a Lady Jeanette, shows up with a small chest. I was actually gaming in the back of the hall and missed most of this, but they say that the chest contained a severed head, and that the chest could only be opened by the man who had separated the head from its rightful body. Of all the knights assembled, it apparently was that old blowhard Sir Kay who got the chest open. I know that because Kay upset our gameboard rushing out of the hall. I got up to see what the commotion was all about and saw my good and right lord King Arthur weeping upon his throne, staring into a small wooden chest...containing the head of his son, the good Sir Loholt!

That was the last any of us saw of Sir Kay.

There was no feast that night; rather, the king and his closest advisors held a vigil in St Stephen's, and three days later all the knights in Camelot escorted the king and queen and the head of Sir Loholt to the grounds in Salisbury where lie the bodies of Uther Pendragon, his son Prince Madoc, and King Arthur's oldest son, Sir Borre. The head was interred; I hear that an honor guard rode north with the Lady Jeanette to recover the rest of the good prince's body and bring it home.

***

Summer in Salisbury—indeed, much of the southern lands, from Dorset to Kent—was stinking hot, the hottest summer I can remember. Oh, it was miserable! The very air felt turgid and putrescent. It's no wonder a fever spread. The commoners are calling it the vlad velen, or Yellow Plague: the husband of my oldest sister's daughter died, as did my younger brother Lancrius, his son's two young children, and my cousin Caius's wife. What a shame.

547: Old Sarum's New Castle

2007-07-26T21:53:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer beams

Folk have stopped asking during the New Year's festivities, Where will King Arthur hold Pentecost court this year, because the answer is always the same: Camelot. Don't get me wrong! I'm very proud of Camelot. It's a lovely castle, and the queen loves her gardens and terrazos. The public waterworks and sanitation controls are working beyond my expectations, I am also pleased to admit.

But Camelot I was able to build from the ground up (seeing as how the old Marshall and I had burned it to the ground repeatedly during the Troubles, there wasn't much to clutter the canvas). But when Earl Robert approached me a number of years back about doing a redesign of Sarum's keep...well, I not only had the storied history of Sarum to honor, but a fairly crowded landscape in which to work. It presented its own set of problems. It took longer than I expected, though some of that I attribute to bouts of illness. But now it's done, and on May Day the Earl hosted a tournament at new Sarum Castle to show it off. Earl Robert called it the "finest in the realm" and he was not the only one to express such a sentiment. I am so proud!

The king and queen were there, of course, sitting with the earl and countess in the royal box, along with myself, Leodigrance the Marshall, and a few other Salisbury notables, when we got a special treat. Unbeknownst to me, Cardenio, my head mason, had commissioned a waterspout bearing my likeness and that of Ebble, Leodigrance, young Count Charles, the Lady Ellen and Duke Roderick, Duke Bellengere—heroes of the Troubles that ended when my lord Arthur became Pendragon and king of the realm. I was touched, I admit. I wish dear Monroe and Lancrius had been there to see it as well.

Speaking of Monroe, his lands in Lonazep are faring poorly, and this summer I received word at Silchester that little Zenobia, Monroe's bastard daughter, died in childbirth. I think my boys must be dead, too. If I have no word of them by this winter, I shall have my son and steward Elliott make arrangements to pass control of Figsbury from Lancrius's people to my daughter Anabel and her husband, young Roderick. You know, Sir Ebble's boy.

That scoundrel Mark is not paying his taxes as he should. I'd give him an attitude adjustment...my lord Arthur has only to say the word! It's not like I don't know his castles inside and out. Hmpf! I spent enough time in their dungeons.

546: Where Are My Sons?!

2007-07-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

Count Mortimer groans

Took a fall off horseback, one of those fancy coursers from the Continent; Sir Bors gave it to me as a gift. My son and steward Elliott has now forbidden me to ride stallions, saying I must content myself with geldings! Drat that upstart youngster.

Elliott also tells me that Monroe's manor-lands up in Lonazep are faring poorly, as is much of the north. He says some lords are holding "food tournaments" now, where the knights pony up grain or herd animals in order to compete. Poor management, I say.

No word from my boys Monroe or Lancrius. I hope they haven't gotten tangled up in Sir Lamorak's troubles.

545: Show Me The Money

2007-07-26T21:29:00.000-07:00

[We have to cover, oh, twenty-one years of game time before next week's session, which will be this group's last. So the posts are gonna come fast and furious over the next few days. I'm hoping some of the other players amend what I put up to include what's happening in their corners of Logres, and to their characters.—Suzanne]

Count Mortimer says

Drat those boys! I am surprised and a bit disappointed that they spent the winter away from home. I was hoping for their help this winter, as again I was laid low by illness. A few weeks before Pentecost, I answered the call put out by my Lord Arthur for his round-table knights to assemble, even though I was still feeling poorly. We escorted Mark to Cornwall and rode back to Camelot with wagons upon wagons of ransom for poor, hapless Sir Doon.

The summer I mostly spent in upkeep on my Lord Arthur's many castles in this part of the kingdom. The salt air can really do a number on mortar if it is not looked after properly, especially in those castles whose construction I did not supervise. Oh, you may save a little up front in construction costs, but shoddy workmanship will get you down the road in repair bills, believe me.

Lady Elaine, my son Elliot's wife and daughter to young Leodigrance, who was ill last year of a womanly fever, succumbed this fall. She was with child again, and the strain was apparently too much for the young lady. Because we were in mourning we missed the marvel of the Green Knight at Christmas court; Sir Griflet tells me it was quite something.

544 cont'd: The King of Cats

2007-07-26T19:52:00.000-07:00

Sir Monroe speaks

Everyone in polite speech is calling him the Pendragon's guest, but from the side of one's mouth people in Camelot know King Mark is Arthur's prisoner. Mark was even forced to swear allegience to Arthur at a fancy banquet held in Mark's, ah, honor. And everyone knows it's Sir Doon who will reap vast rewards when this guest delivers his ransom next Pentecost feast. Court ladies are as thick as ticks on Doon, who looks most of the time like he doesn't know quite what to do.

Sir Tor's tournament circuit was shortened by an impromptu tourney here at Camelot, dubbed the Friendship Tournament. It was round-table knights versus the rest of us, and us hounds did respectably well, though not to the level we reached earlier this year. Still. Oh, and it was won—both joust and melee—by a mystery knight all in red who turned out to be Sir Lamorak. Huzzah! I thought he must have perished by now, there being no word of him for quite some time. He quit the field before collecting the prize, but the hounds and I were hot on his heels for I greatly desired to speak with him. My near-death at the hands of those I suspect to be behind the grievous murder of King Pellinore and the unfilled nature of my quest therein still torment me. We caught up to him and in the delay our speech caused, other of Arthur's men surrounded us and forced Lamorak to return to the castle.

For the rest of the day I kept an eye out for him, but everyone was on their best behaviour. However, during the feast that night, I noticed Lamorak had slipped away—then I realized that so had Gaheris of Orkney! I had squire Aggrovain search the stables for Lamorak's horse—gone. I determined to ride off and make sure he was okay. Brother noticed my distress and, quickly gathering the rest of the hounds, met Aggrovain and I at the stables and off we rode.

Sir Cynfyn picked up their outside the city. We rode hard and caught up to him, only to have him tell us he was fleeing lest enemies overtake him. He didn't need to elaborate. We told him we'd keep these enemies off his tail, and I urged him to ride to Father for assistance. Lamorak didn't reply, but rode off to the east in haste.

Shortly after our parting we saw a small hunting lodge as one often finds in this part of Salisbury, with a pair of horses tethered by the open door. Sir Bradwyn, a fine judge of horseflesh, recognized one of the mounts as belonging to Gaheris. We entered the lodge and saw...well. We first noticed a lot of blood, then the naked corpse of a headless woman, then a man, his back to us, sobbing on his knees by the wall. Upon hearing us enter, the man turned around and stood up: Gaheris. Just about the time we noticed the head and realized who the woman must be, Gaheris admitted to killing her: Queen Morgauwse, his own mother! It was quite a shock. He tried to run out, but we overpowered him and dragged his sorry ass back to Camelot and the King's justice.

The reaction at court was predictable.
"This is unspeakable!" That was Sir Kay.
"Yes. However, we need to speak to somebody..." That was Sir Bradwyn. Sir Kay had the body taken to St Stephen's, and we told the king what had happened, how Gaheris had raised his sword and struck off the head of the king's own sister in one fell stroke. I described it exactly.

After a few weeks of the rumor mill swirling around us at court, King Arthur asked us to leave! We weren't 86'd, but he said he wanted things to "quiet down" and thought that if we went out adventuring it would help matters. So we hounds—Lancrius, Bradwyn, Cynfyn, Doon, Gerin the weaker, and myself—decided to track down this king of cats. Lancrius explained it to me one night over supper: Bradwyn was told by an old hag of Faerie that he needs to kill the king of cats in order to lift the curse on his (and his very upset brother's!) lands brought on by killing, apparently, the mouse-queen of Faerie. Well, if there's one thing my years in Faerie taught me, it's do not meddle with the Fair Folk. So off we went, all of us except Gerin, who was, ah, busy making the rounds with the ladies.

I admit, privately, that I had serious reservations about this undertaking. It's easier to get into Faerie than out of it, and I did not want to lead my brother into such a mess. Yes, my brother. I don't know how the Father finagled it, but riding out with him and Lancrius and Leodigrance that spring day was the best thing I've done in, oh, so many years. The more I rode with Lancrius, the more I saw how much like Father he is, even so. One morning, before one of the tournaments we rode in this summer, I looked over to see him putting on his Order of the Hounds tabard, finely dressed and beaming at the thought of the day's challenge. Then I looked down at myself, also finely dressed, in a matching tabard, and realized that if Father considered him a son, no questions asked, then who was I do consider differently?

And, feeling that way, how could I now encourage him to venture into Faerie, which so nearly swallowed me up for all time but only, as it turned out, ruined my marriage and any chance I had at achieving the highest honor in the kingdom, becoming a round table knight like Leodigrance, or cousin Trently, or especially Father? No way, but here we were, following some Fay's advice and riding blithely down the path to Over There. When I told him all this, he replied that we were all brothers in arms, Bradwyn needed our help, and glory through adventuring was ten times better than glory won in a tournament for play. Wow, it sounded exactly like something the old man would say. So off we rode, although at one point I looked back and noticed Sir Doon was no longer with us.

***
I could see everyone looking around at the strangeness of Faerie. Ha. The strangest sight? That Sir Gerin the Weaker should not have ridden with us, because who were the first people we encountered Over There but good old Sir Uren the Timely and the ravishing Lady Ga, Sir Gerin's parents! They graciously showed us the way to the castle of the king of the cats while we did a considerable amount of catching up for them. We had, surprise, shown up "just in time" for this feline king's coronation, though Sir Bradwyn put a damper on their party when he told the king in front of his court why we were there. But the soon-to-be king of the cats was more than hospitable and courteous, and displayed no rancor. Instead, we adjourned to the tournament field so that the almost-king of the cats and Bradwyn could have their fight to the death. The not-quite-king of the cats was a very fine swordsman, but unfortunately fragile like so many Faerie-folk, and Bradwyn handily won. We left to the sound of the not-to-be-king of the cat's lady weeping over his corpse.

Bradwyn said we next had to take the corpse of the not-king to the old hag's hovel so that she could remove the curse, and off we rode on the trail pointed out to us. Lancrius's descriptions of her ugliness did not do her justice, I must say. Wow. The old hag's son, a giant dwarf, was apparently the father of the queen of the mice that Bradwyn had killed, though when we rolled up to the hovel there she was, whole and alive. Go figure. I'm surprised that I was surprised when events like the corpse of the king of the cats reanimates, turns into a giant cat, and then bites the head off the reanimated queen of mice occur. When the old hag reached for a very large log we all took off lickety-split, though soon we were overwhelmed by scores of ROUS. We killed them left and right, but more and more came, pulling us off our horses, biting and tormenting our horses...I thought we were going to die in a heap of oversized rodents when I heard Lancrius lament, Oh I wish the King of Cats was here. Then the rest of us shouted it and lo and behold! He was, and the ROUS scurried for their lives. After the king of cats had bounded away after the fleeing rodents, Bradwyn found elephant tracks in the duff and led us to the castle of the Duke de la ROUSse. A cat there paused in its ablutions to tell us that we now owe the wily king a favor, but there are certainly worse people, and worse faeries, to owe a favor to.

Lancrius mentioned that that is the third time he has seen (and heard) a cat speak.

Sir Doon writes to his Brother...

2007-07-20T09:42:00.000-07:00

In the year of Our Lorde 544.

To Sir Madoc ap Mawn, the Manor of the Black Hills, Kyngedom of Devon, be this lettre tayke.

Oy there bruvver! The uppytye clerke says I got to be all formal at the beginnyne of this lettre as its wot Kynge Arthur wants for all such lettres a comin' from Camelot. I wanted to strangyle the punye little clerke bastarde, like I did the last tyme I had one of 'em scratch a letter to ye, but the guards here wont have none o' that, not like up norf where ye can kick 'em around a bit for fun.

Anyhoo. I gots big news, bruvver! I captured theat ryte Bastarde Kyng Mark of Cornwall. He wert up te no good an deep into Kyng Arthur's lands. Parbly makin' parly wit te Saxons, is wot I think. Well, I wert on me way to a Tourney like, ryding with my good companyons Sir Lancreas, Sir Gerin, and my sponsor, His Right Worshypful Master, Leodigrance the Lesser, Marshall of Salisbury. My good friend Sir Bradwen wert off doin' deep religious thyngs up norf, I think. Well, we thawt we saw a group of bandits on te Kyng's Hiway and so we set up after 'em through the trees. We notyces theys got Cornish markings and colors, and you know how I git when I see Cornishmen. Sir Lancreas and Sir Gerin and even ol' Leodigrance fawt like true knights, they did. I dont member much, tell te truth bruvver, jus' lots of blood and Cornishmen with no heads. Finally Leodigrance and I catch up te the last two and I notice tha one was protectin te other, like his life depended on it. Tha's 'cause the one wert Kyng Mark hisself! An so I step right up and kills his protector like I used to chop te heads off the slawter pigs before Wynter. Then I says, all proper like, "In te name of Kyng Erbin and Kyng Arthur surrender or die!" or somfin' like as such. I wanted to tayke his head fer a trophy an send it to yer missus as a present, but thawt better and let 'im live. Also, Leodigrance wernt too keen on me killyng a kynge, and so we take Mark back to Camelot.

Turns out I get to keep the ransom for kynge Mark! Tha's right bruvver, I, Sir Doon of Devon, Knight of the White Hen, Third Son of Mawn am about to become a rich man. I may even try to get some land in Devon frm King Erbin. Won't tha be a hoot, bruvver? We'll be right neighbors, and I'll even let you tie me up and hit me wit a sack o' apples like we did when we wert wee ones, playin' in te fields. Member? Aye, bryngs a tear to my eye, bruvver.

Well, I been courtin' a heavy now tha I'm famous, an all Queen Guenevere's maidens are in heat fer me. I needs a wyfe and sons, and now I can be pickey bout who I rut wit. No more dirty sows for me. Only right ladyes.

So, I wish ye te best of health and give me best to te missus.

Your Doon

544: Tournament Circuit

2007-07-17T21:56:00.000-07:00

[No Aaron tonight, so we postponed the adventure of the king of cats.—Suzanne]

Count Mortimer here...

Three children in as many years of marriage was just too much for my Lady Vivian; she succumbed to a fever of childbed and died a few days after our little son was still-born. So goes the world.

Young Leodigrance came by with his dogs to cheer me up, then my son Lancrius and his companions dropped by...so nice to have a full manor-house during the holidays. Leo and young masters Doon and Gerin and I decided to ride down to Camelot and look for wives. I convinced my son Monroe to come with us, as it's been years now since Lady Elaine left him. (I didn't tell him that I fear for the health of his grand-son.) He agreed and rode with us. Quite a merry party!

Sir Lancrius chimes in

We had such a rough time in Carduel that I convinced the guys to stop in at Silchester and prevail upon Father to resupply us. He made us tell about our exploits first as a show of whether we were worthy or not, that old man, but in the end he gave Doon and Gerin chargers and myself a rouncy so Reginald doesn't have to ride the pack-horse anymore. I knew he would. He even permitted one of Lady Vivian's ladies-in-waiting's cousin's sons to accompany Doon as a squire. I'm not sure how that will work out. Doon doesn't seem at all sure what to do with a servant!

Count Mortimer again...

Young Leo spoke for Doon with my good King Arthur, hoping to find him a place somewhere at Camelot. However, Sir Doon has many rough edges, to be expected from a knight of Dorset, and King Arthur upbraided Leo at court for his choice of a knight to sponsor. Leo took it well, and has used the words of Arthur as impetus to improve Doon's knightly virtues.

Then, at Sir Tor's suggestion, we hit the tournament circuit to look for wives.

Sir Lancrius butts in

Gerin and I had another run-in with Sir Kay. I would call him a creampuff except he's full of hot air. Some guy came up to us after we'd mocked Kay to his face and told us to "watch for the keys." Whatever. Sir Gawaine was kind enough to compliment me on my tights, so I gave him the name of the tailor Tor and I used.

Leodigrance had a smashing idea, and had matching tabards made for us to wear while going 'round the tournaments. Fabulous! They are green with a yellow hound at hunt, and all lined up on our chargers, we are a dashing sight.

Leo fought in the first tourmament we went to, a little neighborhood affair up in Brun. I won the joust, and Monroe won the melee. Go Salisbury and the Order of the Hound!

We rode over to Petersborough next for a local tournament near where Monroe's manor is, the one King Arthur gave him. He again won the melee, and I the joust. Sir Aggravain was there, and we were both quite chuffed to beat his ass on the field. We almost felt like brothers. Leo kept father company in the stands, checking out the ladies, as Leo still wasn't feeling too good from a fall he took in Brun.

We heard that the Queen's family was putting on a tournament up in Carohaise. Before we departed Petersborough, a wagon showed up with a package for Sir Leo: a huge, very grand pavillion in the colors of the Order of the Hound, plus crates of finely-made paper-mache dogs for our helms. We shall look smashing at the next viewing of the windows.

Sir Tor was at this one, as many knights from the region. Tor was quite impressed with our Order of the Hound get-up. I wish we had done better here, but Gerin and I were being ganged-up on by knights with badges featuring keys, so we couldn't help as much as we would have liked. Still, we did well enough that we continued on down the road to a tournament in Guinnon.

Count Mortimer once again...

While traveling through Essex on the way to Guinnon, some of the boys spotted what looked like bandits shooting off the road into the cover of the nearby woods. I could see their blood was up, so I gave permission for them to pursue; after all, it's only right that Arthur's knights should keep Arthur's roads clear and safe to travel. Monroe stayed with me, "in case they should feint and attack the baggage train," he said though I'm sure he was thinking "in case they come after your decrepit ass, old man." Not that I couldn't kick the hiney of any Essex bandit from here to the Channel and back, but I appreciate his sense of filial responsibility. We were there several hours, and all was quiet, then the boys came riding back, covered in blood and leading two prisoners and a horse laden with armor.

I looked close and, whoa-ho! Is that...the king of Cornwall being led by young Sir Doon? Why, yes. I don't know why Cornishmen would be raiding so far from home, but as Lancrius tells me, as soon as Doon realized where the knights were from, he went berserk and started chopping them in twain, separating arms from bodies, torsos from legs, heads from shoulders, until finally only one knight stood between Doon and Mark, whom they did not yet recognize. The knight would not surrender, but the king, seeing his dismembered bodyguard, did.

I think Doon should have his pick of the ladies once we return to Camelot with this wily scoundrel in tow. Good job, lad!

Sir Lancrius interrupts

How quickly fortunes change! One winter chained home by marriage, that spring free to roam. Or begging a horse off some lord one month and the next, leading the King of Cornwall on a string! These were his words poised before the king:

"Surrender or die, Mark King of Cornwall and not Devon! Surrender in the name of King Urban! I win either way, Kingie!"

Father kept a close eye on the preceedings in order that Doon gets what is coming to him. He should have the ransom next year, though the glory for this deed he is accruing now, as it is THE talk of the kingdom. Well done, Sir Doon of Devon!

I think we may try to ride the tails of Doon's glory on a few more tournaments before the summer's over.

2007: Diana Jones Loves Greg Stafford

2007-06-29T09:02:00.000-07:00

"The Diana Jones Award is given to whatever the Diana Jones Committee believes has best demonstrated ‘excellence in gaming’ in the previous year. This year the committee has shortlisted three potential winners. In alphabetical order, they are:

The Great Pendragon Campaign by Greg Stafford (White Wolf) In terms of sheer scope alone, Greg Stafford's Great Pendragon Campaign breaks new ground, presenting almost a century's worth of continuous story with gemlike clarity; in almost fractal fashion, any given year can become its own campaign. Its greatest structural successes are those of Stafford's Pendragon: a superbly compact yet never sketchy adventure format, seamless hard-wiring of characters into setting and continuity, and unprecedented emphasis on epic, generational storytelling. Thematically, it is a triumph of Arthurian art in its own right, the roleplaying form's equivalent of Tennyson's ‘The Idylls of the King’ or Wagner's ‘Parsifal’—a brilliant personal engagement with one of the foundation myths of Western fantasy."

Read more about it at the Diana Jones Award website.

543: Smackdown in Clarence

2007-06-27T12:56:00.001-07:00

Sir Lancrius, a bachelor once again, reports

A glorious spring at King Arthur's court in Camelot. The castle and grounds are full of knights both young and famous, home-grown Salisbury boys and foreigners alike:

"People are scared of my accent—can you believe it?"

"You need a crit to win at Camelot."

"Sweet Jesu, it's D E V O N, not Dorset! Sir Doon of Devon!"
"Devon? I heard you're cannibals."
"Psh. We only eat Jesus."

I don't know why, with my keen sense of Geography, I cannot remember that good old Sir Doon hies from Devon. I think I'm driving the poor man bonkers, but better that than enraged. One of the other lads spoke:

"Devon..Isn't that part of Cornwall?"

I think he started to froth, actually froth!, at the mouth. He told all of us lounging 'round the trestle table that Devonians were rebels, had broken away from Cornwall to form their own kingdom, and that he, Doon, was a true Devon knight and sworn enemy of the Cornish, when the seneschal sauntered over with an open book and, pointing, told us, "No, Devon is a duchy of Cornwall. It says so right here," which provoked another round of swearing and protestations of Devonian independence. Doon ran off and came back shortly with a book of his own, which he opened with great fanfare and, pointing at the pictures within, said, "No, it clearly illustrates here that Devon has its own king, having broken away from Cornwall." The seneschal allowed that, Doon's book having the later publication date, the seneschal's own information must be incorrect.

Doon looked pretty chuffed.

I was pretty chuffed, too, because I got that fashion plate Sir Tor to give me the name of his tailor in London. I still have some coin in my pocket from the wedding, even if everything else from that horrid day is fortunately gone for good, so I rode off with a promise to meet up with the lads at the upcoming Salisbury tourament Earl Robert's hosting.

***

The lads said I was looking sharp, and I felt it. I should, for 2L's worth of clothing on top of the 4 I already had! The tournament wasn't much, compared to the extravaganzas some lords are throwing, but it's always fun to joust in the lists, and father is looking well this year. Monroe has his color back, though I don't think that limp is ever going away. Still, he's looking mighty down these days, under father's thumb, my niece dead in childbirth, his quest unfulfilled. So it goes. At least the good count is no longer pressuring me to fulfill my filial duty any more. I think, in his eyes, that the shock of my wife and newborn child dying less than a year after we wed makes my wishing to remain a bachelor entirely reasonable. Although he did mention the marshall marrying my cousin Emma shortly after Rosemeade died, but I said, "Well, that's Leo!" and we both laughed and that was that.

***

Bradwyn got word from his family that they were departing to their bi-annual Gloucester Versus Clarence tournament and that his participation was expected, so the lot of us said, Yeah! We'll go to back you up. Well, Gerin the Weaker and myself agreed to back Bradwyn; Doon and Cynfyn, along with a knight of Aquitaine whom Cynfyn picked up somewhere, said they'd fight for Clarence, as that is where Cynfyn was born.

I was surprised to see the grounds so crowded for just a local tournament, but then we heard that the king and queen were in attendance with what looked to be half the round table tagging along. Great! There goes the chance at the prize, a fine falcon. Do you know, at Camelot, there is an entire mew dedicated to housing the birds Sir Lancelot wins at tournaments?

But Bradwyn and Cynfyn were happy enough to have the opportunity to bash each other, and Doon was pleased to see a handful of Cornish targets for his wrath. Sir Tulga—that Aquitanian knight—said he was happy enough to see how we do things on this shore. I was happy just to be out with the boys, but at the feast after the helmet show, I overheard a voice I have not heard in years. That's right! Sir Sagramore le Desirous was in attendance, and right there in front of the assembled, I made quite a fine poem explaining to everyone why he should hate me so. Ooh, his black eyes burned!

I didn't see him during the jousting, which, before we could get started, a knight with a white shield rode up to the royal box and presented King Arthur with, he said, a gift: a large, well-made shield...painted with a gross depiction of a knight and a lady, hands joined, standing on the head of a king. We couldn't see his face clearly, but the Pendragon politely took the shield and hung it up in the back of the box. The mystery knight then rode off and Lancelot, using his riding off without leave as an excuse, rode after him. He missed the jousting altogether.

Another curious incident: during the day of individual challenges, where again, I did not see Sagramore, Sir Doon challenged one of the Cornish knights, but lost the match and quit the field. We found him shortly thereafter, sitting on the ground and crying. I knelt down and gave him a pep-talk but I roused his spirit a little too well, for the next thing I know, his burning gaze was fastened on me, and with a yell he stood up and brandished his sword at me. Well, he fought that day and was still armored, while I'd spent the day, ah, out hunting and so only had on my riding clothes. I've seen that look before, so I took off running, with the unfortunately large, fast, and enraged Doon in hot pursuit. He caught me halfway across the jousting grounds, knocking me down and tearing my new jacket!. I held him off with my sword until Sir Tulga could talk some sense into him (a thwack with the flat of a blade didn't hurt, either).

"You shouldn't do this at a tournament." Sir Tulga sounded very reasonable.

Doon tried to push past him. "I have no beef with Africa!"

But Sir Tulga kept talking to Doon, and he finally came to his senses, apologized to ripping my sleeve, and we all went back to my fancy red samite pavillion for drinks, all forgiven.

At the feast that night, Sagramore was talking big about how he was going to kick my ass in the melee. As if! I know it wasn't a courteous thing to do, and certainly not wise to do in front of the Great Duke, but he was provoking me. I stalked over to his table and threw my goblet in his face, then we fell, brawling, to the floor. I managed to break a platter across his face before I was pulled off. That was satisfying, though I ripped my new motley tights and had to have Reginald stay up half the night putting them to rights.

I didn't do well in the helmet show, despite squire Reginald's best paper-mache efforts (a lovely swan this time), and only so-so at the jousting, but when it came time for the melee...I remember Bradwyn and Cynfyn knocking each other off their horses, but when Sagramore and his buddies found Gerin and me and we set to, I didn't notice much after that. Sagramore was pretty pissed at me, but then when he looked over and saw Gerin riding his old horse...hoo-wee, I didn't think he could get more angry, but he sure did. But I finally laid him out, though in the confusion his cronies made off with Geriin's mount. That's okay! I had Reginald grab Sagramore's current mount; Sir Gerin can ride that one.

Then we all got gloriously drunk at the feast following and passed out in the hall.

[To be continued, apparently. Something about a rat to kill...?]

542: Good News, Bad News

2007-05-31T21:35:00.001-07:00

Greg's still out of town, so I figured we'd have an evening of simple errantry, especially since the last month or so we've slogged through a pair of major outings: happy, happy Gwaelod, and the bitter north of Pictland. Add Malahaut, another region where our characters seem to always have a difficult time, and, well, everyone decided to head south this time.

Was that wise?...

Logres is crawling with bored knights hanging out at every crossroads, bridge and ford, demanding to joust. For love. For glory. For the hell of it. After a few rounds with knights both famous and not-so, our band of knights—Sir Brevis of the Dike, Sir Gerin the Weaker, and Sir Ebble the Younger (youngest son of the Great Duke, Sir Bellengere)—a bit worse for wear, heard from a young knight riding hard and fast through the countryside that King Arthur was missing. Egads! They very energetically set off that very moment in search of the Pendragon.

Instead, they found Lady Nimue and two of her handmaidens passing a hermitage on their search for Arthur. Our trio of knights fell in with Nimue at her request and escorted the ladies on their way. In short order [I had a series of short adventures planned] the fellows came to a large creek—or was it a small river?—and standing guard at the bridge was...a crack. A what? The very pagany Sir Gerin informed his companions that a crack is a hideous-looking, small troll, very cruel. Ah! Attack it! Only, it's very hideousness makes it difficult to muster the courage necessary to attack; only Sir Brevis got to his sticking point and lanced-charged. Gerin and Ebble, uh, "guarded" the ladies. Only while they were guarding them, their awareness was consumed with the fight before them and neither noticed Nimue impatiently attempting to ford the water...until she was swept away by the current and cried out for help. Which happened just about the time Brevis went down in a heap.

So Gerin and Ebble ride into the water. But the bank was steep and the current tricky, and somehow—cobbly river bottom? Snags? Who knows, but their horses stumbled and into the water they tumbled. They, oh kind game-mistress!, were able to use their considerable knightly strength to wade to the bank and clamber up. Sir Gerin remounted and took off down the river after Nimue while Sir Ebble attacked the crack.

After one more dunking Gerin managed to pluck Nimue from the waters and bring her back in time to see Ebble finish off the crack with a mighty critical whack. Then they finally became aware of the fight on the opposite bank: three knights against one knight, wounded and down on one knee, with a woman exhorting them to "Finish him off! Kill him!"

Oh, sure, they managed to recognize the shields of the three nameless and completely unimportant knights fighting the lone figure...whom they did not recognize. Or the most famous sword the woman (also unrecognized) picked up in order to smite the wounded knight. Nor could they manage to come between the woman and the wounded knight in time for the woman to strike the knight a blow with the most-famous sword. This is when Wayne, who did make his Awareness roll, mentioned that "When Arthur dies, the campaign is over. Greg won't like you ending the campaign while he's gone." Fair enough! So the wounded figure is only majorly wounded. Then two inspirations fail, and tears and even worse die-rolling abound. They manage to kill the unarmed woman (from behind) but are unable to vanquish her henchmen...

As Sirs Gerin and Ebble fade into unconsciousness, Nimue comes in and saves the campaign.

Back in Camelot, being feted and feasting at the return of the king, riding high on their glory, they got to sit at the high table. Oh, yeah, do they owe Nimue for the tale she told at court. She orates well, and isn't hampered by chivalry or piousness when it comes to embellishments. But then news came of the death of pompous Sir Borre, King Arthur's oldest, if illigitimate, son, and the party was over.

We also realized that in 543, Sir Leodigrance the Lesser's love-child from the Rome campaign will be 15 years old. Will he show at court? Will he wait til he's 21? Or...?

I've never seen so many high-number skill rolls missed in one night. Man.

Sir Doon of Devon sends a letter to his brother

2007-05-24T07:33:00.000-07:00

Oy there, bruvver. It been nigh on two year a comin' since ye have hird from me and I got this here clerk to scratch out a letter to ye. He wert a wiley one that one. He wanted to write some bloody hoity stuff 'bout Jesus and the Year of Our Lord and such like, but I putted him in a headlock and squeezed til he write what I say and not what he thinks I should say. Can't stand no uppity clerk tellin' me what I should say to me big bruvver.

How's it in Devon? That bitch o' yers still in heat fer ye? Got any new pups? I parbly got a few somewheres here in te norf where I be stayin' now. None too many damosels to me likin', tho there wert one in Strangorre. Ai she had bigguns that one. And a right lady too.

Well I been fightin' for King Arthur, followin' a holy man in te norf wit a company of right regular knights. Great men all, I says. An' good fighters too. Can't say I won much glorye on the field, but I wrestled a bear wearin' none such but me loin garder. Bear won.

Later I joined an host and went norf to rescue the holy man who got himself caught by the Blue People - Picts. Boy bruvver, you ain't never seen such like as these 'uns. Painted blue and smellin' like me after I been sleepin' in the stye like when I wert a babe. 'Member bruvver? Aye we had some good times.

So I got beat up pretty bad. Them Picts is right good fighters an handy wit the long spear. I got skewered right through and wert laid up in a hospice. Forget the name o' the place, but it wert fine, and the nuns liked me. Ain't slept in a bed like them before, neither.

Well, bruvver I'm mostlye mended an I'm on my way south to Devon to collect me tin from Peck the Hen. I hope yer feedin' her like I showed ye.

Give me best to the missus'.

Your bruvver,

Doon

541. Adventure of the Treacherous Pict

2007-05-18T21:31:00.000-07:00

Adventure! I have so been looking forward to this. I have no gripe with doing my duty, of course, and I will every be grateful to the Countess Clina for making me a knight. I would have been content to spend my life as Sir Clydno’s dutiful squire. Dutiful, that’s what he said. “Evan,” he told me, “there has never been a squire more dutiful than you.” How proud I was at that, to serve the good knight who took me from that miserable life and gave me opportunity to serve.
And of course, even more proud to have received word that the Lady Clina would knight me! Me, a Saxon! “You are more than a handsome young man,” she told me, “and my uncle, the good Sir Clydno says you are as well mannered as you are huge. We have a need of knights, and I think you are as worthy as any and more worthy than most. I heard of your efforts to save my dear uncle, and of the mighty wound you took in that fight, so I deem you more than worthy to serve me and the good King Arthur.”
I have heard it was the king himself who sent the armor for me. I’ve heard he is anxious to have us young Saxons in his kingdom, to serve where our fathers fought against him. And I, for one, am proud to do so! I spit on the sneers of those of my countrymen who scowl at me. What fools. They would rather toil as peasants and wallow in their hatred than to sit astride a great horse in armor.
Well, atop a horse anyway. Though the king—or someone, whomever—donated my armor the cost of a horse seems too much. Nonetheless, I have been more than content with my little war pony, though my feet would drag upon the ground if I stretched them. He’s served me well, and knows his way through the hills and moors like no charger or destrier could. Besides, with my two-handed weapon expertise I’ll have to dismount in a melee anyway. If I’d know I would some day sit astride a knight’s saddle I would have trained with shield. But it is too late to regret now.
So after a year of service at the castle, my lady agreed to let me seek adventure. I immediately set off northward, hot upon the trail of my good Sir Clydno. He had been sent there on a mission by the great king himself! I was eager to serve by his side and to prove myself before his eyes.
I joined in a party going the same way. It was led by none other than the great Count Mortimer, out of his castle on some distant mission he did not speak of. But he was pressing on northwards, and when I overheard his conversation one night over dinner I was concerned, for it seemed he was seeking his missing heir!
After weeks of travel we reached Gorre, where King Bagdemagus was holding a tournament. I was more than overjoyed to find Sir Clydno there, but quickly my joy fell to worry. My teacher, my master, was sorely wounded and in a deep, deep melancholy. He did not even wish to speak of it at first, and I learned form his companions that he had taken a challenge form a great Pictish warrior and, though fighting for the good name and reputation of out King Arthur, Clydno was bested. Nearly slain! Worse yet, he took ill afterwards. Some said it was poison, and he was saved only by the graces of an old hag he had been kind to by the roadside. Surely that poison had infected his humors, inciting his melancholy. After some prodding he confessed to me that he felt himself to be a total failure—that he was torn between taking up the cloth or throwing away the finger that had never brought him a moment of luck in his life.
I was incensed to see what depths he had been cast into! I’d never seen a Pict, but when I learned of the wrong doing that would cause my master, the good knight, to such thoughts a dark ember of hatred grew in my heart. I vowed to avenge my master, or to die trying!
I will skip the details of the tournament—my first! I fought fairly well, and no one won any prizes from among our party. Several challenges by hostile knights were met, and our men trounced the fools who dared speak against King Arthur. But I must mention the comic antics of Sir Doon. He agreed to fight a bear without his armor, with only a dagger and shield. He was nearly killed, the fool!
Sir Branwyn was leading an expedition—indeed, a small army—northward again to rescue the priest who had stayed among the Picts to convert them. Clydno would not go. He had sworn an oath to stay away for a year if he lost the fight. So had Branwyn and some others, but they deemed it more important to rescue their charge than to obey the oath. Branwyn insisted the oath was void because the Pict was deceitful, but I was deeply shocked. Branwyn was normally deeply religious. I realized he was more moved by his passion for his religion and duty to the priest than by his oath. But Sir Clydno, though he too seethed with rage, would not break his vow. I repeated my pledge, and went with the army northwards.
We passed through Strangorre, and into Pict territory. At the same place where my lord was defeated (as my companions told me) we were challenged by the same Pict warrior that had hurt my good friend! I didn’t wait for formalities. I didn’t pause when I heard it was a fight to the death. I took my mace and, burning with rage, fell to with that Pict. Though he was reputed a giant among men, he was no larger than me. And though reputed to be a champion, he was no match for me, a newly made knight. I bashed him once, staggering him, and with a second blow crushed his chest. When he lay upon the ground I crushed his head to pulp.
“That is for my master, Sir Clydno, and the good King Arthur!” I shouted at him. I took his hand with me as a souvenir to prove my victory.
We pressed onward, and there was the hill fort of the Picts. Sir Branwyn set the peasants to making a ram to cave in the door, but as they were approaching it the gates swung open and out swarmed many of those naked warriors, howling like the devils that they are. Fools! But then we saw why—there was a mighty giant coming from the side to attack us! Huge—twenty or more feet tall!
Sir Branwyn and some others rushed the monster, but seeing opportunity to enter the fort, I went that way. No, I didn’t run from the giant. Honest, I went to the gate. I killed Picts with a single blow each time, and this good armor of mine turned nearly every blow they struck upon me. Small wounds meant nothing.
Then one of their chiefs, seeking to rally his men, set upon me. I cut him in two with my sword. I pushed through the gate, killing right and left as many blows bounded off of me or left small cuts. Another chief, screaming, attacked and he fell as quickly as his companion. With a few of the Gorre knights and warriors I was pressing into the stronghold when the door burst open and a giant boar rushed out. I barely threw myself aside. A strange man sat atop it, and they dashed away before anyone could lay weapon to them. That was when I saw that the Picts were all running, scattering in all directions, even leaping over the walls of the fort to escape. I went into the stronghold and there found the priest, sore wounded, and gave him first aid. He blessed me.
I learned later that Sir Branwyn slew the giant, aided by friends, but it was Branwyn who slew it.
We burnt the fort. We brought the priest back to Strangorre. We were feasted and honored, and I was asked many times to tell of my deeds. I was rewarded the torques of the two chiefs that I slew, and I will after this wear them as arm bands upon my biceps. They fit there snugly.
Sir Clydno was proud of me. He bore no grudge for robbing his of revenge. “You are like a son to me,” he said, “Your victory is my victory.” I could not have been prouder. Sir Clydno chose to remain behind, helping King Brangore of Strangorre fight Picts and Irishmen. I joined the troops heading home.
Lancrius also gave me a charger to reward me for my deeds! I will let my young squire ride upon my trujsty hill pony.
Sir Mortimer was there, and his son Sir Lancrius, who had learned he must go home to marry now, for he was the heir to the family lands. He was strangely unhappy with this. I was too joyous to be depressed by his problems, whatever they might be. We visited Camelot, and there the king praised me some more and said I would be a “model to the Saxons of his kingdom.”
I hope some time soon to return to my old mother and share with her this glory. It’s been years since I have seen her.

541: News from the North

2007-05-18T14:49:00.000-07:00

[I miss those letters from Sir Galonors! My apologies for butchering David's style.—Suzanne]

In the Year of Our Lord 541,
To Mortimer, Count of Silchester, Castellan of Portchester, and Knight of the Round Table,
Greetings:

Liege, the good monks of St Ceneu's wrote this letter for me, which I am sending south as soon as may be. I fear it will not reach you in time as there are few travelers in these parts, and fewer still that I may trust on such a long journey as this letter will require.

Firstly, my lord, know that my knight and your own right true first-born son, Sir Monroe of Salisbury, lies in St Ceneu's on the cusp of death. Secondly, know that he was struck low and left for dead by the brigand-knights of Lothian as he made his way south from the Castle of Maidens after an interview with the Brothers Orkney concerning my knight's own sworn Quest. We were waylaid on the road in numbers to great to overcome. Your son bid me ride south post-haste and bring you word while he armed himself and prepared to fight, but I rode back after the dogs had done their work and found my knight's near-lifeless body lying on the heath. With much care I was able to carry him thither to this monastery and place him under the care of their healing arts.

An it please you, lord, know that it was never my knight's desire to cause you distress or anguish by his sudden and stealthy departure. He was greatly torn in mind and heart between his filial devotion to you, lord, and his chivalric duty to fulfill the oath he swore to the three daughters of King Pellinore.

Please, lord, ride north with all haste so that your son may look upon you one last time and beg your forgiveness should he be called untimely to the bosom of Jesus Christ.

Your humble and faithful servant and esquire,

Aggrovain of Hampshire

541: Strangore, Concluded

2007-05-18T14:26:00.000-07:00

[Man, I was churning through characters tonight: my two Salisbury guys left, the London-based equites I rolled up went down to -4 hp, then back up to 4 hp courtesy of Sir Gerin the Weaker's preternatural healing gifts; so I rolled up another guy while everyone else was hacking away at various northern foes. I finished him up...just in time for the scenario's denouement! Oh, well, so it goes some weeks.—Suzanne]

Sir Cingetorix murmurs...

I volunteered to ride with Sir Branwen against the Picts.

The Picts kicked my ass: during our first encounter I was pummeled into unconsciousness, and there I remained until the excitement was over and everybody had ridden home, or to Gaiholm.

Meet Sir Madog

My lord, King Bagdemagus, allowed me to ride against the Picts with Prince Gereint and many knights of Gorre and Strangore, our white-shielded mystery knight ally, and Sir Branwen. We fought Picts: Sir Evan, one of Sir Branwen's fellows, slew the Pictish champion. We fought a giant: Sir Branwen dispatched him almost single-handed. We took the hillfort base of the maurauders. We freed that Christian priest. We burnt the hillfort to the ground. We rode home.

Some of the southern knights are staying for the year, though none took King Bagdemagus's generous offer of a manor. And some of us northern knights—myself, Prince Gereint, our mystery knight (revealed to be Sir Flan of Ireland), and a few others—are going south to see Camelot for ourselves and to meet King Arthur. Sir Branwen loaded the giant's head in an oxcart and we are taking it as a trophy to the Pendragon.

This will be quite an adventure.

541: Off to Strangore, Part III

2007-05-17T16:08:00.000-07:00

Sir Lancrius relates...

I am told I have to marry this autumn. Some noblewoman from Bedegraine whose sire has interests in Salisbury. Father says it is "expedient" (his exact word) and I must do this for the family. The news put me in such a funk that I hardly took notice of King Bagdamagus's tournament; I spent most of my time commiserating with Sir Clydno, who is not only recovering from his near-death experience but in a severe melancholy regarding what he feels is his abandonment by the Finger of St Albans. He is also torn as to the hard fate of Father Tathan, and Sir Branwen's invective to "fulfill our oath to the good Father and kill those heathen Picts who betrayed him." Branwen won't let the matter go, and has been recruiting among the knights present for the tournament for men to march north.

Myself? After watching dear old Buford, father's squire, win the bohort, and several challenges to the death—all handily won by us—I am heading south to Silchester while father tries one more road here in the north on his quest to find my missing brother, Number One Son Monroe.

(But before I take my leave, I must say, those men of Dorset are a reckless lot! I would never have guessed to see Sir Doon fight a bear in a tournament spectacle, much less guessed to see him do it unarmored.

Good thing the archers were standing by.)

Meet Sir Cingetorix

Well, by the skin of my teeth did Uncle Ambiorterix provide me with arms and a position so that King Arthur could knight me this Pentecost Court. Huzzah! Newly knighted, I slung my shield on my back, and my sword and axe to my saddle and rode out for a summer of errant adventure.

I ended up, along with many knights both raw and well-seasoned, in Gaihom, where a King Bagdemagus hosted a tournament in the southern style. Oh, he got some of the finer points wrong, but he had men to advise him on the customs and it went quite splendidly. No clear winner, but no clear loser, either.

Many of the people in these parts, and indeed, a good portion of the knights in the tournament are not of a Christian sort at all, but clearly heathens, yet not Saxons, which I find curious (though there are certainly Saxons present; also curious).

Glory to the house of the Corvii, the equites, and good King Arthur!

541: Off to Strangore, Cont'd.

2007-05-04T18:35:00.000-07:00

Lancrius again...

It's funny: Sir Gerin was always a stand-up kind of knight, and a great traveling companion despite his abyssmal hunting and, frankly, riding skills. A valiant and doughty knight nonetheless. His half-brother, Sir Branwen, however...a bit too preachy for my taste. Sir Clydno is pretty religious, so I don't want to pin it on that. Come to think of it, I would say that Clydno is devoted to the idea of religion—and certainly that saintly finger of his—but without all the wasteful time spent at Mass, while Branwen lets the priestly class sway his good senses more than he ought.

Father Tathan wanted to find the Picts, which is why we were so far north to begin with, and find Picts we did, blue-skinned and wild-haired and running half-naked across the heath emitting blood-curdling yelps and whoops. They're not all like that: the Queen of Strangore is lovely and civil if a bit steely, and the few cotters we've encountered have been pleasant enough, if guarded. But the wild tribes, especially these Epidii, wow. What a bunch.

An old woman whose calf Sir Doon and I recovered told us what to expect, and even taught us a few concilliatory phrases, so we were prepared—we thought—when we encountered a band of Epidii warriors. The leader of their warband issued us a challenge: a fight, champion-to-champion. If we won, they would not raid below where we currently stood (about a good day's ride north of Alcud Dunbarton) for a year; if they won, we would not ride north of this spot to stop them, also for a year. Fair enough! Sir Clydno, restless and eager as ever, won at draughts for the honor of fighting for our side, and faced off against the largest Pict I ever hope to see! He was as tall as Sir Evan if an inch. Amazing...they must have glued two or three babies together at birth to produce such a large man among such small people.

Sir Clydno, all hopped up on thoughts of our most noble King and lord Arthur, almost defeated their champion, but the blue beast managed to swipe Clydno down the side with his axe, and Clydno dropped to the ground. He then, most nobly I thought, stood and yielded his great spear to the victor. The Picts seemed pleased, and departed to the north while we rode south. Father Tathan, seeing the Picts so chuffed, decided that that was his sign and decided to stay with the band. He said he would return to Alcud Dunbarton in a month. Fair enough! I considered our escort duty done, as we had gotten the priest to the Picts, and he had decided to stay and preach to them.

I was quite looking forward to more feats of strength with Prince Gereint but I saw that Sir Clydno was looking worse than he should—not that he should be feeling fine after such a heavy blow, but I've seen plenty of major wounds and this one didn't look right. He was feverish and achey...he soon was unable to ride his courser and we resorted to a horse-litter, but I had a great fear he wouldn't last to Alcud, even without the priest to slow us down. I was getting extremely worried but luck would have it, we again ran into the cotter-woman whose calf Sir Doon and I had wrangled. She professed to possessing healing skills, so we rode as quickly as we could to her rude little dwelling.

It was clear to us all that Sir Clydno had been poisoned by the Pictish axe-blade. Fearing for the life of Father Tathan among such savages, Sirs Doon and Branwen rode north to rescue him (despite their oath), while I stayed with Clydno....it was a tense two days, my friends, especially when I heard Clydno calling to his dead wife in his delirium, as if he had passed a point where he could now clearly see her! It would have been bitter to lose a comrade-in-arms as dear as good old Clydno so soon after losing my little brother Clarian, but the woman of the woods pulled Clydno through and, miracle of miracles, he was soon fit to ride!

Well, Branwen and Doon soon returned with news of Father Tathan. Not good, and I'll spare you the gory details. Branwen was incensed that they would treat a priest so, and was hot to punish them for their misdeeds. But our oath hung over our heads—well, over mine and Clydno's, anyway. We told him in no uncertain terms that we would not go north this year. Oh, how he ranted and raved, "holy duty" this, "honor demands" that, on and on, and he would not be dissuaded by what Clydno and I had to say. Very well, his honor then, and Doon's. Not my problem.

Our relations a bit strained, we rode south to Gaihome in order for Branwen to enlist aid from King Bagdemagus...who was busy preparing for a tournament in the southern style. He was in no rush to ruin his fine tourney in order to fight in the mud with a bunch of half-clothed, screaming wild men. So Branwen and Doon cooled their heels while Clydno healed his cool and I just...chilled.

Then father showed up and dropped a bomb.

[...to be continued...]

541: Off to Strangore

2007-04-27T07:37:00.000-07:00

Sir Lancrius here...

Earl Robert gave me leave to adventure this summer instead of staying in Sarum, so when Sir Clydno and the guys came through on their way to Camelot I waved goodbye to the men stuck on garrison duty and rode off post-haste.

I expected court to be jumping—it usually is, but this year it was a bit...subdued. Oh, well. I was happy enough to be looking at a year of adventure and travel. I am completely devoted to Earl Robert, and I love working close to family, but sometimes Sarum seems so small. Predictable, you know?

Imagine my surprise when King Arthur called together Clydno, Brevis (you know, of the Dyke), that strange fellow Gerin the Weaker, a Sir Doon the country bumpkin (you know, of Dorset. Yokels.), and one of Gerin's brothers, a Sir Bradwyn (that's Gerin the stronger, a son of the Great Duke and as fine a knight as ever rode horse). The king wanted to thank them personally for lifting some magical curse, and to ask them to escort some priest up north for some proselytizing among the Picts, if you can imagine. That Sir Badwyn is awfully religious, and chivalrous, and of course Sir Clydno has The Finger, so they were pretty up for it, and kindly asked me along. Way to go, boys!

Or so I thought. This priest, called Tathan, refused to ride a horse—or mule, or donkey, for that matter. Yes, we walked all the way to Strangore. By the hairy balls of St Cuthbert! (Sir Evan taught me that one) but we made slow progress. And this priest is particularly holy, so the usual knightly entertainments were kept to a strict minimum.

We stopped in at Marlborough to visit Sir Clydno's little ones, rambunctious as ever and very pleased to see their father all dressed up in his knightly kit. Clydno says that he will mourn poor Leofalid one more year, but watching him with his children, I have to wonder if he will not extend his mourning period for his young son Trently....soon enough we were back on the road, very uneventful as we stuck to the King's Road the entire way to Carduel. Nice enough town, and the wall was impressive. King Bagdemagus is a fine fellow and a right good knight, though he's had bad luck with his sons: Meliagraunce, whose dastardly kidnapping of the Queen we foiled, and a Sir Malachai, who did nothing but provoke us. I was amazed at Sir Clydno's restraint, because this Malachai succeeded in goading Sir Gerin. A disastrous breaking of hospitality was averted, and we left quickly the next morning, though good Sir Bagdemagus sincerely asked us to please return on our way home.

That Sir Malachai caught up with us on the road, and Clydno gave him what for with his lance, knocking him to the ground. He took his toys and, pouting, rode off home while we continued north.

In marked contrast to Sir Malachai of Gorre I now tell of Prince Gereint of Strangore, a handsome, strapping young man of good knightly virtues. We spent a few days in his father's castle of Alclud Dunbarton before, reluctantly on my part, continued north toward the Picts. We hadn't gone far from Alclud when Gerin and I encountered a party of Dal Riad raiders, whom we rode down for the sheer pleasure of engagement. After scattering them we took their ill-gotten loot, some finery and a few horses, back to the others, plodding along with that priest in tow. Then...

[to be continued next week]

Lady Melonie, a lady-in-waiting to Lady Rosemeade, wife of Sir Leodigrance the Lesser, curtseys and says...

Count, please sir, I come laden with bad news: Lady Rosemeade, newly married this past spring to the courageous Sir Leodigrance the Lesser, Marshall of all Salisbury, died in childbirth this January, and the child with her.

Your other grandchild, young Zenobia, prospers beneath her mourning robes, and passionately awaits news of her father, you son, Sir Monroe. As it has now been three years since our dear lord went errant, young Zenobia bids me ask you to please send Elliott or cousin Caius to manage the manor of Werrington in Sir Monroe's absence. She also bids me convey to you her love and filial devotion and wished you continued good health and strength in arms.

540 Adventure of the Lady of the Mice

2007-04-20T17:23:00.000-07:00

Sir Leodegrance and Sir Monroe have told us of their oath to find the murderer of Pellinore. They and other companions swore it years ago when they came across the knight’s daughters weeping. They extracted this oath from them without saying what it was they would request, but of course Leodegrance and his fellows accepted it. (You won’t find ME doing any such foolish thing!)
But they had only one clue: the murderer rode upon a golden colored horse.
No one had a clue about this for decades, though. Until everyone saw Sir Meliagrance escape his pursuers riding upon a horse of the same color. What a steed! Even bearing the fully armored knight and the kidnapped queen he left everyone behind.
After Lancelot killed the kidnapper Sir Lancrius, Monroe’s brother, questioned among Meliagrance’s knights and servants until he found out where the horse had come from. All they could tell him was that it was from four brothers who had thick northern accents.
Well, that raised suspicions that it was the Orkney brothers who’d done this foul deed. God knows they have a reason—or think they do anyway—for Sir Pellinore killed heir own father, King Lot. I myself think it unfair for them to hold such a grudge. That fight was in fair battle. But who am I to tell the sons of a king what to think? I don’t like them anyway, acting so high and mighty just because they are nephews of King Arthur. Except for Gawaine (the best knight at court) I don’t think they deserve such attitudes.
We were at Camelot and saw Sir Gawaine there. Everyone as urging Sir Leodegrance to go and ask Sir Gawaine if he knew anything of this golden colored horse. Leodegrance was hesitant, both of them being sworn brother of the Round Table. So I went to Sir Gawaine and asked. I was flattered that he seemed to know me! So I boldly asked him if he knew anything of it, he said he didn’t, and then went back to his business.
I reported it to Sir Leodegrance, who was mighty relieved. "So it wasn’t them, then," he said. And so the trail is cold after all. Sir Monroe didn’t seem so satisfied, but we haven’t seen anything of him since then anyway.
We decided to go adventuring: Sir Gerrin the Weaker, Doon of Dorset, Branwyn of Gloucester, Brevis of the Dike, and me. We headed west, and came to a tournament. It was of Gloucester against Clarence (apparently since the war was settled there is still some bad blood between them). There are certainly a lot of those these days. None of us got the prize, but we fought well enough.
Deep off-road in Escavalon we stayed at the tower of a lord of a poor realm. We learned that there was an adventure there each May 1. It seems everyone falls asleep, and the next day half heir livestock was gone. We decided to struggle to stay awake and solve this adventure. We stayed in the temple, though a couple of the pagans waited outside at one of those stone circles they think are sacred. Well, I’m usually a pretty energetic fellow, but nonetheless, I fell asleep. I only learned what happened the next day when I woke.
Sir Branwyn was the chief hero of the adventure. He told us how he and Brevis had remained awake, and first saw a small parade of white mice invade the chapel. Then came a beauiful but wicked woman. The knights confronted the Lady of the Mice, who was so wicked she dared even to invade the chapel. When they ordered her out she snapped her fingers and two spriggans, disguised as mice, grew large, right up to the rafters. Of course the knights fought, and Brvis was nearly killed. But Sir Branwyn fought on. The monsters diminished with each wound, and then, to forever stop her depredations, the good knight even slew her. Chopped her right in half. No one took the livestock that night! I am sure the curse is broken. I thought surely she would have murdered us after hearing the tale.
We returned home after that, and I have spent the winter in Sarum since my lady, the countess, had consigned me to adventure. I still miss my dear, dear wife and mourn my son grievously. I did get word from Sir Evan, who was passing through, that my other children are doing well in Marlborough, though they miss their Daddy. I will try to pass through the county next adventure to see them.

540: Idle Gossip

2007-04-12T18:16:00.000-07:00

[No game tonight, as we won't have a quorum. Instead, rumors and gossip at King Arthur's Pentecost court.]

Since Clarence has been brought to heel, the kingdom is quiet. Knights that took secondary roads may likely have encountered road challenges from disguised knights fighting for the glory of their lover, their own glory, or sheer mischeviousness.

Knights riding in from Hertford, Anglia, and Kent notice the beginnings of a great construction at the old manor and keep in Windsor.

The king and queen greet the knights and their ladies assembled for the feast at Pentecost. Queen Guenevere seems...guarded...after her recent misadventure with Melliagraunce. Arthur looks restless and preoccupied. Perhaps it's because his son, Prince Borre, is off to the Continent to help the de Ganis clan in their land struggles.

At the Round Table, the seats of Lancelot, Percival, and Lamorak are vacant, as are those Agravain, Gaheris, Gareth, and Mordred. Other RTK think the brothers are perhaps in Lothian, "attending to family business, no doubt."

Snort! "No doubt. I hear their mother, the queen, is a real looker. Like her sister, King Urien's wife."

"Aren't she and Lamorak—"

Shhh! "Don't let Sir Gawain hear you, or—"

As Sir Gawain strides up to his seat at the Round Table, the knights hear the ladies sighing with Lust and their fellow knights sighing with greed: the king's nephew is wearing a massive suit of armor and a huge grin. Underneath his arm is a full helmet with a pointed visor...Gawain looks damn near untouchable in that armor. Where did he get that?

Among the news of the evening, the Earl of Silchester announces a substantial reward for word of the whereabouts of his son and heir, Sir Monroe. Word goes around informally that the Earl is also looking for a suitable husband for his granddaughter, whose dowry includes a manor...

Several knights around the hall brag about their latest acquisition: a family motto. What's yours?

539. The Year I Almost Killed Greg Stafford

2007-04-06T10:40:00.000-07:00

Guest Gamemaster, David, here:

Two weeks ago, Greg ruthlessly slaughtered an entire party of goodly knights (Total Party Kill, or TPK, for short). Greg almost had his comeuppance last night, when his knight, Sir Clydno of the Finger, was lying dead in the hoary mud of Gwaelod.

An excellent party of player knights, along with King Lak and 60 of his Irish Warriors, rode to the rebel Cantref of Gwaelod to avenge the deaths of four noble knights (the Total Party Kill Knights, or TPKKs, for short). Upon crossing the border of Gwaelod, the Army of Vengeance, as it was called, was mercilessly set upon by troops sent by Count Gwyddno, and during the second skirmish, Greg (er...Clydno) was skewered and thrown from his horse. Even the Finger of St. Alban, Clydno's precious relic, couldn't save his lifeless husk from hitting the dark, dark earth of Gwaelod. In noblest form, Greg swiftly got a new character sheet and started rolling up a new character (this time a mighty Saxon, ahem ...).

After the battles were over, Greg suddenly remembered that his dead character Clydno had inherited and wore, as his character sheet stated, a belt that granted extra First Aid. It is one of the possible family gifts from the new Advanced Character Generation .pdf that's coming soon. Since I trust everyone in this truly superb group of players, including Greg, I decided to allow him his extra First Aid role, which brought him from zero hitpoints to three.

A consumate strategist or just plain lucky?

538. I grieve. Sir Clydno, Le Chevalier Doight

2007-04-03T21:38:00.000-07:00

Alas, I thought, when my brother and my dear wife died, that my life could not be more miserable. But Dame Fortuna tortures me, dashes my simple life upon sharp rocks simply because Time passes.
My son is dead. Sweet lad, strong and full of promise, lies now in the earth, food for worms. The countess, my niece, at the funeral wept beside me, her beautiful face streaked by tears. I too wept, copiously. There cold and pale went my boy Trentley into the unfeeling earth.
I wish and pray his soul to God. I have spent the winter with the bishop, who fills my ears with facts of Faith and the Church and platitudes of Heavenly peace and the love of innocents while my heart is broken and I weep alone in bed after my children are asleep. My only solace is that my other son and his sisters thrive. In the daytime my squire Evan is solicitous and kind, so I drive him hard with training and duties that he will be a noble knight, full of virtue to prove that even Saxons are people.
I went to my niece, the "Little Lady of Marlborough," as they call her. I will admit (privately of course) she seems frivolous and silly, so taken with this custom of Romance and encouraged to do so by the Great Queen Herself. I wished to pledge myself to her protection and safety, to keep her committed to her duties.
"Oh good uncle," she said to me, "You need to get out more. So much tragedy has overwhelmed you. For your benefit and good future, I — your dutiful liege and your loving niece — do hereby command you to go forth and adventure. Leave this place of sorrowful memories and visit the wide world to seek Glory. You are a brave and courageous knight whose vision is set high upon the realm of Glory, and the seat of your brother, my father, upon the Table Round is now empty! Seek to fill it! Go to adventure, and trust my security to the High King and Queen, who look after me as their own child. I will make sure your bairns are safe and secure, and will be raised in the safety and security of King Arthur and his queen."
In truth, I regret to leave my beloved children, but the call of adventure lures me outward. I think they will not miss me too much, entertained and educated as they shall be at the court of my brother. I hear there are dragons to be slain, robber barons who hate King Arthur – indeed., mysteries to be investigated. I am impelled by my sense of adventure to seek these out for the Glory of the realm.
My liege has released me. My grief throws me outward. I will seek knight adventurers of my ilk and go forth to the unknown realms now, and seek Glory.
I ask that God and Saint Alban, whose finger I bear, look upon me and bless me, and protect me from danger. I invoke the power of Saint Alban to open the waters before me, to blind my executioners and to bless me and take me into his presence at the end of my life.
Hark! A herald enters our court, who declares mightily for Lady Griane of the Manor of the Thawed Heart. She seeks those who aided her. I am one! Some others are dead now. Those were friends of mine! I shall not pass this adventure! Friends, gather now or I will seek this adventure on mine own!

Britain, prepare thyself! This hero set forth!!

A Springtime Call to Arms

2007-04-03T11:28:00.000-07:00

To [insert your name] of [insert your appelative] be this lettre tayke.

A claryon to battle hath been called on behalf of Kyng Lak of Estregales, vassal to Our Lord Arthur, Rex Imperator of Britaygne, Franksland, and Roma. An open Call to Arms to any for whom wish to avenge the wrongful deaths of our noble brethren, Sirras Clarian, Beryl, Galonors, and Gerin at the hands of the evil Duke Gwyddno, Count of Gwaelod.

If you wish to satisfye this obligatyon to [your Lord's name], then joyne the Army of Revenge, fully armed and prepayred for war.

The Army meets this 23rd Day of Martius at the Port of Bristol, where we set sayle for Carmarthen, there to meetynge wyth King Lak and his Vengence Knights. Provishyon and Passage provided by our Gloryus Kyng Arthyr.

Written by [insert clerkly name here], most humble Chief Clerk, en behalf of our Lord [insert your Lord's name], with grayt earnest and fayth in Christ.

A Letter in Earnest to Sir Brevis

2007-04-03T10:28:00.000-07:00

In Earnest be this lettre tayk to Sir Brevis of the Dike, who art my champyon knyght.

Ryght Worshipfull Sir,

I am in grayt distress for to hear such tydyngs as to the death of thy comraydes d'arms, and knoweth that my syster Cliane, Maiden of the Thycket, is remors and besydeth herself with grayt moanynge and weepynge over the loss of her champyon, dear Sir Clarion, whom she considered high on the lyst of her Par Amours, but not as high as Prince Rowen of Estregales, who to this daye fygts for her hande.

And yet another Grayt Tragedye hath struck our lands, beynge that a Terribyle Enchantemente hath been wrought against my syster's lands on the coast of Pedigiog. A fowl sorcerer, no dowbt begat by the Fiend Himself, hath stolen the island of Ynis Ynit, where grayze Cliane's pryzed White Sheepes. He hat taken it to his owne lande to the northe, and on it now sits his Becursed Tower of the Sea. The sorcerer whoth stole Ynis Ynit is oneth and the sameth as that Count Gwyddno of Gwaelod, who murdered thy comrades d'arms, particularlye dear Sir Clarion, for whom Cliane weeps from vespers to nones, daily, and wythout stoppynge.

Also, knoweth that the bards here synge tales not to the glorye of thy comrades d'arm, who art in purgatory for only the shortest span before they attain grayce at the feet of Our Lord. The retches sygne that they violated the rules of hopitalite, and tryed to steele the Countess for Base Lust and a Golden Cup for Base Greed. Such bards have byn sygyng all in Cambria abouts, and soon no dowt will carrye into Logres and the Continent, even to Rome. And surely all who wert frynds and comrades d'arms of such brutes wouldst surely suffer the Shayme of Great Dishonor for the knowing of them.

I beseech they aide at wonce and longe for thee to reste thy head on the heavynge bosom of my grayt Thankfulness and Joy. Come my knight en arme, come and brynge thy fellows in arms, as manye as ye can muster, and do honor to me and my poor sister, Cliane, Maiden of the Thickette, who weeps for her Sir Clarion with the Virginal Tears of the Wating Damosel.

Such Devotyon to my famyle wouldst surle earn thee a playce at my table.

Wyth haste, I wryte this treatice by mine own hande, on the second day after the Mornful Festival of Ash-on-the-Head, in Jesus Nayme.

Lady Griane of the Manor of the Thawed Heart,
Riagh of the Commote of Pedigiog, Countess vassal of Kyng Lak, who art vassal of Kyng Arthyr.

A Glut of Posts

2007-04-01T09:03:00.000-07:00

We're back from several weeks of sporadic gaming...updates and posts from 535 on, so be sure to scroll down.

Game on!

538: Rumors

2007-03-31T17:38:00.000-07:00

Sir Monroe reporting

Not much to report, really, as Father refuses to let me adventure, and besides, I have my hands full running Werrington, raising the girls and doing as much as I can to help Father in the running of Silchester and his lands in Salisbury. Father's stamina is not what it used to be, but my brother Elliott is proving himself to be a most capable Steward

Oh, Lancrius came by to announce that Clarian, Lady Ysabet's club-footed son, had been killed whilst away adventuring in Cambria somewhere. Lancrius looked pretty upset, but then again, he and Clarian were always pretty close, being the only two in the family with black hair. Not that we ever talk about that, eh?

Sir Cynfyn, one of Lancrius' companions, wed and there was quite a feast down at Greenbriar. I think everyone in Salisbury was ready for a celebration, so it was quite the blowout, especially as it was hosted by good old Leodigrance. I took young Zenobia to the wedding, as she is 16 now and ready either for marriage for Amesbury, however the pieces fall.

While on a trip to London to procure some timbers for some construction Father is supervising, I thought I espied Sir Trently's old man-at-arms, the Ethiop, ah, Wendimu. That's it, Wendimu. But the crowds around the docks were thick with foreigners, and before I could be sure I lost the sight of him.

I was surprised late in the year to get another visit from Sir Lancrius, back from a summer's adventuring. He got to go off searching for Queen Guenevere, as did we all, but he unworthy knave actually found her and had the great honor and privilege of rescuing her! Damn him to hell! Why could it have not been me, a worthier and more worshipful knight of our blessed Queen's beauty and benevolence? My heart was burning in me at the thought of rescuing the fair queen, when with a quiet word he froze it cold: Melliagraunce, the dastard who kidnapped the queen, was riding an enchanted palomino...given to him by one of Sir Gawain's brothers. Could it be, after these 14 years, that I might be able to fulfill my oath to avenge the death of King Pellinore and kill his murderer(s)?

A week later, in disguise, I stole out of Werrington and headed for Camelot and word of Sir Gawain's whereabouts.

537: TPK

2007-03-31T17:09:00.000-07:00

Lancrius here

Well, what a shit run of luck we've had, eh boys? Ever since that rascal Monroe waltzed into Camelot in the train of the King of Over There.

The winters were mild, but everyone seemed to be snuffling or bedridden with sickness. Dear old Dad had a couple of bouts that laid him low for several weeks at a time...he's really looking rickety these days. We didn't tell him at first that Lady Betty had died, but then I think old Buford finally let it out. He didn't take it as hard as when Mother died, but he can't bury himself in work like he used to. Then one of the little ones died—I think it was one of the girls—and then for like a week, it seemed like every rider coming to the gate bore word of another friend's passing.

Fall in the year 538 is passing us by as I write this, and in that brief year and a half, we've received word at Earl Robert's court that, in addition to my step-mother and little sister, Lady Raeburgh passed away, dear Lady Leofalid (you know, Sir Clydno's wife) died in childbirth, Count Chuckie died, my little brother dear Clarian was struck down while jousting in far-away Gwaelod along with Sir Beryl, Sir Galonors, and Sir Gerin. Palmarin, my brother's squire, came back with my brother's arms. I found Sir Cynfyn in Sarum and after grieving for our fallen comrades and kin, I gave him little Clarian's saddle, the one Dad had especially made to help keep him in the saddle and out of harm's way. Dad took that pretty hard when the Earl told him the news. He left for Camelot shortly thereafter.

Sir Leodigrance the Lesser, reeling from loss as we all are, gathered together those of us comrades-in-arms left in Salisbury and gifted us with a manor each. We then rode to Sir Roderick's manor to visit with him (he's one of Leo's brothers), my sister Lady Anabel, and the children. Monroe was supposed to show up, but sent word that "business in Silchester" kept him away. Uh-huh.

And then the real kicker of the year? My poor Pansy, the world's best horse that ever a poor knight could hope to ride, ate some bad acorns and died.

I took him back home in a cart, and Reginald and I dug a grave for that splendid beast under the apple trees in Durnford. May he eat of its heavenly mast all his days running through the green fields of heaven, Amen.

537. The Bad, Bad Year

2007-03-31T16:19:00.000-07:00

Oh, Dire Year!
Death, unseemly and silent, is everywhere.
My duties were heavier than usual. My friends, the great adventurers Gerin, Galonors, Beryl and Clarian passed through, seeking companions to go with them. I could not. My brother lay abed, coughing hard day and night. His daughter was more distraught than I, and sent for the best doctors in the land. Alas, they were busy everywhere. Many of the court officers were likewise ill, including our Marshall, and so I spent much time on patrols and training the men.
I worried about my brother, the good count who has done so much for me (he gave me a mural room of my own, you know.) I should, perhaps, have looked in my own little chamber more often. Woe to me, for when I returned one day I found much dole and grief in court among the ladies, but not for my brother who still lay abed, now hacking up blood. Misery, it was my own beloved Leofaled. She had taken abed, pregnant as she was, and swiftly the illness took her. No more those sweet arms to hold me, that blond hair to caress, her fair and frail form to hold in bed each night. Alas!
And then good Count Charles was delivered into the hands of God as well. And others, but they are nothing compared to my dear brother, a peer of the realm, Round Table Knight and hero of the Saxon Wars.
Over the summer word came of other tragedies. Lady Raedburgh, that doughty old Saxon wife of Sir Leodegrance, also succumbed. Lady Betty, wife of Mortimer the Count of Silchester shortly afterwards. Oh, children everywhere, many ladies and good knights fallen before the scythe of the Reaper of Souls.
I thought it could not become worse. Then one day Squire Palmorin stopped into Marlborough, leading a sorry band of three other squires whom I knew. He wept as he reported the dire events that befell his good knight, my friend Sir Clarien, and the other three. I shall not dwell upon the details: they are all dead. They entered into the hidden Kingdom of Gwaelod, seeking the Best Wine in the World and adventure. Apparently Sir Beryl, who must have been ill to so sully his judgement, attempted to free the queen there, perhaps even to steal a goblet of great worth. (Greed was always Beryl’s flaw.) The king did not take that well and killed Sir Beryl. The other knights, moved by their friendship for Beryl, fought beside him though he had done ill. They paid the price—they were all killed. They are buried, I am told, at Caer Gai, the manor where King Arthur was raised in secret.
I ought to have gone to church more. I know it now. The finger is not enough when I comes to the welfare of my family. I pledged to spend more time in church, and even began to go to Mass. I only pray now that my children will be spared.
I will tend to the affairs of my niece, the Little Lady of Marlborough, and help her obtain her inheritance from King Arthur. Surely she will need my sage advice and experience. She is young and beautiful and perhaps the most wealthy heiress on the island, now, but just a teenager. I will watch over her as my brother did, keep her from harm, and help her to find a good and honorable husband. Surely no less than a Round Table knight or foreign king will do for her!

Sir Galonors Writes to His Sister

2007-01-23T07:40:00.000-08:00

To the Lady Guinerant at Woodford Manor, in Salisbury, be this letter take.

In the year of our lord Jesus Chrystos, five-hundredd and thyrty-fyve.

My dearest sister I brynge greetynges from Camelot and have a tale of wonderment to relayte. Whilst were I servinge the court as Justicier, our glourious Kinge Arthur, Rex Imperator of Britain, France, and Roma, didst call all His Nobles to council to beare witness to the comynge of the Kyng of Overthere and his Retynue. My sister never wouldst you have imagined such a hoste! All wert dressed in the finest Samite of colours gay and becrusted wyth jewels of manye hues. Even the courtiers of the Holy City of Roma, when I wert there in convelescence, did not dress as fyne.

I also brynge straynge and wondrous news of grayte importe. You, my dearest sister, who art in my confydence and who knowest all my secrets, shall alone in our family know that I didst see she whomst I met long ago, before ere I met my dearlye departed wyf Allys of Burcombe. Yes, with the Hoste of the Kyng of Overthere was the Lady Eleanor le Fey, of the Citye of Glass, in the Kyngdom of Listeneisse. Apparentlye she is of a howse that is vassel unto the Kyng of Overthere and she didst come in train with the ladyes therein. I had discourse wyth the faire Lady Eleanor le Fey and she didst ask me to follow her unto her own land. To be sure, my dearest sister, I had grayte intention and desire to leave wyth her, but my obligayshuns to my lord, Sir Robert, and to you, my family, were too grayte. Thus, it is my goal to fynde my lady faire and bring her unto Woodford to be my wyf. Even now I am off on adventure with a goodlye companye of knights on behalfe of a vassel of the Kyng of Overthere. I am hopeful that the successful completshun of this quest will brynge me closer to Lady Eleanor le Fey.

I hope this letter fynds you, our brother Owen, and our sisters three in goodly health, and more oft I pray that the wet nurses for my children Allyn and Henia give goodly suck. Know also that I am ever in search for a goode husband for you, and know that your paytience shall be rewarded thricefold.

God make thee a goode woman and keep to the tendyngs of Woodford.

Always your

Galonors

536: Homecoming

2007-01-20T08:27:00.000-08:00

Monroe laments

Home at last! Back to the world of men and steel and deeds of derring-do...and divorce.

After my lord Arthur's feast, where I was finally able to leave the retinue of the Faerie King for my own people, my father told me of all that had passed in the ten long years I was gone...though to me it seemed not quite a fortnight since I went from here to there...

Father finished the castle at Portchester and started on another at the King's request...during a campaign where our Lord Arthur became Emperor of Rome, Arthur had the good sense to promote Father to the Round Table...Leodigrance the Lesser, stalwart of Salisbury (and now its Marshall), killed two of the three sons of Ulfius, praise be!...the Count of Winchester's long-standing debt to Father was also settled when King Arthur made Father Count of Silchester; Father has been working prodigously to get the Silchester knights up to speed, as they were a sorry lot when he took over...I have three new nieces and nephews, my Aunt Linnabel wed, my cousins Clarian and Caius both wed fine noblewomen...my grandmother died of the grippe...cousin Alinor prospers in Amesbury...and I have three new sisters and a brother: Oriana, Ersilla, Prudence, and Darinel whom I am sure will make a fine knight when his day comes. Lancrius and Clarian, who call Mortimer Father, were knighted by Arthur and have left Durnford for a life adventurous; may they find it outside Salisbury!

The last bit of news Father imparted to me I took sore hard: my lady Elaine, the mother of my lovely daughter Rosemeade, had me declared dead by Arthur's Justicier and took her manors to marry another knight! Sir Pergamore is a decent-enough fellow, and I hold no grudge against him, but Elaine, well! Constancy certainly is not her strong suit if she could not wait even ten years for my return. I rode post-haste to Upavon, lately my home, and collected Rosemeade and Zenobia back to Durnford and prepared to settle in as a household knight in service to my father, as my lord Arthur had reassigned his gift to me to another worthy knight. No grudge there, either, though it will be sore difficult to raise two tender daughters in the hubbub of a manor as a household knight...but Arthur, seeing that his judgement regarding my fate had been premature, told me to ride north and take over the management of a manor in Lonazep, a charming little place by name of Werrington. After a few weeks of visiting our family in Salisbury, we rode north and settled in.

535: Reunions

2007-01-19T18:31:00.001-08:00

Earl Mortimer says

Back in the day, when we young bucks roamed Logres and fought only the Saxons and each other, we traveled with a squire. Even Sir Ebble kept fewer than five servants. Very small groups.

This spring, as I rode to Camelot for Pentecost court, I traveled with Buford (my squire these past ten years); my sons, Lancrius, Clarian, Elliott, and Darinel; my wife, Lady Betty, and her five ladies-in-waiting and my dear daughters, Anabel and her husband Sir Roderick, Oriana and little Ersilla and her wet-nurse, and my ward Lady Brandimante; my cousin and chief steward of my Salisbury lands Sir Caius, and his staff of nine; my Silchester chief steward, Sir Gasabal, his personal staff; and all the assorted butlers, chamberlains, castellans, foresters, cup bearers, not to mention all the dog-boys, mews-men, pavillion-hoisters, groomsmen...we numbered almost one hundred souls as we rode through those splendid stone gates.

I barely know everyone's name!

But once all the ladies gathered under the queen's care, and the servants got to work, it was just the knights of the realm left to socialize and enjoy the company of the martially-minded. Ah! And those of us whose habit is to not search for the bottom of every mead-horn and pint-mug noticed the absence of the Duke of Clarence. Troubling. But before we could discern just how much trouble that duke may be, a most unusual host arrived at court: King Today, who many say is lord of the faerie-folk. If you had asked me yesterday I would've scoffed at such tales (despite the source of many of them being my dear, departed brother-in-law Sir Trently and his tales of fighting demons in the service of the Fisher King, pshw). But today...imagine the shock in the hall as the men and women in Arthur's court began to recognize the faces of long-lost family members and lovers from their youth, riding in King Today's train!

Sharp-eyed Elliott, the dear boy, spotted my brother Lancrrius, missing these dozen years; Sir Uren the Timely and his unearthly wife Lady Ga; and Monroe. My son, my son! Had you been imprisoned in the underworld almost ten years? If I had known I would have come got you!

As soon as King Today had greeted my lord Arthur, his retinue dispersed through the court, and I was finally able to hold my child again.

Sir Galonors Write to His Brother

2007-01-17T08:06:00.000-08:00

To Sir Dafyd ap Henias, in Guinnon, be this letter take in all hayste.

Be noted that it is the Year of Our Moste Graycious Lord, Jesu Christus, 534.

My moste noble brother, in this letter find grayte sorrow in the news of the untimely death of my wyf, Allys of Burcombe, who in byrthing did die. The childe, a son, wert born in good health, and he shall hight Allyn ap Galonors, in due honor of Allys who art in Heaven with Jesu and the Ayngels.

I am in hayste to dictate this note to this here scrybe, for I am to be inducted to serve as Justiciar in the Court of Kyng Arthyr, Imperator Rex of All Britain, France, and Italy. It is a grayte honor, but one tempered by the loss of my dearly devoted spowse.

I look to our meetynge again soon, and prey for my health, for our brother Owen's health, and for the health of our sister's four. Also give spaycial prayer to my children, Allyn and Henia, who art in grayte innocence.

With brotherly admyraytion,

Your brother,

Galonors

534: Adventure of Love's Labors

2007-01-16T18:21:00.000-08:00

Sir Clydno, Chevalier du Doight
Sir Clarian (Suzanne)
Sir Brevis of the Dike (Fergie)
Sir Blois (Aaron)

I have spent another two years in service to my dear brother, the Count. He relies on my leadership so much to help him run the domain that I scarce have time for adventuring. Indeed, I sometimes yearn for such, but duty calls. I spent the summer escorting the Lady Clina, my niece, to nearby counties for her personal business. At least I had opportunity to attend a small tournament in Wuerensis. But I had no time to attend the tournaments in Salisbury, celebrating the new castle and Sir Leodegrance’s promotion to Marshall there; nor in Silchester, celebrating the promotion of Sir Mortimer to earl of that land; nor was I part of the escort to the new wife of the King of France. I don’t begrudge the duties of being left behind, to help in the daily affairs. Earl Charles, of course, attended all those things while the lands were overseen by my niece, Lady Clina, when my brother is gone.

Winter was upon us before I had even missed the season for adventure. I was glad to be released for the season to travel to Camelot to prepare for my brother’s attendance at court there. It is one of the duties I perform regularly for him.

I was upon the road, travelling through neighboring Salisbury. I went with three others, Sirs Clarian and Brevis of Salisbury, and Blois, from Aquitaine.

Sir Clarian is one of many sons of Sir Mortimer, the new Earl. He’s got a large family, and Sir Clarian is one of them. He is not a big man, nor terribly healthy in appearance, and hampered by a deformity of his foot. In truth, his paternity is of open question since he was born while the count (then but a knight) was a knight prisoner for years—but since the Earl makes no truck of it, neither do I. Sir Brevis, another knight of Salisbury, is a cousin of the great Sir Leodegrance. Sir Blois a foreigner, from Ganis in Aquitaine, Lancelot’s land. All are new knights and so I regaled them with tales of my own adventures in distant Anglia.

Upon the road we met a strange woman upon a white horse with red ears. It did not exhale frosty breath like we and our steeds did. She announced herself as Dame Adventure and asked if we would follow her. Of course we did! She brought us to a fountain which was, we were told, in Estregales. Far, far from Salisbury where we'd been just scant hours before! Three dames awaited, one young, one middle aged, and one old. Each offered us adventure, and we chose to go with the eldest, for it seemed to offer the most adventure.

She too had a strange steed. After this I will always be wary of white steeds with red ears, or tail, or spots upon its hide. We were brought to a castle where reigned Sir Garhaus, an unmannerly fellow with a most comely daughter, named Cleayne. The old dame told us we needed to help the daughter to join with her lover, Sir Rowan. We sat among the soldiers to eat.

Two of us, Sir Blois and I, decided to bear the message to Sir Rowan, while the other two would help the lady sneak out of the castle to meet him. She gave us a note to deliver. We left first, and achieved a difficult ride through a snowy field of treacherous weeds, and when Sir Rowan received the note he was elated and invited us to sip wine with him. It was from Aquitaine, and Sir Blois told me many interesting things as we sat, awaiting the arrival of the lady and the completion of our task. Alas, she did not come in time, and so we hastily set off to the castle again. The field was, as I said, treacherous, and we both suffered badly from the wicked weeds that lashed us and poisoned us with their thorns and stems. When we arrived the drawbridge was lowering, and we saw in the court our companions lieing upon the ground, obviously defeated by the monstrous ogre whose wounds showed the results of out companions’ combat. We lowered our lances and charged in, slaying the creature handily, and turned to face the men at arms there. But no further fight followed. Instead, the residents of the castle all cheered us for freeing them from their ogre overlord.

We then escorted the lady Cleayne to her lover, and we saw them to a magnificent structure erected by giants of old that was called “The Chapel of Love in the Wilderness.” The elderly dame congratulated us, and told us we’d completed the Adventure of the Nursely Burden, for she had been nurse to the Lady Cleayne.

Next day we returned to the fount, and there we accepted the challenge of the middle dame. Following her upon yet another strange horse, we went to a castle where the lady’s heart had been frozen in sorrow. We were challenged to thaw it with deeds of romance and love, not to win her, just to remind her of the wonders she could know once again. No combat here! These were a series of challenges of courtly skills of the type most loved by lovers. I felt haunted by the stories and fantasies of my dear niece, who was raised in Guenever’s court and is fascinated with romance and its trappings. Indeed, though, it was difficult for none of use were lovers. Better we had been asked to fight! We spent days there, trying unsuccessfully to thaw the lady’s heart. Some days I might sing well, but not play the harp. Another I could fly the falcon, but not compose. But at last Sir Brevis proved his devotion and performed all the necessary deeds. The lady was pleased, and indeed, so was Sir Brevis, for afterwards he professed he’d acquired some attraction to her. He told us he plans to court her. That was the Adventure of Womanly Virtue.

We returned to the fountain again. There was only the youngest lady to offer us challenge. She took us to a thicket, within which a lady was being held prisoner by the Knight of the Hare. We were astonished to discover it was our friend Lady Cleayne! The knight was a surly fellow and told us he was keeping this lady and that that he would have his way with her when he wished. Unmannerly fellow! She was most unhappy. He challenged us to combat, or to be gone. After so much frustration in courtly things, I readily accepted, for this was something I knew and felt I could accomplish.

We lowered lances and charged, and though I am skilled at it, he was better. And though unhorsed and wounded, I challenged him to combat by sword, which he honorably accepted. I fought well and hurt him some, but he hurt me more and I passed out from my wounds. I’m sure that if I had not suffered already from wounds in the wicked field of weeds I would have prevailed. Sir Brevis, like most of his kin, is a great fixer of wounds and after a time I was conscious again. But defeated, I could only watch as my fellows fought in their turn.

This Knight of the Hare proved to be more than formidable. He slew Sir Blois! Alas, just shortly before we had been sipping wine by the campfire and discussed knightly things. No more. Then he nearly slew Sir Brevis as well! I despaired for the fate of Lady Cleayne, for it left only the sickly Sir Clarian to defend her. Well, God must love him, for the fight was fierce, but after ten or twelve passes with lance he at last struck a timely blow and laid that wicked knight low. I supplied aid to his wounds, for he’d been honorable to me. We asked what the Lady wished to do with the defeated, unconscious knight, and though she was undecided, Sir Clarian was not. No mercy from him! He struck the dastard’s head off. Shortly thereafter he declared his love for Lady Cleayne, even though we all knew he had a rival in Sir Rowan (whose absence was conspicuous). This had been, we were told, the Adventure of Youthful Folly.

We brought her back to the fountain with us, and there we saw Dame Adventure once more. She congratulated us, and within a few steps had us once again back on the road to Camelot, where we had first met her. We went on to Camelot, and though my good brother was angry that I had not prepared the way for him, he nonetheless when King Arthur told him to be calm, and gave praise to me and my companions for our adventures. We spent the winter telling and retelling these stories. In no time people dubbed us the “Knights of Love’s Labor,” and I myself spent many hours telling and retelling our story for the lasses of the court. The High King was pleased, the Queen herself made us tell it to her ladies, my niece was pleased and lavished words of praise upon me, and most importantly even my dear brother was kind and said I did well.

Became notable in Generous and Love (Family)

Adventure Glory 80

Annual Glory 142

Daughter born, sickly

Skill Increase: 1 point to Spear Expertise (now 19)

534: Adventures of the Left Behind

2007-01-16T17:35:00.000-08:00

Meet Sir Clarian

I think you know my brothers, Sir Monroe and Sir Lancruis. I'm sure you've heard of Earl Mortimer, Castellan of Portchester and my dad. Father took me to winter court at Camelot, and now I am a knight! I was so excited, especially since I got to go to two tournaments right away: Leo's tourney of roses, and father's tourney of justice. But father did not let me sail to the Continent for our Queen's cousin's wedding there, though my brother Lancrius got to. So very disappointing, that!

Looking for adventure, cousin Brevis of the Dyke and I hooked up with the Knight of the Finger, who also did not go to France, along with a knight with a heavy accent. I believe his name was Blois. Since everybody of note was away at the tournament, we offered the lady our help. She took us to meet the three damosels of the fountain: a maid, a comely woman, and a grandmotherly type. So, not just one lady to rescue, but three!

The first damosel in distress was the young maid Cliane and her lover, Sir Rowan, kept apart by her ogreish father, Sir Garhaus of Estragales. [We never did figure out how we got from Salisbury to Estragales and back. None of us is much up on Geography, anyway.] With the help of Cliane's nurse, we devised a plan: Clydno and Blois rode to Sir Rowan to arrange a tryst while Brevis and I were to spirit Cliane and her nurse out of the castle and to the rendezvous.

I foolishly said aloud, "Is this the secret way out of the castle" [sometimes I do that] and before Brevis and I knew it, the four of us were surrounded by Sir Garhaus and a score of spearmen. With the women safely behind us, we fell to it, hacking and slashing ferociously at the now-quite-literally ogreish Sir Garhaus. We battered away for what seemed like hours, eons, and, while in the courtyard just inside the gate, we almost had him at our mercy when Clydno and Blois rode through the gate with lances lowered. That was the end of Sir Garhaus and any objection to the lover's tryst. After Brevis and I got a little first aid, we rode off to the Chapel of Love in the Wilderness. If I ever get married I want to get married there; it was quite lovely.

We then went in search of Sir Garhaus's sister, the Baroness Griane, whose husband had died for Arthur at Badon and had since that day locked her heart away in a strong stone tower of despair and loneliness. Or so we were told. I'm sure the lady's husband did die at Badon, but jeez, that was sixteen years ago. How great a husband could he have been, anyway? Neither am I sure how great a wife she was, because her interest in us extended only to torturing us with pointless games of romance such as in fashion among the ladies of court these days. Oh, you should hear my old man argue with my mother about it! After meeting the Baroness, I can see his point. We spent a looooong time trying to "woo" her with our bad poetry, singing, oration, composition. Good old Brevis finally pulled out a win for us, and we were allowed to go on our way with the lady's thanks. Ugh.

More to our liking was, when we returned to the damosels of the fountain, they told us that the maid Cliane had run into further difficulties. Say no more! Off we go. A renown cur going by the appelation Knight of the Hare had kidnapped Cliane, and challenged us to one-on-one jousting in order to save her from having to skin and cook the knight's rabbits over a campfire. Can you imagine those little white hands covered in blood and soot? No way.

Clydno jousted him first, and went down. Sir Blois was next and he, too, went down, but did not get up after being knocked off his horse. Dead! Poor man. I was next and, I'm not to ashamed to admit, a bit scared at the prospect of ending up dead at the hands of the Knight of the Hare, but God was with me and I bested him. I'm not particularly forgiving or vengeful, merciful or cruel, but standing over the prone form of my opponent, looking over at the body of my unintelligible companion, I made a move toward cruelty that day and cut off his head!

I then had the great pleasure of escorting most dear Cliane back home, seeing the look of radiant worship in her eyes when they turned toward me, before riding back with my two companions to Camelot.

I wonder how one normally gets to Estragales from Salisbury?

Best lines of the night:

"Can we combine our damage?" [Brevis and Clarian together do 6d6 damage with a sword...when we manage to hit.]

"Wow...if the Knights of the Finger, the Dyke, and the Hare got together, it could be quite a party."

"And this is why we weren't invited to the wedding."

"I'm glad I'm dead."

534: Tournament Triple Threat!

2007-01-05T14:34:00.000-08:00

[Greg just posted his notes on last year's Court of Love. They display below this post, so don't miss it!—Suzanne]

[Here're some links to large file-size jpgs of the cover/contents of Greg's Advanced Character Generation and Player's Book of Winter Options so you all can be totally jealous of us.—Suzanne]

[Players Book of Winter Options — Advanced Character Gen cover — Advanced Character Gen contents page]

Mortimer says

The winter's hard work paid off as, despite the cold and wet weather, I paid a call to all the manor-holders in Silchester-county. Scribes and priests may argue otherwise, but speaking to a man face to face is the best (and only) way to judge his character, and for him to judge yours. I encouraged the less-desirable and/or intractable into other duties, even errantry in a few cases, and moved the more promising of the Silchester lot into positions of authority. On the whole, I'm feeling better about these Silchester men, and after last year's bountiful harvest I believe the feeling may be mutual.

After winter court in Camelot, dear Sir Leodigrance started the year off with a bang, holding a tournament at Sarum, on the grounds outside the newly-built castle inside the old motte-and-bailey. I must say, I'm really happy with the way it turned out! This is now the second square-built keep I've constructed, and it showed. The countess and her court were pleased as punch when they saw the gardens I had constructed outside their second-story quarters. My lady Queen Guenivere helped with the arrangement of plants and birds, and the effect was quite pleasing.

Leo and Lady Raeburgh titled their tourney the Tournament of Roses. Since Sir Ywain was still in the area, he attended and ran away with the joust but, surprise surprise! young Sir Galonors defeated all and sundry in the melee. Sir Leodigrance, with a nod to Sir Ywain, awarded the tournament championship to Galonors, a valiant (and home-grown) knight.

As promised, I too held a party to celebrate my change in fortunes, though Lady Betty nixed my idea of the party in the old jail. Instead we held one of these new-fangled tournaments outside Silchester-town, dubbed the Tournament of Justice; again, Lady Betty's idea. I'd wanted to call it the Tournament of Ransom Finally Paid. Quite a few of my Round Table companions attended, much to my delight—the courtiers that followed on their spurred heels less so. Oh, the rules and protocol they imposed! I just sat there, smiling and waving. Sir Griflet handily won the melee, while (surprise!) King Anguish won the joust and was declared overall champion of the tournament. He seemed mightily pleased, which should make him even more disposed towards our Emperor, King Arthur.

Young, wan Sir Galonors surprised us all with his stunning victory in the "tournament of justice" event we staged midway through the almost-weeklong event. Later, after the battle of law was over and Galonors declared the winner, the man he defeated, Arthur's chief justicier, pulled me aside to inquire about young Galonors. Us greybeards have admired his sharp wit for years now, and I told the justicier as much. I admit I heavily tinged my admiration with affection for the man who so sweetly revenged us against Sir Turquine. We shall have to put a good word in the king's ear to find that goodly knight an appropriate wife as, my dear lady tells me, Galonors wife died in childbirth this year past. Such a shame, but we hear the child yet lives.

Later in the year we accompanied Lady Elizabell, the queen's cousin, to her wedding to one of the innumerable kings of Paris, a King Childebert. There was, of course, a tournament following the wedding feast. I feel sorry for Elizabell, watching those Parisian "knights" gorge and leer in their most-disorderly hall. At one point during the feast a pair of knights proceeded to "dance" upon the tables amid uproarious French laughter! Sigh. She will have her hands full with that one.

I would like to hurry back to Silchester, but Lady Betty and the children would like to see more of the Continent. We shall see.

Lancrius chimes in

Well, the year got off to an inauspicious start: a trio of tournaments, and yours truly barely out of rags and wearing banged-up, borrowed armor. Old borrowed armor. Reginald did a bang-up job, but it's still clear that Pansy's harness is cobbled together from scraps and spare parts.

We look awful.

I'm still upset that Earl Robert pretty much shrugged his shoulders and as much said "Oh well!" when I came back to court for the winter with only my charger and the shirt on my back—not even a saddle! And after killing a giant, too. Jeez, what's a knight gotta do around here? Some of the other knights in the hall gave me last year's clothes and a spare sumpter, which Reginald must ride perched atop our very small bundle of goods. I don't know where I'm going to get the six librum to pay back Cynfyn...especially since all these celebratory tournaments were for glory and not for goods. Galonors did surpassingly well at the tourneys Sir Leo and father held, though I lost track of his performance once we all took ship to France for a wedding tournament in Paris, because...

Get this! During the festivities Galonors spotted Ufo among the crowd of French knights! (You know, Ufo! One of Ulfius's sons.) Leo and I insisted he point him out to us, and after much hemming and hawing over dinner he did. And damn, there he was, unibrow and all. Well, Leo and I took off after him straightaway, but because of the great crowd in the hall we took to the table tops in our pursuit. We cleared six tables before taking a spill, though in the hall the French kings keep, no one really noticed. But we lost sight of Ufo.

The next day we posted a challenge to the scoundrel, and in the long afternoon light he finally showed at the head of his pathetic retinue. Oh, Leo was hopping mad! They took to the field after a minimum of hard words and gestures, each enraged at the sight of the other. It's been ten years since Leo disrespected Ulo, but it could have well been that morning by the hatred radiating out of Ufo's helm. I was worried that Leo might not be up to a fight to the death, but that wily old campaigner struck a skillful blow with his lance and laid Ufo right out on the dirt. Leo paused over Ufo's prostrate form, though it was clear he wasn't yet dead as a young woman tended him through her tears. It took some harsh words on my part before Leo took his sword and separated Ufo's head from his shoulders. All the Salisbury knights then hoisted Leo onto their shoulders and paraded him around the tourney grounds, cheering. Two down, one to go!

533: Game Master Notes, Court of Love

2006-12-26T07:34:00.000-08:00

Greg's Gaming Notes:

We played a court of love. Everyone put their regular characters aside and pulled out, or wrote up, a woman character to play.

Lady Raeburgh was there. That ol’ axe-throwing noblewoman (“lady” only barely fits) acutally no longer Hates Britons, and she and Leodegrance are among those “perfect old lovers” that the girls talk about. Imagine that. Raeburgh is a bawdy old broad with a henpecked husband.

Lady Adwen, the great duke’s daughter, was there, well-spoken and knowledgable about the subject.

Lady Nia of Swanbridge was a newlywed who came to participate.

Lady Brandimante, a practical courtier, was pretty much dragged into it. Her position among the ladies and marriagability demanded it. She hated it.

The first question was put forth, debated and judged. A troubador came out to entertain everyone. It was Sir Lancelot, who has been at court for years but is normally absent on some or another adventure. No one even expected to see him, and when he came forth to sing his love song for an anonymous Immortal Queen, the women all had to make their Amor Lancelot passions.

It seems that this never made it into print, but it’s based on the fact that all women, upon their first look at Lancelot, must make Trait rolls to see if they get an Amor for him. This is done exactly the same way that men do it for Guenever.

One woman was heard to say, “I would never do anything to betray you, my husband, but if I ever did it would be with that man.” And the only reason that this was not a murderous statement was because it was said about Sir Lancelot, who is absolutely chaste. Every woman loves him, just as all men love Guenever.

As for the Court of Love, I’ll make it short: the questions (from GPC) were presented to all of the council. The players answered for their characters. Then the best answer, from the Queen and Princess of the court, was given, and everyone judged whose answers were right or wrong. A right answer got 50 Glory. A perfect answer, 100.

Nia, Raeburgh, and Adwen all ended with 300 Glory from the event. Brandimante got 100.

Well, now I have to make up some new Court of Love questions. I want to keep this thing going and see where it leads as a source of play rather than the abstract thing rolled for every Winter. Maybe I can generate enough questions from the game if the player knights will indulge Romance. I’ll put their action before the court.

Lady Clina

Well, to do a decent GM job for motivating Romance I’ll need an NPC to lead and guide this thing. I’d like a young heirless, good lineage, beautiful and rich. What NPC might work here? I began to formulate one I’d like to have, a Princess of Love.

I decided I’d go with my preferred NPC family. For game glue, the Salisbury knights have had an ongoing relationship with the Marlborough count for fifty years now. The former kid who was called “Count Chucky” by the last generation is now Earl Charles of Marlborough, and no familarirties in public, please. Childhood hero of the resistance, early companion of Arthur, bla bla. And oh yea, did you know he’s the brother of my player character?

And now, I realize he has a daughter. No other children.

I do a full character sheet for her with (of course) Advanced Character Generation for KAP5. Find the year—533, and follow the steps. Everything worked perfectly except at the end for the Luck Table, so I’m making a Lady’s Luck Table for it.

While assigning her Traits I realized, hey, she qualifies as a Gentlewoman as a beginning character! Great. She also failed to be impressed by the High Queen,

At Statistics I decided to roll randomly. Wow, SIZ 4, CON 19 and APP 19. Tiny woman! At first I thought, wow, can’t do that… but heck, William the Conquerer’s Queen was three feet tall or something! Of course she’s SIZ 4, the Little Lady. For her three Distinctive Features I chose one as the classical Arthurian one, “Pale skin, red lips, black hair;” second, “Pretty Face,” and finally “Perfectly Proportioned Gorgeous Body.”

For assigning skills I played a bit. I wrote in little quotes on what she could say when asked to make that skill (Folklore, “our little people,” and Heraldry, “who is that?”)

I had thought, at first, that she was Sir Clydno’s sister, or half-sister rather—that is—Count Chucky’s sister. Heck, I realized he’s forty or more. His daughter! I drew out the family tree, and in doing so decided that Count Charles’ wife died in childbirth. The count has one legitimate heir, this young woman raised in Guenever’s court.

Ah, there is my heiress, my future Princess of Love.

And she’s Sir Clydno’s niece. (He has no question that the inheritance should go to the legitimate daughter instead of the bastard son. He will be scrupulously selfless in all service to the Lady, his niece.) I discover she wants to be as famous as the Princess of the Rose.

She is tiny—only four feet tall, but perfectly proportioned—and frail. Sixteen years old, saucy and gorgeous and tiny and as courtly and formal as a woman can be. Her noble facade is immense, trained in the court of the High Queen for the last eight years.

Oh yes, she is also the heiress of Marlborough. She will be countess some day.

She is part of Guenever’s court—a lady to a lady right now. She knows Fashion and is steeped in Romance and wants to play the game.

When among only women she admits that she loves the power of the Romance game, and expects to use it to have men do her will for years to come. She teases other women if they aren’t willing to take advantage of this opportunity. The queen does it to run the kingdom. Why should other noble women not use it to run their holdings? It’s an innocent game. Everyone knows that.

She loves diamonds.

If anyone mentions to her that her family arms are just like the King of Sweden, she repeats what her father has always said, slightly modified: “Then, when I meet the King of Sweden I will have my champion fight him to the death.”

And goes on to another subject.

Oh yea, this is the woman that Clydno’s wife is handmaiden to. So Leofaled is a noble lady, the handmaid to a Countess Clina, who herself is (at times) a handmaiden of the High Queen. Young Evan, now ten, serves as a page in this court.

533: Court of Love

2006-12-25T16:40:00.000-08:00

Mortimer groans

Just as I had feared, our lovely queen has proceeded with her idea, and this year at court we were subjected to a spectacle known as the Court of Love. Lady Betty was there, as was our ward cousin Brandimante. Lady Raeburgh was there, the great count's daughter Adwen, so many fine young ladies, all caught up in the excitement of the queen's clap-trap. Hah! Sometimes I think to myself, poor Arthur! I'll leave it to others to speak of it.

Oh! But what was this? My dear lord King Arthur Pendragon Emperor of Rome almost killed me at court this year. Sir Leo and I were entertaining ourselves practicing on the jousting field when the king beckoned us over, bade us to clean up and appear in the hall. Hmm. With a nod in my direction, Arthur declared to all assembled that he was resolving The Silchester Situation...by appointing me Count of Silchester! I just about had a heart attack. I now consider the matter of the Count of Windsor's unpaid ransom resolved. (It's only been 34 years.) Then it was Leo's turn as the king turned to him and announced that there was none better in the kingdom to be marshall of Salisbury. How true! (Even though I beat his ass on the tourney field.)

There will be one huge party as soon as I can arrange it—in Silchester's jail!

Ha!

532: Battle of Tara

2006-12-25T16:02:00.000-08:00

Mortimer recounts

It's a funny thing, getting older. Each year, more parts of my body ache (and ache worse), young knights seem impossibly young, the youngsters get noisier. Lady Betty, she keeps me young, and the children (and young knights!) in line. She's doing something right: I'm easily 15 years older than Leodigrance, but put the two of us side-by-side and you'd never know it. He looks old. Worse yet is his young friend Sir Galonors. He looks positively wasted.

The other thing about getting old? All your companions start dying off. We heard this year that young Sir Trently, my old brother-in-law, was killed last summer in a tournament or duel or some such. Court foolishness, these tournaments. And now Lady Betty tells me the queen is making noise about a new court for the ladies and damosels, a court of love.

Hogwash!

I took the family to Camelot, of course. Lady Betty naturally spent most of her time with the other ladies, and when the boys arrived they did me the honor of serving me at table during the feast. Lovely lads, all! Lancrius is sure to make a fine knight, and it did me proud to see him knighted. His younger brothers were good sports about it, but clearly wanting their turn. Next year, I think, I will be ready to let them go, and thereafter spend my days playing with my baby daughter and advising the king while I slowly slide into dotage!

My lord King Arthur Pendragon Emperor of Rome decided to war upon the Irish, and asked us to muster up. Very well! Quick work, that. I hear young Sir Leo may stay on in Ireland with the promise of extensive lands. Huh. If he does, I shall have to ask him for some more of those exceptional dogs he breeds. They're great fun to have around Durnford.

I came back to Durnford to find that Lady Betty delivered of our child earlier than expected. The boy was sickly, so we had him baptised right away, but he lived the night and seems to be holding his own. We'll see.

I would like to hear word of my son before I die, even if it's to know that he is dead in some adventure. Dear Monroe! It's hardest not knowing.

Meet Sir Lancruis

I am a knight!

Finally. Why did father make me wait so long?

531 Adventure of Sir Turquine

2006-12-08T07:08:00.000-08:00

updated
Characters
Sir Clydno du Doight
Sir Trently of Salisbury, Round Table Knight
Sir Galonors of Salisbury
Sir Beryl
Sir Cynfyn of Clarence
The Adventure of Sir Turquine
We were visiting Camelot and for the first time I had the opportunity to directly swear loyalty to King Arthur. I naturally took the chance, and I daresay the occasion was more than extremely impressive. I was astonished at my own response, and I feel that my loyalty to him is perfect at this time! (Though, nonetheless, my loyalty to my brother the Earl is a bit more yet.)
[Loyalty to Arthur = 20, to Count Charles = 21]
The market at Camelot was fantastic, and we marveled at the new armor available. It is called Partial Plate and is superior to that old fashioned chain that I have been wearing. I spent the last of my inheritance, gifts and award money to purchase a set for myself, and also a fine courser to ride upon rather than the rouncy I have been riding. I have named him Bounder.
Much to our alarm we learned that Sir Leodegrance had disappeared! I have known this great knight since I was a page, and so naturally I joined in with many others to seek him. He had left with his retinue to travel to Essex on the main road. We traveled quickly, pausing occasionally only to ask if he had passed. We rode swiftly, even late into the night.
One night in southern Essex we sighted a huge fire off the road. We went to investigate and discovered an entire village afire! Even the church was aflame and bodies lay everywhere. The terrified peasants told us it had been a Saxon raid from the north, and that they had departed not long ago. I quickly found tracks, and even though it was night we set off quickly in pursuit. We followed a trail of footprints, horse prints and a cart for many miles in the darkness before we were ambushed by a screaming horde of Saxon bandits. I admit, I did passing well and left several dead or bleeding, sometimes even fighting two or three at a time. After all, they were just bandits. My armor stood me well.
But their numbers were great, and Sir Trently, our leader, signaled a withdrawal. We waited until day and returned to the spot and found the villains had not even taken out the bodies of their own dead. We did find the cart, hidden in some brush and with some treasure still in it, especially the gold cross from the burnt church. Sir Trently had it loaded onto his sumpter and we continued onward.
After some time we found a clearing, and at the far end a tree upon which hung a bell, and from its limbs were suspended many shields. We recognized many, including that of Sir Leodegrance! And, up a hill some distance father, a tall black tower, strongly built of stone.
Sir Trently, ever the courageous Round able Knight, rang the bell. After a short time a knight arrayed all in black and bearing arms of a black tower upon white rode gently into the clearing. We recognized this fellow as Sir Turquine, the famous Saxon lord who has never been conquered by our king. I urged an immediate attack by all of us at once, but the chivalrous knight, always trying to teach me their ways, denied that and instead spoke to the man.
Sir Turquine invited us to stay at his castle if we would accept his hospitality and the custom of the castle, a custom which he could not explain until we had agreed to take or leave his offer. It was well given, and it is clear he was a knight even though a Saxon, and so we accepted it. Then he told us his custom was that no man could leave until he, Sir Turquine, was defeated in battle.
We asked of Sir Leodegrance, and were told he had not accepted the custom and currently resided in a dungeon under yonder tower. There too was Sir Ector de Maris and many other knights.
The Saxon’s word was good for his hospitality, and I say that his tower was richly arrayed with tapestries and other luxuries. We ate well and temperately, and upon the request of Sir Trently, Sir Leodegrance and other goodly prisoners were brought forth. Our friend looked poorly, having been wounded and left in the dank dungeon. He accepted food and drink from us, but was sent back.
Sir Trently challenged Sir Turquine to fight that night, that Leodegrance could be relieved of his misery. But this was refused until the morrow, after a morning hunt for entertainment.
The hunt went well, and upon my swift courser I outstripped the other hunters in pursuit of a huge bull. I’d not fought these before, and thought to myself "What danger from a great man cow?" I cornered it, lowered my lance and charged while it lowered is own weapon and charged back.
What danger? Great danger, I learned, for it sidestepped my boar spear and as it passed tore my entire left side open with one great sharp horn. I daresay, I feared I would die. I barely stayed the saddle, and only escaped with my life when other knights came to challenge it. What a monster! It slew two horses and nearly two other men before it was dispatched.
I do admit, I am glad my new courser was saved, but the wound was grievous. Sir Turquine showed great concern for my well being and arranged for nurses to take care of me. I asked that, should I be required to stay, that my dear Leofaled be allowed to come to this place to care for me.
"Since you will certainly be staying, I so agree," said the generous host.
"No so sure," said Sir Trently, "for we have yet to fight for our freedom." I watched from a stretcher, barely able to keep conscious except for the excitement of the fight.
Sir Trently proved his worth that day, for in several passes he bested that black knight so that blood flowed from several great wounds. But then a fire of hatred burst from the Saxon’s eyes, and though he was afoot with a two handed axe and Trently ahorse with his lance, with one single blow he struck the Round Table knight a deadly blow which slew him.
What grief we knew then! Sir Galonors fairly frothed at the mouth with desire for revenge, even though he had been wounded that same day by the dolorous bull. But Sir Turquine his passion abated by his victory and his own blood, refused, saying there would be more honor for the winner if both men were fully healed to fight.
Thus we were prisoners there for another six weeks. We buried our dear friend Sir Trently nearby, the rites overseen by the priest taken prisoner from the village we had seen burned. Sir Turquine even allowed he prisoner knights to attend the funeral. We wept for that terrible loss. But that is the way of the knight, to live well and fight for justice, and to die if need be. I harbored no hatred for Turquine, just sorry for Trently.
My own stay was lightened by Leofaled, whose tender ministration and loving attendance nursed me to health once again. Though heavy with child, she had come to care for me. Indeed, the residents of that castle were amazed at our love, she an Angle and me a Cymri. I often saw her talking with them in their own tongue, and they often cast curious looks my way where I lay.
At last the day for battle came. It was, once again, a dire battle, but Sir Galonors was inspired by his hatred of Sir Turquine, who had slain our dear friend. They traded blow, sparks flying from arms and armor and blood scattering upon the field. Then at last Sir Galonors struck hard and the armor along Turquine’s side parted to reveal muscle and bone. He nearly swooned, we saw, and he at last yielded to the victor. Galonors tried to taunt him to fight to the death (I didn’t think that was normal behavior for chivalrous knights, but what do I know?) But Sir Turquine refused, insisting that the terms of combat had been met. He would free all his prisoners.
I thanked the Saxon knight for his hospitality, which was flawless. I was embarrassed by the conduct of my friend Galonors, for I fear his hatred for our host overwhelmed his good manners. But we were all able to travel, and we departed for our own lands and left Sir Turquine to his own lands and devices.
I fear that Sir Leodegrance has suffered for his time in the dungeon. He looked poorly, and I hope he makes it through the winter to come.
For me, Leofaled and I returned to my brother’s castle in Marlborough. There, in the fall, she delivered two healthy children (so much better than last year, when she fell ill from her miscarriage). I have named the son Trently, after my dear friend; and the daughter, named by Leofaled, is Sigrun.
A year ill for adventure, supreme for family.
531 Adventure of Sir Turquine
Got partial plate armor, new courser (Bounder)
Combat Glory 11
Annual Glory 88
Twins born (Trently, Sigrun)
TOTAL GLORY = 2347
I had thought to learn crossbow this winter, for hunting purposes and to use against villains swimming in the river and cursing my great King Arthur. But upon reflection of my experience with the bull and Sir Galonors with Sir Turquine, I will spend it instead in vigorous Spear Expertise. (now = 19)

Sir Trently's Thoughts

Again and again, back to Anglia. I would've gone home again after Pentecost court if word hadn't come that Sir Leodigrance the Lesser was missing. Leo! Not just a companion of the Round Table, but an old family friend and stalwart of Salisbury. Of course I joined in on the search.

Thinking that he'd gotten into it again with Lady Raeburgh, the group of us visited the lady—a towering oak as always—and Leo's other estates, but no luck. Fortunately, because of the good knight's ostentatious travel style we did pick up word of his passing near London. We followed his trail through Essex and into Anglia to its end-point, a clearing with large bell hanging from another oak. Leo's shield, along with those of a dozen and more knights, hung from its boughs.

I get uneasy every time I'm in this land, but still, I rang the bell. I knew what would happen. Sure enough, out rode a knight to challenge us by way of hospitality; an underhanded trick if you ask me, couching a duel inside a knight's lodging. We could have said no, but I didn't want to sleep on the hard ground and think of Leo cooling his heals in some Saxon's prison, so I accepted the hospitality and the unspoken challenge on behalf of the group.

Have I mentioned how incredibly LARGE said Saxon knight was? I mean, awesomely huge. His feet practically dragged on the ground as he rode upon his very stout charger. How do these Saxon women whelp such babes without splitting in two?

This Sir Turquine's castle was magnificently appointed, and his hospitality most cordial—to us. We asked to see the prisoners, and Sir Leodigrance in especial, and at first were denied, but we persisted and finally Leo was brought up into the hall. What a disgrace! Oh, not Leo's grimy, sickly body. The truth of Turquine's "hospitality" was standing there in front of us, putting on a brave face but obviously sick and grievously injured. We did what we could to help Leo before he was dropped back into the dark beneath our feet, and our resolve was steeled to do our best the following morning on the jousting grounds.

...

I acquitted myself well, I feel, and I have no fear about meeting my maker. I will, of course, miss my Lady Nia and our tiny daughter terribly, but I trust that my Lord Arthur and her great family will insure her comfort and care until we meet again. I pray, too, that where I failed one of my companions will succeed and free our brothers-in-chivalry from that snake in black.

Amen.

530 Adventure of the Stygian Stallions

2006-12-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

Characters
Sir Clydno, Le chevalier Doight; of MarlboroughSir Leodegrance the Lesser, Knight of the Round Table; of SalisburySir Galonors; of SalisburySir Gerin, son of the Great Duke
Sir Cynfyn of Clarence
Sir Mynyddog of Lindsey
The Adventure
Sir Gerin and I went to London. He is so generous! He purchased a fine cloak for me worth £4! I guess that’s the difference being the bastard son of a duke and the bastard son of a count. Well, plus his brother gave him a manor and I got a mural room.
Well, I do not begrudge my brother the count of Marlborough. He honors my desire to earn my own way, and not rely upon unnatural largesse, simply because he is my brother.
Besides, I have the finger! It’s from my dear, dear sainted mother (may she rest in peace.) This wonderful relic of our dear Saint Alban, who was as everyone knows the first Saint in the whole world. Except for those twelve friends of Jesus. And his mother. And father. And Joseph of Arimathea who brought the Grail to Britain. Ah yes, first martyr. But Saint Alban was the first martyr ever in the world, you know. An I have his finger. And I’m glad, because it kept me alive against Camille, and since I am the keepr of this wonderful thing it gives me more free time. I don’t have to go to Mass like everyone else, etc etc.
Later we met with our friends in London. They had taken a tour of their lands in Sussex and were talking something about how awful Sir Jerry’s manor was, but Sir Leodegrance’s was so nice. Someday I am sure I’ll understand what that stuff about manors is all about.
We had a horse race. Sir Cynfyn of Clarence was a newcome among us. He bumped Gerin’s horse and so beat him. Those Clarence and Gloucester guys are always doing that kind of thing to each other. But Sir Galonors—always the rightout and super-just—protested and challenged Sir Cynfyn to a joust over the bump. Cynfn wanted to know why—"I didn’t bump you, did I? Is Gerin protesting? Why do you want to joust me?" But Galonors insisted, "for justice," he said, "to teach some manners."
Well, Sir Cynfyn had a couple of things to teach to Galonors! "Sir Superjust" took the fall. He took his defeat well, and Cynfyn was kind enough to accept his victory well too.
While in London we heard that the Bleoberis, the Count of Essex, was going to have a tournament. We heard, too, that the prize was going to be a trio of fabulously unusual horses, so the five of us went to see them. Count Bleoberis is a good fellow (and neither ambitious or crazy like his cousin, Lancelot, seems to be.) We went to view the steeds.
Even from a distance they were more than I ever expected to see. First, they were the biggest horses I’ve ever even seen. I’ve seen a few Andalusions around, but these were bigger yet. Plus they were all jet black. Not just "horse black" (which is really dark, dark brown) but as black as my hair. Incredible! They were gorgeous as they ran across the field in the distance, led (it seemed) by a half dozen men.
We went closer to see them and, much to our astonishment, found the earl’s groom laying wounded upon the ground! He told us he’d been ambushed by thieves who had run off with the horses. Justly alarmed, we set off immediately in pursuit. We were distracted briefly by a band of men on horseback who attacked us most foully with bow and arrow, but while we chased them away the horses escaped.
We chose to arm properly—for we were naturally wearing our lordly, but non-combat, dress. We gathered travel gear, some rations and, with out squires, set off. The biggest problem was with Sir Leodegrance, who had to decide whether to go with his proper entourage of servants, dogs and so on, as befits a Round Table knight. He decided haste was more important than protocol, and we set off.
We followed the trail late into the night. Next day, tacked some more, going late. The pursued took many evasive actions like going up and down streams, so our journey was slower than we’d hoped. It led us north into Anglia, where the trail was lost. Even the great tracker, Sir Leodegrance, could not follow it. It must have been witchcraft to fool him!
Anglia again! Those damned Angles! The only one among them that is not damned is my own dear, sweet precious wife Leofaled. It is astonishing that such a sweet creature could be born of such wretched troublemakers! Each knight as I stood guard I thought of her often.
Sir Gerin had noted a coat of arms or symbol among the thieves. We didn’t know it, nor did anyone we questioned. But we were advised to search the great horse market in Thetford, where surely we thought the steeds had been brought.
What great horse flesh they have there! We searched among the many, many merchants and though we saw black horses, and some large horses, they were not the ones we sought. At last we had a hint, though—Sir Galonors got a promise from a shady fellow who would sell them to us! The fellow said to bring the money, alone, to a certain abandoned barn. He convinced them that he could not come alone, but needed a groom and, of course, a squire as befitted his station. Sir Cynfyn disguised himself as a squire—a sure sign of his base origns, I think. My own squire, Bruno, disguised himself as the groom. We sat, horsed, nearby, in case of treachery. And a good thing too! We heard sounds of struggle and crashed forward to save Sir Galonors from being overwhelmed. But they were just bandit scum and we dispatched them easily. It had all been a just ruse to rob a good knight of his money, and we were glad to have delivered them to the justice of the sword and blood.
With his dying breath their leader proved his loathsome worth, for he told us the man we sought was among the knights of Duke Hervis, lord of Anglia. We went to his court, to tell the tale and search the stables. We found good reception there—the Duke remembers our past services. (Just last year we rid him of the witch Camille, and years earlier, Leodegrance was among those at the sack of Guinnon.) We found no one at court with the arms we sought, however.
We spent a day hunting. Sir Gerin proved his mettle by slaying a fierce boar single-handed, on foot! It had mortally wounded his charger. The sport was wonderful, but it achieved nothing for our goal.
We did have a tiny clue from an old knight—that Sir Gerin knows how to Intrigue! The old man thought he remembered having seen a shield such as Gerin described. It had been years earlier, at a manor down on the river marking the southern border of Anglia.
First, though, we went back to Thetford so Sir Gerin could replace his charger. Now, with more time to actually search out prices we discovered one merchant who had some excellent Andalusian stallions for sale. I spent all the libra that I had, plus some borrowed from my good friend Sir Gerin, to purchase a handsome, healthy one for myself. Nearly everyone did. Sir Gerin’s was white, but of the normal ones, my chestnut was most handsome, I think. I have named him Crusher.
[End of session. New Session, we begin again.]
We decided to set off again. Sir Cynfyn and Mynyddog decided to remain in Thetford to search some more and to watch in case the destriers were brought there. We left them reluctantly.
We spent days searching along the river. Everywhere we went we found empty villages, their villains scattered before we appeared. At last we found some of the peasants at a hamlet by the river, but they were scurrilous and abusive folk. Liars. We saw a huge horse track, and they said they didn’t know what it was. Finally with a rope, a tree limb and some simple words I did get one to speak, who claimed the tracks were of a river horse. A monster! That could be good adventure! He took us to see the lair of the monster. But he lied, and so fo course I threatened him again, and his children so that, at last, he confessed to us there was a manor nearby with the sought-for coat of arms. Sir Galonors protested my treatment, saying it was cruel and unjust. By my good Lord who died on the Cross! You know why I call him the "superjust!" It was just a peasant, a liar, and a Saxon one at that! Well, I owe Galonors my life, so I turned the rope over to him, and the kind knight released the peasant who immediately befouled the name of our great king, cursed Sir Leodegrance as "the butcher of Guinnon" and leapt in the river and swam away. (It’s moments like that when I wish I had learned crossbow!)
Ah, my good friend who saved my finger and pulled me from fire and sword, forgive me for the sarcasm I exhibited towards you. I meant no harm, but was bitter since, I daresay, I had been right.
Towards the end of the day we found said manor. It was half hidden, of the normal pathways. It appeared to be a Saxon estate, likely one still in the hands of some heiress. As usual in this land the people scattered as we approahced. We saw the arms, pained on over the doorway, much faded away.
I searched the stable and saw mostly empty stalls. Meanwhile Sir Galonors, ever the gentleman in any circumstance, spoke to the lady cowering in the manor and convinced her we were harmless towards her. Saxon or not, she was still noble after all. Her blond hair and blue eyes reminded me of my own dear wife. He convinced her to let us stay the night.
Poor meal, but generously given. The lady spoke candidly of the harsh treatment her people regularly got from the men of Duke Hervis. She knew of Sir Leodegrance, but bore no love for "the leader of the Guinnon battle," as she so delicately phrased it. Sir Gerin questioned her of the arms, and she admitted they were once borne by her husband, who had beena good man and great leader, but like all such Saxons, was a victim of our glorious victor at Mount Badon.
She was so sad! I was touched, for she reminded me, as I said, of my own dear wife. I thought, it was clear, that the Saxon women are so good, and the men so bad! If only, I thought, they could have been raised under the aegis and morals of our good King Arthur!
I can not see a lady in distress without offering some kind words. She seemed sceptical of me, but I then told her of my dear Anglish wife. I even asked if, perhaps, they were related. They are not. But she asked, "Do your love her, and she you?" and surely the love between us showed in my eyes for she was clearly touched.
That was when her young son, a bright and cheerful lad named Evan, dashed forth. Cheerful young lad, perhaps eight. Having been touched by her sorrow, the hopeless plight of her future, chatted with the boy. He told us he’d be a knight some day, and blurted out his other ambitious and innocent hopes. I saw promise in the boy. We asked further information about him, and she sent him from the room on some idle errand. She confessed, in shame, that her husband was dead twelve years, this boy but eight. I was moved by her shame, and explained that I was a bastard. Sir Gerin, that he was too.
I offered to take the lad into the household of my own, and to recommend him to my brother the Count. I thought privately to test my idea that these Saxons might be raised properly to serve our good king. I swore an oath to her to give the lad a chance, making it clear it would be up to him to prove himself. No guarantees! I swore on my dead father, my God and the finger I bear in the silver case about my neck. She agreed, and Evan was excited in the way that only an eight year old boy can be.
She looked happy for Evan, but some sorrow lingered. I told Evan, "You are now my servant, and you must go now to bed and leave us adults to discuss important matters." He left, happy. It was then that she confessed that her older son was the bearer of the arms we sought. That he was a thief and enemy of the Duke and of our King, and that he lived in a ruined manor of his father nearby.
Sir Gerin, apparantly, has a weakness for weeping women stronger than mine. He offered that if she would help us find her son then he would do his best to take the young man alive and bring him to King Arthur’s court instead of Duke Hervis’ for justice. She recognized that her son was an evil doer, but sought some solution to this plight. She saw in Gerin’s promise the only chance that he might live. She knew the fellow, Gerant or whatever his name was, was outlaw, thief, a wanted criminal and likely to be killed for his deeds. She wept yet again. Gerin promised, and swore, to take him alive if at all possible.
Oh, the plight of women! So helpless before a cruel duke (for indeed, now I see that Hervis is such!), and even before her wayward son.
Gerin got from her a sleeve of her dress to let her son recognize that he came from her.
The next day as we prepared to set off young Evan came to me, eager and anxious to please. I told him to take care of his mother, and he brandished his toy sword. I gave him my dagger, and said, "Use a real weapon now, Page. Take care of my charger in the stable, but don’t go close—he bites!" Then we set off, guided by an old charcoal burner to the hidden estate. After several hours of travel we reached it. Close timing! We saw that the horses were being loaded upon a barge. We wasted no time, but dashed towards the thieves—they were many, but they were just bandits.
I myself dashed right through them, striving to capture the stallions before they were aship. I grabbed one, and withdrew, and my squire Bruno was there at my side to take it from me quickly. Well done, I say, for I saw that Sir Gerin was engaged in combat with many of them and I rode upon them with sword. I killed one, and many broke and ran and I ran them down easily, striking softly to capture them rather than kill. They surrendered and I saw that Sir Gerin, the son of the duke, was having difficulty defeating his foe. That must have been, I correctly surmised, the son of our lady host, and so I rode up behind him and Crusher knocked him to the ground.
By that time I saw that the other stallions had also been captured, thanks to the efforts of Sir Leodegrance and Sir Galonors. We had four prisoners, one being the son of the lady; and all three horses.
Victory!
We took them all back to the lady’s manor. She wept with joy to see her elder son again, alive. She begged him to do whatever we told him to do, for the sake of justice and his life. Evan was pleased too, but unsure of what to do until I carefully explained that he had opportunity to do better than his brother, if he learned the ways of King Arthur and lived a life of justice and chivalry. (Galonors gave me a strange look then.)
We set off then, with prisoners and stallions, to London, for the tournament drew nigh. I sent Bruno ahead in haste to bring me my best clothing to arrive in London in proper station. The other knights did the same.
Curiously, one night, while Sir Gerin was standing guard, our prize prisoner—the son of the lady—escaped! We quizzed our friend, who said he had fallen asleep on his watch. I swore it was not young Evan who had helped the prisoner escape, for he had been with me and Bruno all night. I thought Gerin was (and I blush to say this in private) lying. But he’s a good man, a good knight, the son of a duke and my friend. I won’t question him. If I am asked, I’ll simply repeat what Gerin told me: the prisoner escaped while Gerin slept.
After this, though, I did get permission to question the other bandits. Without too much threatening and persuading they confessed to me that they’d been in the hire of a foe of the Earl of Essex, who is Brandeoris de Ganis. They only knew badge of their employer, but I recognized it immediately—it was the King of Soissons, one of those damnable French kings who hate our own King Arthur, but hate the de Ganis clan more.
When arrived in London the first day of the tournament was nearly over. In our best raiment and leading the coal black stallions behind us we entered into the tournament ground and galloped before the astonished eyes of the people of Logres. Sire Leodegrance, naturally our spokesperson, related the adventure in simple language. The earl of Essex was especially pleased, of course, since he had his magnificent horses back. King Arthur praised us profusely. The earl declared that the steeds had been intended to be prizes at the tournament before they were stolen—he had hastily substituted some jewels. He proudly announced that he would now present one to the champion of the day’s jousting.
I was then struck by inspiration—we were late, I admitted, but I asked if we could not, nonetheless, joust with the champion of the Joust event of that day, since perhaps the earl and king might make exception considering the circumstances. They agreed.
The champion was, of course, the great knight Sir Gawaine. Perhaps the only knight who might beat him is that marvel, Sir Lancelot, but as usual, he had gone from court again. Mad and crazy, some say. Poor fellow. Great fighter, but not very steady in the head.
So we jousted. I, as the least of the knights present, went first. I actually successfully broke one lance against the great knight! On the next pass, however, I was struck from the saddle with a mighty blow. Knights told me afterwards that I spun through the air spread-eagled, like a star falling to the turf. I woke up as my dear Leofaled was stitching up my shoulder where the splinter of wood had penetrated.
Now I see the wisdom of the lesser knights jousting and falling out of the contest early. I’ve never jousted so great a fellow. I could have been killed by his rebated lance, so strong is Sir Gawaine! (Oh, Saint Albans, make me so great some day!)
Next day, beczasue my dear Lady Leofaled begged me to respect my wounds, I sat out the melee, encouraging my good friends to greater Glory. They did well. Of course, the Round Table knights were the most magnificent in the fight. Some strangers also did well. At the end the day the melee champion was chose, as usual. The King, earl and heralds all agreed, and declared it to be a stranger knight who had borne a blank shield through the day. The stranger was presented with the prize, the second stallion. The king then asked him to emove his closed helmet and show himself, but the knight refused to take off his helm. Instead he put the halter upon his lance tip and presented the horse to Queen Guenever, then spun and rode away without a word so quickly no one could react. From that gesture we all figured it was Sir Lancelot anonymously grandstanding again.
The third horse was given to the overall champion. Since the melee victor had gone, it was given to Sir Gawaine, who had won the jousting and received second prize in the melee. He looked magnificent as he circled the arena on his horse.
I am confident I will heal quickly, over the winter. My brother was proud to receive me back at his court in Marlborough, a proven adventurer.
My greatest worry after all this is about Sir Galonors. Surely we expect that Sir Leodegrance, an elder among us at 40, would be weakening from the ravages of age and the many wounds he has suffered in the service of King Arthur. But Sir Galonors is not so old, yet seems older that Leodegrance. No disease is apparent. What a strange mystery. Even his wife is worried.
530 Adventure of the Stygian Salions 100 Glory
Got new Chestnut Andalusian, Crusher (£15)
Tourney of Essex 45 Glory
Annual Glory 88 Glory
TOTAL GLORY = 2248
Winter Updae, +1 STR (now 5d6 damage!)

Sir Galonors sends a letter to his sister

2006-11-14T21:08:00.000-08:00

To the Lady Guinerant Galonors of Woodford Manor, in Salisbury, Logres, be this letter take.

In the year of Our Lord, Jesu Christi, five-hundred nine and twenty.

In hayst do I tell this letter to a goodly seargeant-at-arms who in his youthe wert tawt letters in the Latin. Hight him Sir Blufous an he a goodly man of Salisbury that wert wounded in Anglia. He seeks reste from his wounds an in Woodford I send him with letter thus. Tell my wife, Lady Allys, to provide reste for him, an assign our brother Owen to his service and for messenger be to his own playce near Ebble. Tell little Owen that this will be his fyrst servyce as esquire to a goodly knight.

I am received news of your proposal in marriayge by letter from one Father Caius of Levcomagus, who wert baptyzer of one Atiochus Vecci marchant of London Towne who wert the one makynge the proposal. This proposal is refused on the grownds that he art not of noble blood an tho he be of grayte means, he is unsewted to take your hand in marriayge. Tho ripe are you at sixteen years, dear sister, you must in paytience find solace of heart and know that a better match awaits anon. I art in needs of tyme to finde a proper sewter and to amass your dowry as befittynge your state.

Know that I wert in Anglia these months past and fawt under the able command of Sir Trently of the Table Round and of Sir Leodegrance the Lesser, both able knights of great glorye. Fawt did I alongside another knight, Sir Clydno of the Finger, who on chain clasped to heart has a relic moste wondrous that of the finger of St. Alban. Manye of our brethryn wert captured by the Devil's own black magic, along with Our Lord Arthur, Rex Imperator of Britaine, France, and Rome, by a fowl Saxon wych an her great demon paramour. An with glorye didst we escape, with Sir Clydo sore wounded but with his finger safe.

God mayke you an excellent damosel and give regardes to our dear mother, our brother Owen, and our sisters three. Do give kindly regards to my wife, Lady Allys, and forget not to pray for our brother Dafyd, who in the north fites the Heathen who art breech of Our King's borders there.

In Guinnon, and in hayste.

By your Guisdern.

529: Adventure of Camille's Rebellion

2006-11-11T18:31:00.000-08:00

Characters
Sir Clydno, Le chevalier Doight
Sir Trently
Sir Leodegrance the Lesser
Sir Galonors

The Adventure
After three years of vassal service for my good brother, the Earl of Marlborough, he at last gave leave for me to seek adventure. I was present as a spectator at the unearthing of Bran’s head. Even though Sir Griflet asked for knightly volunteers to help I of course did not do any physical labor.
Immediately upon the burning of the gigantic head the King received word of invaders to the north and west, and also another Saxon rebellion in Anglia. (Those Saxons there—Angles I hear they are called—certainly love to rebel again the Duke!)
I was thrilled to be in the company of a Round Table knight, Sir Trently; and his companion, Sir Leodegrance; both famous knights of Salisbury well known to my brother. And also Sir Galonors, another young Salisbury knight who was, nonetheless, more famous than me—but who is not?
So off we went to Anglia to help Duke Hervis. We were well received there. The Duke was very pleased to have the two famous knights, who had grained great fame and riches in their last time here when they were present in the sack of Guinnon. It phased me not that they had, it is said, acted dishonorably. I was eager to follow them and learn the ways of the great!
And they are gamers too! We threw dice several times over the next few days, and I came off much (£2) the richer for it. What sport!
We had been told that the trouble was with large bands of Saxon bandits emerging from the Fens. We spent several days patrolling its edge to no avail. We found some merchants who had been robbed, and Sir Trently suggested that they e used to draw our foes from their lair. I paid them to do so, for they ere reluctant to expose themselves to the Saxons again. Our squires commandeered a wagon, ox and other merchant-like props to lure them. And back we went, but still to no avail.
One day, however, as we passed by a place at the marsh’s edge once again we were astonished to find a castle there! None had been there before. It was surrounded by vast, well-kept gardens. Our merchants were terrified (of course, being just commoners) and so I paid them half their wage and they scuttled away to Lynn to hide. We camped in the garden, out of bow shot.
That night we were attacked, but not by the Saxons we expected. When they fell upon us I managed to strike one and realized it was some sort of plant monster. Another grabbed my arm, but I managed to drag it into the fire where it burst into flame. Before I could deal such with others, however, they smothered me in their greeny weight and I shamefully succumbed to their embrace.
I woke in a dungeon with Sir Leodegrance and Sir Galonors. We had no arms or armor, and I was wounded. Sir Leodegrance bandaged my arm. We had no light save the torches in the hallway visible in through a little window in the door to the outside.
We were served with miserable food by a pair of comely Saxon maidens. Leodegrance and I fashioned die from some bits of the food to while away the time. Our boredom was otherwise broken only by the mumbled prayers of Sir Galonors, a religious type given to this habit. (I, of course, with the family artifact of Saint Alban’s finger, have never needed such practices.)
When the ladies brought us our dinner each day (heavily guarded, I add) it was perhaps inevitable that one of them as attracted to me. I am, after all, naturally loveable. Sensing a possible way out I flirted shamelessly and, to my delight, saw she responded. We chatted and she was enthralled with tales of my beautiful city of Marlborough and of the wonders of Camelot and London. She told me she wished she could see such sights. After a few more days I had her convinced that I needed to see her under the moon or starlight.
Before that true tragedy struck! Our great and glorious king, Arthur himself, was brought to the cell along with Sir Trently, who had succumbed to the planty things defending his Highness. What horror, but we swore to defend him with our lives to do all that we could to get him out. He was there for several miserable days, but when the guards came to take him away to Camille we all prepared to trade our lives for his safety. But he ordered us back—we must agree. He said he could handle discussions, even with a sorceress. Me, I was pleased to see Leofaled again.
Arthur returned safely. That night Leofaled held her promise. She got a guard drunk to facilitate our tryst, and we went out into fresh air at last. She was even more beautiful under the starlight, and when we kissed I heard birds singing and the music of the stars. She, of course, felt the same, if not even stronger emotions.
She—beautiful Leofaled (and indeed, I noticed she is a beautiful lass)—confessed she served her mistress, a sorceress named Camille, only under duress. I asked if she would help me to escape, and she said she would, but only if I swore to take her too. I swore instantly, and she led me to the armory where I found my arms and armor, as well as that of my friends. I armed, then took the mail and weapons of my friends back to the cell. I was thrilled that I bore Excalibur itself in my hands!
I had left my shoes in the doorway to keep it from closing. Thus as I made my way back tot he cell I met my companions on their way out. They were glad for the armor, and armed quickly. We then led the king to the gate and to safety.
But I wasn’t done! I couldn’t leave without my precious relic! I couldn’t face my brother the Earl if I abandoned such a precious family treasure. At the gate I paused and begged the King to let me go and recover it.
"We must get the King to safety," hissed Sir Trently. Sire Leodegrance concurred. But the king surely recognized my courage and need.
"You have done well so far tonight, Sir Knight," he said, "You have my leave."
"And I will accompany him," said Sir Galonors, "For it would be mortal sin to leave such a sacred thing in the hands of Pagans."
Leofaled said she could lead me to the tower where it was kept. We crept again across the courtyard and ascended a tower. It was much to tall to be natural—taller than it looked form the outside. At the top was a door.
"He magic is in her books and boxes," she whispered. Poor lass! She was pale with terror so I kissed her once more and told her to wait at the bottom of the stairs for our return. She fled.
We took torches from the wall and entered the room. There, on a bed, lay the witch and her lover who, when he rose, I saw was a giant. "Burn them," I told Galonors, "I’ll defend you." And I rushed the giant. He could barely fit in that chamber! He picked his sword form the bedside and we engaged. Alas! Without the protection of the Finger of Saint Alban I was but a victim, and the last thing I saw was his blade descending upon me. I remember great heat, burning, Leofaled weeping as I lay in agony upon the stairs and, briefly, being borne down those stairs again into the night.
I learned later that Sir Galonors had put torch to those flammable books and unguents, and then after the giant had struck me down dragged me to the stairs to safety. Then he paused, for he didn’t want to leave the relic to be destroyed. Brave soul! He went back into the burning chamber for it! There he fought the giant and a great lion while he searched, and surely God was with him, for he found the finger and escaped! Leofaled, when she saw the smoke issue from the window far above her, had dashed up the stairs to find me bleeding there and staunched my wound. The good night then escaped and bore me away to safety. When we emerged from the tower there was no castle at all and we were upon the edge of the marsh.
I am told that it was Nimue herself who kept me alive—no one else could have done it. They bore me to Guinnon where Leofaled herself tended me sweetly with chirurgery as I recovered over the next month. I remember Sir Galonors presenting me with the finger—blessed day! And though I spent the rest of the autumn in recovery it was with my dear lady and Sir Galonors, who I swore would be my best companion.
When I had recovered sufficiently I told the Lady Leofaled I wished to marry her, unless my brother objected. Sir Galonors, in private, questioned this, pointing out she was a Saxon and landless. Further, I owed her no debt other than to take her where I had promised. But I protested such thoughts, for she had helped to save out King, I owed her my life but more importantly I was, indeed, in love with her as well.
As the long winter nights came upon us we returned to Marlborough where my brother blessed the union and we were wed. My companions in the adventure came from Salisbury to witness it and rewarded me with wonderful gifts. Leofaled was taken into the household of my brother’s wife, and my good brother the Earl gave us a private mural room of our own to spend our marital bliss together. I have spent the winter doing my household duties, exercising to raise my strength, and performing the most pleasant duties of a husband with a gorgeous and loving wife.
529. Adventure of Camille’s Rebellion. 75 Glory.
Defeated plant thing. 20 Glory
Chirurgery, 4 weeks. (Major Wound, no stat loss)
Marriage to Leofaled. 25 Glory.
Winter Glory for Traits, etc. 88 Glory. TOTAL GLORY = 2015.

529: Family Matters

2006-11-10T10:03:00.000-08:00

Mortimer, Marshall of Salisbury

At the Earl's request, I traveled to Sarum this spring. He wanted to discuss the state of the county, so we spent a not inconsiderable amount of time talking of the various knights and manors in Salisbury. Truly, the land is flourishing. I mentioned to Earl Robert my idea to settle some folks down in southern Salisbury—what used to be called Hampshire—to relieve overcrowding in Sarum and to take advantage of the activity around Camelot. Next year, I think.

We also talked about my health and my ability to be Marshall. I should think, after France and Italy, that there would be no question as to my fitness to retain the office. He let the matter drop, but he did inquire after my boy Monroe, and whether we had news of him. I'm very, very sad to say that since Trently's wedding, we have not. Not one peep. Very uncharacteristic!

It was an especially rainy spring, and I caught a cold, as did one of the little ones, Clarian I think it was. I have so many I can hardly keep them straight! He's alright, and I am too, though I don't have my old strength back. And of course with all the damp from the rains my arthritis kicked up. The Lady Betty then arranged a seaside visit to the old Roman baths, and I admit that the waters did feel good on these old knees and hands.

When we got back, this time staying at our manor in Figsbury, we got news that Lady Sylvie, my cousin Mordecai's widow, had been lost at sea. Ah, the poor woman! Always hated the water. Their son, Sir Caius, is out on errantry, so with the clan's permission and blessing I have taken in Caius's two sisters under guardianship. The eldest, another widow (twice over), needs marrying, as does her younger sister, now 20 years of age. So good sirs, if you know of any eligible and worthy knights, please send them to Figsbury!

Sir Galonors Writes Home Yet Again

2006-11-03T10:53:00.000-08:00

To the Lady Irance Galonors of Woodford Manor in Salisbury, Logres be this letter take.

In the Year of Our Lord, Jesu Christi, Five Hundred Nine and Twenty.

To mine well-beloved mother I greet you well and knowe that bothe of your sons are in goode health and spyrite. It has been longe synce I have sent a message to you and much has transpyred in this tyme. Know that I did not fynd glorye defendynge the Fisher Cynge, fore I did not reache the battle in tyme. My dishonour is grayte and so is my shayme. I have synce rode Southe to London Towne to see to the Cnichtynge of your beloved son Dafyd.

Honoured I am to tell the tayle of how your son and mine brother, Dafyd, was Cnichted by Our Lord Arthur, Rex Imperator of Britaine, France, and Rome. He was Cnichted with manye other goodly cnichts in London itself, by the hand of our Our Moste Glorye Be and Hallowed King, Arthur. While Honour be to Dafyd, he didst not honur our family by leaping the horse at the ende of the ceremonye and fall he did on his posteriore. Chided him with goode humour did I and manye swifte kicks in the posteriore didst I give him for his dishonourable leap.

A grayte wonder did we behold in London soon after the cnichting ceremonye. Arthur didst uncover the heade of one giant once then named Bran of olde tymes. A grayte storm didst brew upon the uncoverynge but the power of our Lord Jesu Christi abayed the storm and, yea, did the Lyte of Christi shyne upon us all.

Soon after the myracle didst we learn that the Fowl Saxons wert arrived on the Estre shores again in force grayte, wyth their allyes the Wilde Men of the Northe, and the Erin Men on the Gales Shores. Know then mine mother that I go to Anglia to defend our Lande and that Dafyd gost Northe to garte the borders there.

I know not when my brother Dafyd or myself shall returne to Woodford and I ask that you praye thrice-a-day til our returne and that we arrive safe of lymbe and sownde of heade. Give felicytations to my wife, Allys.

Written in haste at Londone Towne.

By your son Guisedern Galonors

Sir Galonors Writes Home Again

2006-10-20T07:39:00.000-07:00

To the Squire Dafyd ap Henias of Sarum, Logres be this letter take.

In the Year of Our Lord, Jesu Christi, Five Hundred Eight and Twenty.

To mine well-regarded brother I greet you well and have but a few short moments to dictate a message to this goodly Clerk.

As you know I went oft to garde the King's Road in the North Lands for our Glorious Arthur, Rex Imperator of Britain, France, and Rome. I went with a companye of goodly knights, under the able command of Sir Trently, Knight of the Table Rownde, and yea did manye adventures befall us. We rode oft North threw the Forest Perilewse and wert lost for manye days and had manye peryls until found we the Kingdom of the Fisher King. We fawght the Fisher King's enemyes who wert in league with the Devil himself. Aye the motlye hoste of hell wert at our backs til we came to the Castle Whyte where lyes the Fisher King and his Goodly Courte.

And at the Castle Whyte I saw the Grail of Our Lord Jesu Christi whose blood wert captured therein by Josef Arimathea and brawt to this Islande of Britain. Twas marvelous to behold - yea, my brother, and my Faithe is Strong for the lookynge upon the Holy Grail. I am blessed assurely.

And now I am oft to seek allies to fight the Enemye of the Fisher King, who is a moste graycious and noble man. I send this letter from Cumbria wherein I reste with fellow knights and seek the aide of one Sir Allyn the Grosse, who is kinsman unto the Fisher King.

Know mine brother that I send a Libram of silver with the good priest, Father Michael, who in his kindness agreed to deliver this note. Use the silver to buy attire worthy of the son of Henias and brother of the Lord of Woodford and Burcome.

God make you an excellent Squire of our Lord Robert, Earl of Salisbury, and send God's blessing and mine to you and our mother and our sisters four, and pray that I shall return victorious and safe of lymbe. Also send greetings and word of my safety to the Lady Allys, my wife, if you get the chance.

Written in haste at Castle le Blanc, Cumbria.

By your brother Guisedern Galonors

528: Fighting the Devil's son-in-law

2006-10-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

Sir Trently relates

After such a chaotic summer, it was good to stand, assembled again, on the field of battle, old campaigners such as Sir Leodigrance, Sir Tanigard and Sir Wim, good old Jerry and Sir Gilbert alongside newcomers Sirs Galonors, Berel, Dalan, and young Count Garin. Oh, the excitement of standing at the head of an army!

Less exciting was staring across at the disgorgement of hell's maw, but it is the duty of a knight to fight heroically, and the burnishment of chivalry to fight righteously so really, I was ready to go, even though it looked for sure like I was going to not walk away from this one. Oh, the spirit was there, but I was so, so tired from my ride...all praise to my lord Emperor King Arthur Pendragon for the courser he lent me for the ride north. I only wish the knights I found and gathered with such hope at Camelot had been able to keep up.

At the first clash of arms with hell's own spawn, on the brittle grass surrounding the White Castle, my faithful Ethiop went down. We fell like autumn leaves! Sir Jerry and Sir Gilbert, not the best fighters unless it's over last call, went down together, Garin fell (though I later learned his steed saved him). I was on autopilot, hacking and slashing without regard for my own limbs. Once, when I looked up, I could see the Hate burning in the eyes of Leodigrance and Tanigard and they mowed their way through the Saxon line, while Sir Wim rolled over the Picts before him like so much hay.

After the Saxons, the Picts, the Orkney lads and the cannibals had softened us up, the ogres and their ilk took the field. Good squire Florence of the level head stood fast, along with the rehorsed alemen, and while they held their own against the two-armed variety, they were done in by the four-armed Fomorians; I don't think there's even a scrap of armor on that pair worth salvaging, they were smashed so hard.

The last thing I remember was Sir Wim leveling his lance at a group of trolls...then the cannibals pulled Leo and I off our horses and everything went dark.

When I came to I was in a small room in Castle Penrith, along with Leo and Garin. Florence was there, and he told me that shortly after Leo and I went down Sirs Ywain, Lamorak and his brothers, Gawain, and many others from the Round Table showed up. Florence said that all they really did at that point was mop up, and not to worry, as people knew it had been us that had won the battle. Nice of him to say. Sgt Dalan was dead, too—never let Sir Wim search your wounds! never! But the forces of the devil were vanquished, and though the Fisher King is still gravely injured, his lands won't be overrun. All praise to Emperor King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table!

I'll winter here in Penrith before heading south in the spring.

528: Escape to Pictland

2006-10-14T19:34:00.000-07:00

Sir Jerry, late of Sussex

Sometimes the walls of Sleaford press in on me so. Drinking usually helps, as does a weekend of terrorizing the peasants in Anglia. But Ethelinda and her damn relatives got on my case this spring, Florence packed my bags and we lit out in the middle of the night for what these days they're calling a summer of errantry. We headed north.

Ah but it was pleasant to be out and about, free and unfettered again! Just like the old days of riding with the old man, clearing Salisbury of Saxon invaders. I thought about visiting the marshall but I thought Ethelinda would look for me there, so we headed up through Malahaut, almost to Gorre before I ran into an old friend, Sir Gilbert. You know, of the Hoe. He's from Rydachan; we used to ride together back in the day. He was with another of the Great Duke's men, a Sir Berel, a fine knight with a bee in his helmet. Gilbert and I fell into old times and just kept Berel company on the road north to King Uriens court. Oh but it was fine to swap stories of the old days with my good drinking buddy!

The king is a fine fellow, and keeps a good court. His son, Sir Yvain, is something else. He must get some of that "wow" factor from his mother, the beautiful but somewhat creepy Lady Morgan. They say she's a witch. I doubt she has warts, is all I'll say.

The road north of Gorre, north of the Antonine Wall really, isn't really a road, and Berel promptly got us lost in the Caledonian forest. Big ravens up in those parts. And other, more vile creatures. We were attacked by four of the ugliest...men?...I have ever seen, and some of those Saxon battle-axes whelp some ugly babies, lads. These were beyond ugly. When Florence took a big hit, we decided the prudent course of action would be an orderly retreat, as he is an invaluable squire, especially when he is the only squire with us. It was dark, and we thought we'd made good our escape, but they attacked again. And they brought their ugly cousins with them. At least the darkness shielded us from their hideous complexions. Berel and good ol' Gilbert were hit, so when I saw reinforcements—a very large lion—appear, I retreated to cover Florence's escape. Wouldn't you know, it turned out to be Sir Yvain's lion, with the knight close behind.

Dumb luck, that.

Anyway, he escorted us to King Carados's castle and, when Carados demanded a ransom to stay away from the White Castle and the legions of the devil's son-in-law, Sir Yvain loaned Berel the money. What a guy. I believe Berel's grandchildren will still be paying off that debt when we're all dead and buried.

So now I guess it's either continue on with Sir Gilbert on this quest of Sir Berel's, come up with some quest of my own, or go back home. I hear there's a lot of pretty ladies at the Fisher King's court.

528: the Trail of Chivalry

2006-10-07T19:16:00.000-07:00

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!

528: the Perilous Forest

2006-10-07T18:40:00.000-07:00

Sir Trently

Now that Arthur is the overlord of, well, just about everything short of the Holy Land (and deepest Africa, Wendimu reminds me), it's either go off adventuring or garrison duty or practice one's stewardship by staying home...ha! Court was full of the usual scuttlebutt: unrest in Ireland, Duke Hervis and his unquellable Saxon subjects, giant lions threatening the midlands, banditry on the king's road in Rheged. None of us were too keen on revisiting Anglia, and neither Sir Wim nor I had much taste for tangling with more lions, so we good knights of Salisbury decided to clear the king's road, as it would also give Sir Wim and young squire Garin a chance to visit relatives.

Before we left, Sir Leodigrance started making inquiries. He's pretty well-known, not just as the son of the illustrious first Marshall of Salisbury, but in his own right as an experienced campaigner. He's eager, I think, to take a seat at my lord Arthur's Round Table. However, one of the best-known stories about Sir Leo is that one I'm sure you've heard in the pubs and around the camp fires with your men, the one about Sir Leo using the favor(s) of Ulo's lady to lure her husband to his death, and the disgracing of his body before the armies and his brother, Ufo. It's a really catchy tune. Plus, Leo is old school and hasn't embraced the chivalry concept; he really is an old campaigner after the fashion of his father and his father's men. As a result, he couldn't get anyone to speak to the king for him!

Also, because of Sir Leodigrance's unreasonable fear of all things Malahaut, we did not take the good road north, but instead took another road to the city of legions (an unpleasant little town with an even worse reception; I don't recommend it, fellow knights) and then on to Wilderspool, a motte-and-bailey town with an abundance of hospitality though lacking much in the way of physical comforts. We next reached Wiggun, an impoverished manor located on not much more than a cart track, the people so pinched from hunger that we opened our bags and shared forth our meager travel rations with the caretaker's family.

From them we got passable directions north through the forest to Carduel, but the Perilous Forest proved treacherous, and even with a pair of hunters such as myself and Sir Leodigrance, we were soon thoroughly lost. We came across many marvels, some satisfying (the tomb of the murderous Sir Balin), some astonishing (the City of Glass). Princess Alis, who rules the City of Glass, diverted us from the northern roads by saying her brother, the king of these lands, was besieged by renegade forces, so off we went to lend a hand—as befits the King's Companions, and knights of the Round Table.

The lands about the City of Glass are wasted; everything is dust, or coated with dust, or turns to dust at a touch. Most unpleasant. Though not as unpleasant as the surprise that awaited us camped outside the White Castle of the king!

To be continued...

527: Sir Galonors Writes Home

2006-09-26T09:08:00.000-07:00

To the Lady Irance Galonors of Woodford Manor in Salisbury, Logres be this letter take.

In the Year of Our Lord, Jesu Christi, Five Hundred Eight and Twenty

To mine well-beloved mother I greet you well, and advise you to think onst of the day of my safe return to Woodford.

Since I left home I have stayed in the Citye of Parris and wert garde there. Not until God saw to playce me in Glorye at the Battle of Saussy under Sir Mortimer, Marshall of Salisbury, did I take wound, but twer naught badly so, and I there witnessed the Victory of Arthur over his enemye Lucius Imperator of Rome.

I wert wounded gravely at the gaytes of Milano and only by the goodly ministraytions of the Sisters of Mercye there were I able to dictate this letter at all. There I rested for the for manye monthes and I am now fayred well in the Hospice of St. Maria Benefactrix in the Holy City of Rome, whereupon Arthur is now Crowned Rex Imperator, blessed be his name!

Know mine mother that I send six Libra of silver and three mounts of goode qualitye with the Legionary Poste, accompanyed by a goode Salisbury man named Ifus who lost his right hand at Milano. He is to staye at Woodford upon his lysure to take reste until he sees fit to departe to his owne playce near Sarum.

God make you a good woman, and send God's blessing and mine to you and my brother Dafyd and my sisters four, and know that I return with the goode tyde upon Wynter's end of this year.

Written in haste at Rome the Thursday after Candlemass Day.

By your son Guisedern Galonors

527: When In Rome, Leave the Dogs Alone

2006-09-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer exults

I love campaigning! We marched through France and Italy, fighting and besieging castles and towns as we went. What a fantastic combination for pure, unadulterated knightly fun! We had a bit of a sticky time taking Milan, where Sir Rhun of Nottingham was killed by tank-like Byzantine cataphracts...Sir Galinors, a young knight of Salisbury, may yet succumb if the chiurgens aren't careful. Even with the loss of our comrades it was sweet, sweet, sweet to see the Roman senate bow to Arthur, and crown him Emperor of Rome!

We are dawdling the winter away in Rome. I've been setting aside a few choice items for Lady Betty, and buying trinkets for the girls. I am also trying to convince the Pendragon that all the fortification I've done around Salisbury should remain undisturbed, as Cerdic's sons are still on the loose, and you just never know. I also broached as delicately as I could the matter of the Count of Windsor's still-unpaid-for ransom, a ransom vouched for by that scoundrel Ulfius. Maybe there was no way to delicately say it, but I suggested that part of Silchester, handed over to Earl Robert, would not only settle the debt but leave the portion of Silchester so ceeded so much better managed to be a benefit to everyone. Except the son of Ulfius. Ha!

(Speaking of the sole surviving son of Ulfius, Leo is still missing in action. I do hope he turns up. I have a tremendous affection for the boy.)

Sir Trently

A grand finish to two years' campaigning. I can see what the old-timers mean when they reminisce about the good old days of war. And I shall be looking splendid at court this winter and next, as I have acquired quite a bit of loot from the war, not to mention all the ransom I shall collect from the Roman infantryman, the pair of Ostragoths, and the two Ethiop infantrymen I was responsible for.

Good news! One of the Ethiops has chosen to serve as a sargent in my household instead of being ransomed. Wendimu said he did not want to impoverish his family. Very well! Garin and Norvelle are showing him the ropes; I think he'll fit right in.

Sir Mortimer again

My lord Arthur, Emperor of Rome (ha!), threw a tournament, which was fun in its own way. Not that I'm any good at these playfests, but still, it was fun to kick some Byzantine butt for laughs. I was unhorsed at one point during the melee, but Garin, who is proving to be an excellent squire (may he make an excellent knight!), heroically horsed me again, by which action he was most greviously injured. Sir Wim made things even worse by bungling his first aid! I think his experience with the churgeons has given him a twisted idea of medical aid. I know I'm not ever going to let him apply bandages to my wounds.

At some point, either in the tournament or shortly afterwards, one of the French knights who saw the error of his ways and joined Arthur's forces, told us about a "treasure cave" he'd heard tell of. The boys were bored and decided to investigate, although Lord Jesu! you'd have to be pretty bored for that. Sir Wim and I decided to take a basket of delicious local foods and sit out under the olive trees while they went grubbing underground, wasting a perfectly good day of sunshine.

Well, four courses and several turns each with the harp later, what do Wim and I see but Sir Berengare running from the cave entrance, his hair standing on end and shouting at us that the others were in trouble. We dropped our cakes and wine and went racing back to our lodgings, where we hastily armed and raced back. We plunged into the cave, which was much deeper than I would have thought. We crossed a stream even, with some old crone shouting at us, "They're all dead! They're all dead! And you'll die too if you cross this stream." We of course ignored her and crossed the stream. Suddenly, we saw bodies everywhere: young Leodigrance, my squire Count Garin, Sir Hervis—everyone who went into the treasure cave. At this point Berengare was ranting about giant dog heads attacking. Huh. I find it ironic that Sir Leodigrance was chewed up by dogs. In any case, I grabbed him and dragged him out into the air and laid him on the sward under the olive trees. I left him in the care of Sir Berengare, as Sir Wim could not force himself back into the cave, and went back in for the great duke's son. Again with the shouting crone by the water. And even though Count Garin is a big man, I somehow managed to get him out of the cave and into the light. He was sorely wounded, though not as badly as Sir Leodigrance, poor boy! He looked as good as dead, but I applied myself to the task of first aid, and I think he'll be okay. I think they'll both be okay. (But not, sadly, Sir Hervis or Sir Damien. Both dead as doornails.)

[Sir Leodigrance was -7 hit points when he got pulled out of the cave, but damn if I didn't crit two first aid rolls in a row!—Suzanne]

526: Marching Across France

2006-09-01T16:50:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer relates

My son has not been seen since the tournament-feast in Oxford. Nobody's saying anything; am I to assume he's run off on some quest? It seems to be all the rage among the young knights practicing this "chivalry" fad. Like that Lance fellow we keep hearing about. Silliness if you ask me.

But as we got the call from King Arthur himself to muster out, I haven't been able to dwell on Monroe's absence. Good thing his mother's passed or she'd worry herself to death. Can you believe this? We're all at court, enjoying the companionship, when the strangest collection of...people...confronted the king. They said they were an envoy from the Emperor of Rome, and demanded tribute! Ha! The king turned them out, and immediately closeted himself with advisors. Shortly thereafter we were embarking at my fine new quay at Portchester, sailing across the Channel, and disembarking with great fanfare at Barfleur.

We are now kicking ass and taking names as we march across France. Paris is a fine city. We are taking stock here before pressing on after the Roman Lucius. And if I may make a small toot on my own horn, I am looking the part of a commander, in my fine new armor and splendid warhorse, both gifts from the hand of the king. I got a bit testy when the king excluded me from deliberations after the demand for tribute. I've been turning the tables on tribute demands since before he was born! And then, not one word from him regarding the state of affairs in Portchester.

But he made amends, splendidly. I look (and feel) great, and am happy to be back on my warhorse again.

Heh! That Pendragon and his impossible odds. We spent a good month chasing the Roman army hither and yon before finally cornering them near Saussy, in terrible terrain. I advised the king to just set fire to the countryside and smoke 'em out, but he insisted on lining up the battallions without it. My new charger, the fine Continental one the king gave me, performed admirably. As did I. Not bad for an old man of 53! But the best news came in the field: as we were fighting manfully against the hirsute Ostragoths and the splendidly fierce Ethiops, we heard a great roar from the center of the army. Our Lord Pendragon had killed Lucius! We spent the warm Continental winter marching on Rome.

525: Sir Trently Marries, and More

2006-09-01T16:47:00.000-07:00

Sir Clydno, Le chevalier Doight

A tournament! Hooray! A great and grand one as ell, to celebrate the knighting of the Great Duke’s son and heir, and simultaneously the wedding of his daughter to Sir Trently, a hero of Badon and Round Table knight whose acquaintance I have made, due to our close relationship with Salisbury.

The crowd was so huge we all tented in the fields outside of Oxford. The company is grand, and everyone was eager to prove ourselves on the field. I got there days early. My first tournament! Indeed, one of the first in the land. The Duke greeted everyone with grand words. Far distant we heard a horn sound, but paid no heed. I found myself spending mos of my free time with Sir Guy of Woodford, a landholder from Salisbury my own age who I’d met in our squiredoms; Sir Monroe of Salisbury, the son of the Marshall of Salisbury and Castellan of Portchester; and famous Sir Trently, the groom-to-be, hero of Badon and Round Table knight.

At the dinner that night I saw Queen Guenever for the first time. What a lovely sight! I will carry deep affection for her in my heart forever. I sang a perfect rendition of the song, “For the Love of Fflur,” and in recognition the Duke awarded me a magnificent cloak [worth £2]. His generosity has not been overstated!

Alas, the next day, upon awakening, it was gone! Someone stole it! We looked everywhere, and since my brother had not yet arrived I went to Sir Trently to share the bad news. I didn’t want to bring bad news to his wedding of course, but I also felt it important to warn him that something foul was afoot. I was amused when Sir Guy couldn’t hold his liquor and passed out at the able.

We went hunting that day, in which I nearly captured a deer, but it was unusually agile so that it avoided me, and dodged in front of Sir Guy, who bagged it instead. Well done, Sir! I spent the evening wandering the hall, seeking whomever had stolen my cloak. For naught.

Next day was the knighting. At Mass the next day, when I looked up from dicing with Sir Trently, I saw my cloak! The dastard Sir Trimble of Kent was wearing it! He’s a poor knight that Sir Trently had met once.

At dinner that night I went out of my way to subtly confront the thief, to size him up. When he clumsily spilled wine on himself he blamed me, as if I was responsible for his inability to hold a wine cup ager being jostled! So the arrogant twit then insulted me and I took the opportunity to challenge him in the duels that had been scheduled for two days hence. I demanded that the prize be for our cloaks, to which he agreed. Sir Guy passed out again.

I did poorly in the jousting the next day. Of course, for I fought one of the personal household of the Duke, a man of great fame and experience. I count it no shame to have lost to such a stalwart. The elimination was won by Sir Gawaine, nephew to the King. He is some buff knight! I don’t understand the grumbling about him that some of my compatriots expressed. Something about a “palamino colored horse…”

Next day I eagerly entered the challenges. Sir Trimble is so pathetic he rode only a rouncy *snicker.* His lancing was pitiable and I unhorsed him, but he would not surrender, so I knocked him down with my sword and trampled upon him. He finally surrendered. His squire brought his cloak to me, but the caitiff only gave me his own sorry thing instead of the stolen garment!

Afterwards Sir Trently scolded me for my behavior. I protested that I wasn’t some goody-goody chivalrous knight, but he said that this was just a sport and I ought to have dismounted and ought not have trampled my foe, as I’ve been trained to do for the last six years.

Before the melee could begin, a strange knight, armed all in black and mounted upon a huge black charger challenged the future Count of Rydychan, the Duke’s newly-knighted son, to joust! He was just knighted, and so of course he eagerly took this adventure. We watched, and at the last moment saw that the challenger changed the aim of his lance from the shield to the helm, and heir was thrown over his horse with a splinter of lance protruding from the visor! As everyone rushed forward to help the fallen the strangest thing occurred!

We found ourselves being greeted by the Duke’s grand words, as had happened days before! We were naturally perplexed—indeed, perhaps stupefied is a better word. We heard a distant horn, but paid it no heed. I spoke of this to Sir Trently and Sir Guy, with whom I had forged friendship in the days just past that had disappeared, and they too noted the strangeness, though in fact no one else present seemed to.

I was frightened, for it was clear that magic was present and any sane man fear those workings. Nothing good had ever come of working with magic, for the Great Duke now owes a favor to an elephant, Sir Uren has disappeared to seek his wife, and Count Rydychan was challenged on his knighting day by a monstrous black knight! I remembered events, and feared that I would repeat my errors. Doubly damned!

But it didn’t occur that way. Sure, Sir Guy passed out again—Sir Trently began calling him Knight of the Cups. Yes, I still love the Queen so hardily, but my song was less perfect, no doubt due to my anxiety over this strange turn of events. I confess, I wished I had the talisman of my relic to protect me here! But of course, having not sung I didn’t get the cloak, and so it wasn’t stole. I did see Sir Trimble of Kent and went to him with great friendship and kindness. He was flattered to be met by the brother and son of a count, of course, and mystified, but I dared not tell him why.

I did speak to the young Count Rydychan. In the church, carefully watching around and not distracted by the cloak I had seen him flinch when he drank of the wine. In the bustle after dinner I did congratulate him and ask him about the wine, but he said it was sour. No doubt this is a heritage of his Pagan practice, learned when he was in the clutches of the King of Sauvage, victim of a changeling exchange. But perhaps now he is Christian? I did not ask him…

I lost at the joust again, and of course had no challenge. But again, at the end of the challenges the black night came and, once again, struck the Count such a blow upon the helm. We managed to get to his side and saw blood spurting from his visor when, again without warning, events began anew!

The Great Duke was welcoming everyone, and we heard a distant horn again. But this time with my two companions I left the throng, got my squire and horse and we all went thundering towards the distant sound. Strangely, the forest north of Oxford were most unusual, brightly colored and charged. We came to a bridge where a squire informed us we had to fight the defender to cross, and of course we agreed. To our astonishment the foe was a dwarf in ornate armor mounted upon a huge stag! Sir Guy went first, being the least of us; and failed. As did I, and then Sir Monroe succeeded, he a better man with great experience and skill more than us new knights. I am sure Sir Trently would have succeeded in the last, had it been necessary—he is a Round Table knight!

We rushed to a lake, and there across it we saw a monstrous creature and a gorgeous woman. I humbly approached he and questioned her identity, and she was Lady Ourale, who said she’d been the wet nurse for Sir *Count, and that we had to hurry to save the young man from death. She instructed us to take four hawthorn branches to plant in the corners of the jousting field. Before I left I did inquire what the creature was that guarded her, and she informed us it was indeed the Elephant of Sauvage that had once helped the Duke. We all took branches to the task, and good it was because Sir Monroe became lost on our hurried return. We all planted branches on the corners just as the Black Knight entered with his challenge. But this time he was defeated!

When he lay on the ground, unmoving, Sir Trently went to offer aid, but upon removing the helmet found the armor was filled with plaited straw! Surely this was proved to be enchantment, to the wonder and fear of everyone.

In private after dinner we did share our tale with trusted folks, but Sir Trently had told the King of it, who publicized our part and so we were all awarded glory and honor for our deeds.

The next day Sir Trently was duly wed amidst great pomp, and everyone fought in the grand melee with courage and renown. I gained no great significant glory for my deeds but did nothing to shame myself. I was of course among the knights of Marlboro, led by my brother the count. Several teams competed with each other, and in the end the knights of the Great Duke took the day, according to the judgement of the King and the heralds. The many Round Table knights were indefatigable of course, and as required by their oath, none of them fought each other.

So ended the tournament, an event most rewarding and wonderful, in part due to the magnificence of the event, and I confess, it was more due to the part that my companions and I had in uncovering the secret. Nonetheless, I am fearful for the future of the Count of Rydychan, being so bound up as he is in enchantment. But that is not my concern, for I doubt our paths will cross often in the future.

I am, however, worried about Sir Monroe. No one has seen nor heard from him or his squire since he disappeared on our return from the Enchanted lake.

Sir Monroe reports

Oh no...I believe I have undertaken the Quest to find Sir Uren the Timely.

I hope Father doesn't worry too much.

525: Sir Guy in The Adventure of the Hawthorne Branches

2006-08-31T09:50:00.000-07:00

The Adventure of the Hawthorne Branches

The scenario to hand was set in 525, and related the PC knights journeying to Sussex for the knighting ceremony of the Duke's son. There was some backstory about the son having been stolen by fairies a few years ago, and having just been miraculously returned. In all honesty, I started feeling like I'd come in in the middle of a Fellini movie, and was having trouble keeping all of the NPCs straight. It didn't affect play however, so that was good.

The players were myself, Greg as Sir Clydno, and his wife Suzanne playing both Sir Monroe, and Sir Treantly, all Cymric knights from Salisbury.

We were all welcomed by the Duke in a grand ceremony which opened the tournament. Early on, we heard a mournful horn blast from deep in the Forest Sauvage nearby. We assumed it was a lone hunter, or perhaps a knight who was late for the tournament and thought nothing of it. Opening ceremonies began, including the blessing of the Duke's son (in whose honor this tournament was being held). Of note, when the youth was being offered communion, he winced visibly upon drinking the wine offered by the priest.

As the tournament began, Sir Clydno sang a song in honor of the event, which was well-received (critical success, as I recall) and Clydno was gifted with an extremely nice cloak by the Duke. That night was the first night of feasting. My character, Sir Guy (there's a rather obtuse Excalibur reference there, which I'll let you all scratch your heads over) tried to remain sober for the evening, but failed his "Temperate" roll, and then succeded in his "Indulgent" roll, and ended up getting drunk beyond belief.

The next morning, we awoke to discover that Clydno's fancy cloak had been stolen. There was a hunt that day and we debated at length what we should do about this. Clydno had planned to wear the cloak and ride up next to the Duke (as well as King Arthur, who was attending the tournament!) to score some points. We spent some time looking for the cloak, and turned up nothing. In the end we decided to form a hunting party of our own and avoided the Duke until we could figure out what had happened with the cloak.

We used the simple hunting system from the first scenario in the PD 5e. Rules appendix. It was actually quite exciting, making hunting and horsemanship rolls, jockeying for position and trying to track down the deer whose spoor we had found. Clydno found it first and gave it a few solid whacks, before it ran away. Soon after, Sir Guy rode up and l managed to land the killing blow and scoring the whopping 1 Glory for the hunt! Whoo! I was off to a great start!

That evening, more feasting and drinking, and again Sir Guy managed to fail to keep his cool, and got drunk again. Clydno was obsessed with finding the scoundrel who stole his cloak, and spent the evening looking around to find the churl. Treantly assisted and did manage to spot the thief! The knave not only had clearly stolen Clydno's cloak, but was gauche enough to be wearing it to the festivities (Treantly fumbled his "Awareness" roll). Treantly ponted this out to Clydno who agreed that the cloak was his (Clydno as well fumbled his Awareness roll… astounding…)

Clydno's honor had been slighted, and he went to the knight wearing his cloak (who I believe was Sir Trimball of Kent) and challenged him to personal combat to take place the next day during the fighting portion of the tournament. Treantly goaded him on during this whole exchange. Trimball was understandably confused, especially when Clydno demanded that 'we fight for our cloaks!' But not wanting to lose face, Trimball accepted the challenge.

So, Guy staggered off in a drunken stupor and the evening ended. (At one of these evening events, either Clydno or Treantly composed a poem in honor of Queen Guenever, which went over quite well, but I can't remember exactly how that happened)

The next day was the combat round of the tournament. Guy was unhorsed during his first bout of jousting, while Clydno lasted three rounds. Treantly went nearly 6 or 7 rounds before losing his seat.

Sorry, but I cannot recall who the winner of the joust was.

At this point, the personal combat between Clydno and Trimball took place. They began with a round of jousting in which Clydno knocked Trimball off his horse in one round. As Trimball hit the ground, Clydno wheeled about and ran him down, attempting to trample the unseated knight. Clydno's horse's hooves beat Trimball mercilessly, for which the GM decided to give Clydno an automatic check in his Vengeful trait.

At this point, Clydno demanded Trimball's surrender. Trimball at first refused to admit any wrongdoing, but discretion being the better part of valor, forfeited the round, and offered his cloak to Clydno…

At which point, Clydno realized that he had indeed, mistaken the cloak, and that Trimball was not the thief. He attempted to apologize and make amends, but Trimball would have none of it.

In the evening, again feasting, and Sir Guy getting drunk (seriously, I had a Temperate of 13, but just failed every time I rolled against it! Arrrgh!)

The next day saw more jousting. Specifically the Duke's son (again, the tournament was in his honor) was then challenged by the Black Knight. Which is never a good sign.

Their horses charged each other across the field, gaining ground and speeding faster and faster. Sir Guy, being remotely awesome managed to make his "Awareness" roll, thus noticing the Black Knight slightly adjusting his lance and aiming for a head shot on the Duke's son. The Black Knight's lance slammed into the boy's helmet, unhorsing him and knocking him to the ground.

And then the scene shifted, and we were back at the opening ceremony of the tournament… we'd shifted back three days or so. We heard the speech, the mournful horn and everything started over again.

Scene by scene the events we'd played through unfolded again before us. We still did have free will, and this time Clydno decided not to compose his poem, and win the cloak, thus avoiding the embarassment of the previous days.

We catapulted through the tournament, battle, etc. again, until the joust between the Black Knight and the Duke's son began, and ended the same way. And as the boy hit the ground, the scene shifted and we were back at the beginning again.

We heard the speech, the horn, and at this point Clydno, Guy, Treantly and Monroe charged off into the woods to try and track down the source of the horn. (We had reason to do this, but I can't quite recall how we came up with the idea that the horn was important.)

So, in the woods we came across a river with a bridge across it. There was a pavillion in front of the bridge, flying the banner of a knight that I could not identify (with a critical success in Recognize). As we approached the tent, we were greeted by a herald wearing an oddly colorful outfit. He informed us that this bridge was the province of a knight who we must best in a jousting contest before we could pass. Shortly thereafter the knight appeared. The knight was obviously a faerie of some sort. Shorter than us, and wearing shimmering aluminum armor.

As I was the 'lesser knight' I was allowed to joust the Faerie first, and was unceremoniously knocked flat on my ass. Clydno went next, and finally either Treantly or Monroe trounced the knight, allowing us to pass. Crossing the bridge, we came to a lake, at the far side of which was a fey enchantress, Lady Auriale as well as the Great Beast of the Forest Sauvage (the Great Beast is apparently a magical elephany with a proclivity for pointind directions with his trunk…)

Lady Auriale explained to us that while the Duke's son was living in Faerie, she was his nursemaid. She knew the Back Knight was trying to kill him and was using her powers to assure his safetey. She had apparently called us to the forest to help in this goal. She instructed us to ride to a nearby glade, and there find a hawthorne tree. We were to take four boughs from the tree, and make haste back to the tournament where we would put one branch at each corner of the tournament field.

As we were RPG PCs, and we know how these things turn out, each of the four knights hacked off four branches from the tree, and raced back to the jousting field.

We arrived just as the tilt began, quickly placing the branches at the corners as instructed. As the knights were about to impact, we placed the fourth branch. As this happened, the Black Knight slumped in his saddle, and was knocked off his horse by the young knight. As the Black Knight hit the ground, his armor fell apart, and we discovered that inside was nothing but the straw effigy of a person.

The youth was safe, all around cursed wicked fairy magic, and thus ended the Adventure of the Hawthorne Branches.

524: Greg's playing

2006-07-13T20:09:00.000-07:00

Sir Clydno, Le chevalier Doight

I generated Sir Clydno for the first Pendragon game that I’ve played in decades. Aaron is the GM, because in my campaign I requrie the players to sometimes be GMs so I can play too. ow that we’re in a period of stability, they can run things occasionally.
I made him the bastard younger brother of a major NPC, Count Charles of Marlboro. I’ve always referred him, in the offhanded GM way outside of the game, as Count Chuckie, and find that the player characters always do now too. My character is perplexed by this familiaroity and impudence, insists on them calling him Count Charles, thanks to his +6 Loyalty (Lord) he got from Character generation as the son of a noble.
I rolled family Heirloom, Christian Relic on the Luck Table. I decided it was a finger of Saint Alban, inherited form his mothr no doubt since the Count doesn’t own it. He keeps it at home, not wanting to risk it of course, but has pictured it on his shield. Hence his name, Knight of the Finger.
His significent Trait is Reckless.
Some players were surprised that he is neither pious not Religious, to which I simply replied, "Why would he need those when he has a relic?"—Greg

A knight at last! I have waited for this moment all my life, and I give my thanks to my dear brother the Earl Charles de Marlboro for granting to me this blessing. I eagerly look forward to vanquishing the foes of Britain! My only regret is that the Saxons have been conquered, for they seemed to be the best opportunity to gain glory and fame.
After some dutiful garrison duty—how odious and boring—I was released to seek adventure. Most of the knights in the county are content to sit home and tend normal duties. Let them stand guard!
I ventured to the hall of the Great Duke where I learned that the Lady Ga, a woman of great beauty and fame, had disappeared. Her husband, the famous Sir Uren, called the Timely, had gone seeking her. Perhaps she had been kidnapped!
Some said Lady Ga was of fairy blood, and that her disappearance after seven human years in companionship was natural. Her husband is seeking her, they say, and will never return, for once departed none can find their way back to the enchanted lands.
I too joined in the wide seeking of her, wandering the lands of Tribruit, Lambor and Cameliard seeking clues. But alas, finding naught. I met many fine folks and now know some roads in those aforementioned lands, and have performed some jousts and been in many fine hunts. I shall return to my brother’s halls with these humble tales of adventure.

That was just a made up year of Previous Experience. Regrettably, Wayne, the player of Sir Uren, has to retire from the game. It was coincidentally the seventh year of his faerie wife, which provides a ready excuse for his character’s disappearance.—Greg

523: the Sons of Ulfius Revolt

2006-07-13T19:35:00.000-07:00

Sir Monroe speaks

When Leo heard that the sons of Ulfius were defying the king, he practically jumped out of his seat and ran to the high chair shouting, "I'll go! I'll go!" So off we went on one of the most boring sieges in the history of siegedom. I don't know how the old man stands it! He and Sir Griflet stand around, consulting maps, pointing over the walls, pondering. Ladders are dispatched, the catapult adjusted ever so slightly...and the day wears on, only to be repeated the next. Leo and I finally grabbed Uren and Cadfael and snuck off on some impromptu "tax gathering" missions in the countryside. Not that we found much—at first. But then, ho-ho! We came across Ulo's manor, guarded by a bunch of non-comps and his young, comely wife and her hand-maidens. Well, the next thing we know, but we're sleeping in the straw of the hall and Leo is waltzing off to Ulo's bedchamber with Lady Yvonne on his arm! And then we stayed a second night!

We didn't want things to get too hot, so we left the next morning, after Leo persuades the lady to give him a token. We just about died laughing on the ride back to Silchester. And Leo doesn't waste any time; as soon as we're back in camp, he gets a fresh horse and rides past the marshall and dad and their maps right up to the front gate. He starts shouting for Ulo to come out and fight light a man, starts remarking on very private areas of Ulo's lady wife, then starts to wave around a pair of Lady Yvonne's panties!

Ulo was out that gate pretty quick, challenging Leo to one-on-one combat. Oh, you should have seen the sheen of hate in their eyes. And when their lances met, Ulo's shattered, and Leo's went clean through Ulo, who landed with a thud on the ground. Sir Uren tried to give Ulo first aid (I think; he was laughing while tending him), but it didn't seem to do any good, and Ulo shortly thereafter died.

So now everyone's standing around the corpse, while Leo's squires remove Ulo's armor (what was left of it) and capture his riderless horse, when Leo starts pissing in Ulo's shield. Then a bunch of the knights from the army started to do it, too. Can you believe it? And then they start goading Leo, who really doesn't like the sons of Ulfius one bit, and Leo...Leo ties a rope to the Ulo's foot, ties the other end to his saddle, and starts to ride around in front of Silchester's main gate, dragging the corpse and screaming taunts at Ufo standing on the wall.

When Earl Robert found out, oh, he was livid. So were most of the old-timers, too, frankly. Earl Robert dressed down Leo right there in front of the entire Salisbury court. But instead of being shamed into right and courteous behavior, I think it had the opposite effect on Leo. He's not gung-ho about Earl Robert anymore, not like he used to be. And I think Earl Robert noticed.

[bloggers note: us players pretty much knew, when Greg said to Fergie, "If you fumble here, you will disgrace yourself and drag the corpse in front of Ufo..." Because of course with that kind of warning Fergie rolled a 20. And later on, when Greg gave the same kind of warning while all the characters were in front of Earl Robert, Fergie again fumbled. I like that kind of dice-rolling.—Suzanne]

Sir Mortimer enthuses

I took the Lady Betty and my six children to winter court at Camelot this December. I don't go in for that sort of thing much—I much prefer cozy fireside evenings with the locals and my trusty steward, dogs lazing in the straw, the women quietly stitching in the kitchen. Ah, Durnford! Was there ever such a lovely manor in all of Salisbury?

We made the trip even though young squire Ronald passed away at the age of 16; a tragic accident on the practice field laid my little son low. He never regained consciousness, and two days later died. We buried him in the family plot beside the chapel. Fortunately, my son Monroe is a fine, strapping young man. At Arthur's court, Sir Brastius told the assembled that he was retiring (!), and that the new Marshall, young Sir Griflet, would be marching against the sons of that scrufulous Ulfius, as they have not rendered unto the king that which is Arthur's; namely, taxes.

As soon as the weather warmed and the roads were not so muddy, I had my men gather up all my stored siege equipment and I took a large contingent to Silchester. Oh, how happy I was to advise young Marshall Griflet on exactly where along the wall to dig, where to burn, where to press our attack. I love besieging castles! And with my son at my side...it was a fine, fine summer. Sure, the siege was inconclusive—but we'll root them out next summer. And have you heard the bawdy ballads they're singing about young Sir Leodegrance? Ha! You should.

Lady Ga

I have a lovely new palfrey this spring, and a fine new set of clothes and a pretty new hairnet...but I find my thoughts turning, not to my husband as they have in years past, but back to the Forest Sauvage, back to the King. The leaves seem less green to me this spring.

Sir Trently

I can hardly believe it—I keep pinching myself, but it's not a dream: the Earl has given me permission to wed my beautiful Nia! Finally, all the years of secrecy will be behind us, and we can live as knight and wife.

It's funny how things work out. When I was dressed down by King Arthur in front of the entire court and Round Table, I would have guaranteed you that I'd carry that shame to my dying day. Now, though, I look at it as the start of my romance with lovely Nia, because it was after that that I approached her father, the good Earl Belinger, to ask for his tutelege in all things chivalrous. Then I met Nia, and, well...

I have one year to prepare Crowborough to receive such a beautiful bride. Wish me luck!

Sir Jerry

Another year where I did not venture beyond the borders of East Meon. Mostly, I drank. And fought with Lady Gertruda, but just to relieve my boredom. The estate's not looking too good these days.

522

2006-07-13T19:30:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer shrugs

I stayed at home and played with the babies. But it's not like I didn't do anything. I've got a big holding. Keeping it all running smoothly takes a lot of traveling.

I keep catching poxes, though. I'm afraid I'm not looking too good these days.

521: Lions Are Hard To Kill

2006-07-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer says

I threw a big feast for the king to celebrate the completion of Portchester; I even felt moved to swear loyalty to the Pendragon. I believe that makes me a "King's Companion" as all the young knights say. The year was capped off by the autumn birth of a son.

520

2006-07-13T19:20:00.000-07:00

Sir Jerry

I hate Sussex, or maybe it's my wife. Hard to say, as it's her manor I've taken over. As soon as the weather cleared, I went off to Anglia for the King in order to surpress Saxons—good clean fun! We successfully besieged Guinnon, and in the looting that followed I somehow managed to kill approximately 40 peasants for just under 4 librum worth of goods. I don't remember much of it; I think I was drinking that morning. Anyway, Arthur was none too happy, apparently, and I took a hit for that, but then I just went back to East Meon and alarmed the countryside with tales of my summer vacation.

Sir Mortimer explains

The building and fortification of Portchester are on schedule and proceeding nicely. I've even had a little time to start work on a small castle nearby, Totton. Fortunately it was a rich year in Salisbury.

519

2006-07-13T19:15:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer relates

King Arthur appointed me Castellan of Portsmouth.

518

2006-07-13T19:10:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer grimaces

It was a hard year. I was hoping to go down in a blaze of glory, but somehow I survived Badon.

But we finally kicked their ass, those Saxons. Cerdic's sons better watch out next summer!

517

2006-07-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer recounts

Well, a happy day: the good Count Belinger knighted my son! Monroe, Sir Monroe, is now off to Arthur's court to see what adventures he may be in, or cause to be stirred up. His mother, dear Lady Rose, would have been so proud.

I myself took one of my younger sons with me to Lincoln. Not a good trip. I was seriously wounded, which makes sitting on horseback even more painful, and my little boy ate a bad pudding and died.

I came back home to Durnforn only to learn that the sons of Cerdic had been raiding the southern edges of Salisbury, for which they will pay dearly. I also took the advice of the old men of the manor and took me a wife, a comely if low-born lass. But Betty keeps me warm at night, and does a fine job running the household, so I can't complain. Though I do find myself still walking in the gardens and thinking of Ysabet from time to time.

516

2006-07-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

Sir Mortimer weeps

My dear Lady Ysabet passed away from a summer cold. I just spent the year sitting in the gardens I had built for her and looking at her grave.

515

2006-07-13T18:58:00.001-07:00

Sir Mortimer sighs

Stayed at home this year, tending to my manors, my children, and my dear wife.

514

2006-07-13T18:58:00.000-07:00

513

2006-07-13T18:57:00.000-07:00

512

2006-03-01T16:30:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer relates

Court has been a strange beast lately, what with all this talk of "chivalry." Whatever. Sounds like a load of claptrap to this old campaigner.

Speaking of claptrap, during a feast at St. Albans (yes, I had a difficult time attending with any mirth or enthusiasm, considering what happened the last time I was there), Sir Ulfius had the temerity to insult Igraine, widow of our Uther Pendragon. To her face! Calling her a traitor in front of the entire court. Well, I could not let that stand. I stood up and shouted the dastard down. Then the traitor's son had the cheek to insult the memory of Sir Ebble. I went mad, I tell you. I would have thrashed him soundly if my companions had not stopped me.

But get this: it turns out, all those long years ago, when Sir Ebble and I guarded Merlin's escape, him carrying a babe...yes, where we were jailed and almost executed as treasonous knaves, that babe was our King Arthur! My head was spinning, and not just from the wine.

(Oh, then on some crappy little raid we almost all were killed by Greg and our stupendously poor dice-rolling. GM pity is the only thing that saved us.)

511

2006-03-01T16:29:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer relays

Sir Brastius is now head of the young Pendragon's household knights, as he was for Uther Pendragon. Nice.

The Saxons are strangely quiet, so to keep the men occupied, we went off raiding in Hertford with Hervis. Young Leodigrance rode with us as a new knight, I'm happy to say. I showed him how siegecraft is done as we camped outside Guinnon, but the presence of a rapidly moving, HUGE Saxon army forced me to also how him how to conduct an orderly retreat. Ah, well—we'll burn it next time.

510

2006-02-19T08:10:00.000-08:00

Mortimer relates...

Uh, whoa.

Taking a quick break here during what is turning out to be a tumultous summer—and, considering some of the summers I've seen, that's saying something.

So the tourney was quite fun, and my dear Ysabet looked radiant in her new clothes and jewels. She certainly looked the part of the wife of the Marshall of Salisbury. As did my retainers: before we left I had specially-made surcoats and banners sewn for everyone. We were the very picture of beauty!

I wish my showing in the melee had been as good as our appearance, but these knees of mine couldn't take the lancing, so I was out pretty quick. Young Earl Robert was so eager to do himself proud, I'm afraid he also had an early exit. No harm done, though, as we fought with "rebated" weapons, blunted and for the most part harmless. A game for boys, really, but the ladies were impressed, and that always counts for something.

But the real stir, the real commotion, was that, during the tournament, a young squire somehow pulled that sword locked fast in the stone, out of the rock. Not once but several times! A feat which, though many tried, none could duplicate. Oh, the foreigners were outraged! Petty kings, counts, earls, everybody is gathering their men and marching to London to try their own hand at freeing the sword. In the meantime, myself and my doughty knights of Salisbury are guarding the sword in the stone day and knight, while the Count of Rhydychan and Gloucester guards the young squire.

The year is far from over; I'm taking a quick break from our battle preparations to jot this down. The foreign nay-sayers all came to London to try their hand at the sword, but none could pull it from the stone once Arthur set it back in place. Red faces all around, and not all from exertion. The commoners clamored for their king, so Arthur was knighted and crowned at a most glorious ceremony. My knees kept me from dancing with the Lady Ysabet, but young Earl Robert kindly escorted her around the dance floor while I gamed with the Salisbury lads. Her shining, lovely memory in my mind's eye is what keeps me going this summer. We've been on the road for months. Outside Carleon we fought an army of disgruntled northerners, though I don't remember much of the battle, as I was laid out by a savage blow. I spent months recuperating in the castle before the army was again on the march, this time to Bedegraine. Count Belinger—may he soon find a wife!— captured the King of Garloth, while I myself only captured the enemy standard during second day of fighting before my wounds forced me from the field.

At Carohaise, in the kingdom of Cameliard (where I have never before been), we battled King Rhiens of Norgales; a very short battle. I didn't even participate! It went poorly for us, with many of our knights killed or captured, including my cousin and steward to Burcombe Manor, Sir Mordecai. What was left of Arthur's army recuperated at the castle. (The king's daughter is quite lovely.)

We finally were sent home in September, but the weather that was so good for fighting wasn't so good for the farmers, and harvests were poor.

How did the year end? With a complete shocker: Sir Ulfius ransomed the Salisbury knights! "A deposit on money owed," he said. I jus about fainted.

509

2006-02-19T07:47:00.000-08:00

Mortimer reports

Now I know what Ebble was complaining about all those years: this tender, pink scar on my side aches terribly in this lousy London weather. And my knees are killing me, especially now when I dismount from my trusty warhorse. Which I did a lot of this year, because as the weather improved in the spring, we grizzled veterans put our heads together and discussed what to do about The Saxon Problem for the year. How to keep London? I was all for clearing out Sussex and Kent—better for Salisbury, that—but Counts Belinger and Charles of Marlborough, and Sir Brastius wanted to go north, though I think we didn't go as far as they would have liked.

Before we rode off to battle against what would most likely be, as usual, a larger army, I had the great pleasure of taking Sir Ebble's son Leodigrance on as my squire, and the great honor of knighting young Sir Robert, the late Earl's son. Finally!

We swept the Saxons out of Hertford, Roystan, and Beale Valet before returning to London. All those years of siegecraft pay off once again! We had gotten word that the Angles were moving toward the city, and our rear. We fought them outside the city gates, a battle of medium proportions as those things go. Count Belinger revenged himself on the berzerker that troubled us so much last year...but was laid low when the tree-wielding small giant showed up. Bad luck. But a knight whose acquaintence we had not yet made, Sir Nidian of Wuerensis, crit mightily several times before he, too, fell.

It was looking like another Cornwall before, and I can still hardly believe this, before Merlin showed up, drove off the giant, healed the fallen Count, and generally helping turn the tide in our favor. I might even start praying in one of the chapels I've built on my lands back home, I am so shaken by this. By the beard of St. Mary! I mean, Merlin! Who would've figured him to do something noble?

Sir Nidian ended up joining the household of Count Belinger. I took my Salisbury lads back home for the winter, along with some new men to replace our fallen comrades. A Sir Ruin joined the household of Earl Robert, as he acquited himself well at the Battle of London.

We're to return to London in the spring for a great celebration, an entertainment called a "tourney." We had another daughter born, so I'm hoping to show off the wife and family then. Might be fun; we'll see.

The song I wrote about Sir Nidian and the Small Giant is getting pretty good play aroud town.

508

2006-02-08T16:21:00.000-08:00

Chronicle of Rydychan

Twelfth day of December in the Year of Our Lord 508

I am afraid I spend more time than is wise in my chambers as of late. My spirits are dampened by the sight of the new faces at table where my friends formerly sat. Of my old companions, those who knew me before I claimed my inheritance, only Mortimer remains. It is possible, perhaps, that Marmaduke too still lives for we found no corpse upon the field last summer. But if he lives why has he gone from us?

I am uneasy with this plan of Brastius’. We have seized London through another treachery of Duke Ulfius, although this time his betrayal served us. He claims to be a changed man. I scarce believe it. He will be gone again, perhaps to King Idyriss when he senses advantage elsewhere. After the siege of London I doubt the Saxons will ever take him back.

Next year I expect all of the weight of the Saxon Kings to be thrown at us. Brastius claims this will allow us to crush them upon our own terms, once and for all. But have we strength enough? The forces of King Nanteliod were broken by just one Saxon king, and Nanteliod’s forces were greater than ours, and better led. Brastius has assured me that taking London was necessary for a greater plan of which he has only shown me a brief glimpse, yet another matter that weighs upon me as I have sworn not to reveal what he has shown to my companions, or even to my dear mother, the Countess.

At the urging of the Countess I have once again begun to search for a new wife. My poor Nia deserved better than to die so young in childbirth! Yet mother is correct, I must get myself an heir, and soon, for the sake of both Rydychan and Gloucester.

Not all is gloom however. Taking the offensive has kept the Saxon dogs close to their kennels. Neither Rydychan nor Gloucester were troubled by war this year and the respite has paid off in rich harvests. The peasants are looking well nourished and the extra tax has enabled me to replace most of our casualties from the seige and to strengthen some garrisons. God grant us the strength to stem the Saxon tide next year!

Bellengere, Count of Rydychan and Gloucester.

Suzanne says

What was that?! Greg is the worst dice-roller, a fact we love to tease him about. But last night Greg just about killed us all on the first charge of the first battle of the night. Yeah, storming London—at Brastius's request, too. He had A Plan, and the help of that forest woman, Niniveh. Count Belinger was all for it, and his household knights were with him on it, too. But until Brastius and Belinger agreed to neutralize Silchester Sir Mortimer was not having any of it. But they agreed, we took his sons hostage, and on to London...where we promptly got our butts kicked. Sir Mortimer out on a lance charge, the household knights done in by a berzerker (I haven't seen -30 hit points in a long time), and Belinger major wounded but valorously continuing the fight. The money spent on those 500 knifemen paid off, as they swung the battle in our favor and we (barely) carried the day.

But get this! Guess who was fighting the Saxons inside London? Yeah, that traitorous dog Ulfius. Tsk! He says he's a changed man. I'll believe it when he settles his score with Mortimer.

As if.

507

2005-12-19T14:15:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer speaks

Well, the hotheads are off to London again to try and break the back of the Saxons. I, however, am leading the forces of Salisbury south to clean out Hampshire, which the county acquired during the campaigns of the former Marshall. I recovered Camelot and Portsmouth, but was repulsed at Chichester. Next year!

Oy! A son is born! I shall name him after his brother.

I can't believe how warm and fuzzy I still feel knowing that Ulfius is rotting in gaol in Caerleon.

506

2005-12-19T14:03:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer writes

My dearest--
I may well beat this letter home. Have you heard? The forces of little Count Chuckie have successfully defeated King Ale! And that wretched scoundrel Ulfius has been captured and is being held for ransom. Heh. I hope he enjoys hospitality equal to that he has shown me.
Wait for me at Durnford, where the gardens and orchards will be in bloom.
--Sir Mortimer

It was a most lovely reunion with my dearest.

Well, well, well! Sir Belinger, whom I last saw slumped over his horse on the field of my capture, is the knight responsible for subduing Ulfius. Well done, sir, well done! And as I sat at the high table in Cirencester, I heard other marvels as well. The same Sir Belinger is the long-lost son of the Countess of Rhyddchan. Blood will tell. The Countess has stepped aside so that her most worthy son may be the Count and defend the lands against the Saxon scourge.
And the Countess of Salisbury has appointed me as Marshall now that our doughty Sir Ebble is dead. Sigh. I would he were Marshall still. He was a good man.

Our lands were quite ravaged by that marauder, Ulfius. The peasants had a difficult time making their harvests, so it's fortunate that there was plenty of spoils from Silchester's lands. My dear Ysabet is looking quite sharp these days. But the raiding did take its toll on us as well; our little son perished.

With some misgivings, I and many others marched with King Nanteliod on the Angles, currently holed up in London. Our siege was unsuccessful, and we departed for our manors for the winter.

505

2005-12-19T13:48:00.000-08:00

Sir Marmaduke raves

King Ale and Duke Ulfius are once again invading the territories of others; Count Charles had me on garrison duty. I didn't mind. But as things heated up, the count summoned an army to defend Marlborough. So many knights and men-of-arms! A large force clashing, to be sure. We were doing well, my comrades-in-arms and I—Sirs Belinger and Tanicus—and even as the tide seemed to be turning in our favor with the capture of a battalion commander, an overwhelming sense of futility, of hopelessness against the ever-surging Saxon tide overcame me and I fled, maddened, from the field.

Sir Mortimer writes

My dear Ysabet:
I am still imprisioned in Silchester. The dastard will not let me out. I pray every day for your safety and that of our children, and for God to strike down that traitorous duke.
Yours,
Mort

504

2005-11-30T13:33:00.000-08:00

Sir Marmaduke cries out

Oh, the shame!

New companions, a new land, and a task set by a (for now) new lord. Count Charles of Marlborough, who at least fed and clothed Gauter and I over the winter, sent us out with the rest of the mercenaries to fight the Saxons some forty miles to the north of where the fair Broad Oak of Hatfield once grew. And on the banks of the Nene we engaged with the Saxon scourge, acquitting ourselves well.

As a poor knight you might imagine that I was a little more than pleased to attract the notice of the Count, who sent me, along with Sir Tanicus of Middlemarsh and Sir Belinger the Still, two other wandering warriors, out on a recon mission tracking the fleeing Saxon army. The keen eyesight of my forefathers comes in handy once again!

So, as a poor knight, imagine my dread when Sir Belinger announced that, not only had we lost the splinter group of Saxons we were tracking—and the track—but that we were in the Forest Sauvage. Sir Belinger, a mighty if strange knight, spoke a tale of his having spent a night in the forest while three years passed in the outside world! And entering the forest near Lindsay exited the same in Dorset. Incredible!

The forest was close and stuffy, densely filled with undergrowth for such a gloomy wood, so we made use of the best available campsite for the night, and camped on a disused road we stumbled on. Unused by men, anyway. Not long after Gauter had unsaddled the horses and set our camp for the night, and Sir Belinger and Sir Tanicus sleeping while I took first watch , I spied large, glowing red eyes peering at me from the darkness of the woods. I took a brand in hand and moved closer to ascertain what kind of animal peered at us so, but I backpedaled right quick when I realized that a trio of horned black dogs was attached to the saucer-sized eyes.

They jumped on us and, I am ashamed to admit, I was rooted to the spot with fear while my companions hastily donned their mail and began hewing at the ghastly dogs with their swords. It was too much for me to take, I'm afraid. Again, with the utmost shame I admit I ran into the woods to escape the fairy dogs.

Whether it was the tree I ran into or a slender strand of my father's courage buried inside me, demanding I stand and face my foe, but I turned and attacked the slavering beast. Three blows and it was down. I stabbed it again to make sure it was truly dead, then ran back to the road in time to chase off the last remaining beast. Squire Gauter was nowhere in sight; I can only assume he, like his lily-livered master, took to the woods. Both Sir Belinger and Sir Tanicus lay without moving on the ground. I was able to rouse Sir Tanicus with a little of the first-aid my mother taught me, but Sir Belinger's wounds were too great for my country skills.

I'm not sure what will become of us now. Neither Sir Tanicus or Sir Belinger is able to walk–Sir Belinger can't even stand—and the vile black dogs destroyed all four of our horses. We are on foot, injured, lost, in the depths of the Forest Sauvage...along with several hundred Saxon soldiers in the detachment we were following.

It doesn't look good.

503

2005-11-30T13:31:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer fumes

I am still cooling my heels in a Silchester cell.

I Hate Ulfius like some men hate the Saxons.

Sir Marmaduke hits the highway

The Saxons finally came, and fair Hatfield was burned to the ground! With nothing left, I leave for a life of errantry on the only horse left to us.

502

2005-11-15T21:51:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer writes

My Dear Wife, Lady Ysabet--

I have found a man of the cloth willing to write this letter I dictate to you, dearest. I hope you have had word before now from your brother the good Sir Trently that I am alive, if not exactly well. I must say, I am becoming quite the conniseur of prisons. I find this one less to my liking than even a Cornish cell. It seems I am still remembered less than fondly here in Silchester.

But I live, and if the duchy has not heard the news, and this is the first you have heard of our little army since we set out for Levcomagus, it is with deep sadness and regret that I must report that our stalwart Marshall was killed in the field of battle. Oh, how I wish the crits had come our way instead of from the dice of that traitorous scoundrel Duke Ulfius! Alas. At the very least, Sir Ebble died in battle, on horseback, and had the satisfaction of sacking Levcomagus before the end in the Forest of Chute.

See to the ordering of our manors as we discussed over the winter, dear wife. Rely on my men for guidance, and give service to the Regent. I will see you...well, when I see you. I am happy to report that I personally dealt Ulfius a critical blow with my sword before being overcome, though that will not hasten my release, I'm afraid.

Courage, dearest! Stand firm against the Saxon horde and its scrufulous allies.

Your lord and husband,

Mort

Best quote of the night

"I want my guy alive again!

501

2005-11-09T18:35:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer speaks

We're out of gaol!

We had to buy our way out with ransom--a tidy, 100L sum in the Marshall's case--but we have dodged King Idris's ambush and are out of Cornwall, and back in Salisbury. Waiting for the hammer to fall as we now have 1) no money 2) no army 3) a poor harvest. We're on the verge of impoverishment! It didn't help that the Count of Windsor did not pay the balance of his ransom owed me--so I spent my last 2L of loot on hired minstrels to spread the word about the Count.

The Marshall seems to be taking a hard look at how to best preserve Salisbury. A new Saxon army has landed in the east and is threatening Hertford; other Saxons have retaken Portsmouth in the south of Salisbury (what Wessex?); the traitorous Duke Ulfius has taken manors on the edge of eastern Salisbury, and castles from our allies Rydichan and Marlborough.

Might there be a shuffling of wives in the near future?

Sir Ebble, while away in prison, lost Agnes Jr (due to the poor harvest, likely), but did gain a newborn daughter. Should he name her Dorie?

The scoundrely Duke Ulfius is the next matter calling our attention.

500

2005-11-08T14:44:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer writes

I feel we're making progress against the Saxon horde. The marshall hired the renowned Sir Cador of Cornwall to fight with us this summer and, since things have settled down in Hampshire enough that we're annexing it to Salisbury, the Marshal took us to Dorset. Seems Dorset was in the sights of King Idris of Cornwall, who is looking to become high king? He's certainly acquiring territory as if he wants to be. Idris even offered Sir Ebble the position of Duke of the West if he'd join his cause, but Ebble declined after he saw his low character. Who wants to be sworn to a man who won't keep his word?

The Battle of Dorset turned out to be a three-day disaster: our army was routed, Sir Briant was killed, and Ebble and I were captured. Damn, I am getting tired of prisons! We were sent to wait out the winter at Castle Dore. Mysteriously, Sir Belinger was ransomed to freedom at Christmas court by an unknown lady. Hmm.

499

2005-11-07T18:51:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer boasts

What a year! King Idris of Cornwall swept up the kingdom of Jagent, and while we watched our neighbor devoured by a fellow Briton, we had to contend with Prince Aescwine hanging around Salisbury court. He wants us to ally with him against Sussex, Kent, and Silchester—I can't believe I would say "Silchester" in the same breath as other Saxon possessions, but there you go, that's the harvest of treachery—but we're having none of it. We've said that we will consider it, in order to buy a summer of peace before a council at Windsor to discuss the high kingship. The Count of Marlborough, just a boy, is with us now, so we're making hay and kicking the Saxons and Silchester knights out of Rhydychan.

We were wildly successful at the siege of Oxford, and pummeled Sir Ulfius at the Battle of Dorchester. Two-to-one odds in his favor yet still we carried the field! We followed him to Wallingford and fought another decisive battle, also in our favor. I managed to capture the Count of Windsor, a prize rich beyond imagining. His ransom will pay for a lot of defensive works in my holdings, and a lot of troops for our continuing battles.

I'm also trying to convince the Countess of Rhydychan, without husband or heir, to marry the Marshal. It would be a prudent move for both her and him, and for all our lands.

We couldn't reach a quorum at Windsor, and left disappointed. No one is strong enough, yet, to claim the high kingship.

498

2005-11-07T14:49:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer speaks

We hear King Idris of Cornwall is working his way east, conquering as he goes. We also hear that Wessex and Sussex are joining forces in preparation for an attack on us.

We were pretty worried, but then forces from other counties and kingdoms started showing up in Salisbury, aching to fight the Saxons. Whoo-ya! Dorset, Marlborough, Ryddchan.

We met the Saxons at the Battle of Du Plain, and held them off for two days. We couldn't get the advantage, but neither could they. Sir Ebble knighted little Count Chuckie of Marlborough before heading off on a night raid in an attempt to demoralize the Saxons. Well, we demoralized them all right, but Sir Ebble also took a major wound! And now reinforcements are headed toward the Saxon camp. Drat!

Well, well, well. Shifty ol' Merlin showed up and routed the Saxon reinforcements; we took care of the rest. In gratitude and common sense, the Countess of Salisbury made Sir Ebble the Marshal of Salisbury! You should see his retinue now: it's enormous.

497

2005-11-06T14:27:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer speaks

We barely made it through the winter with our status intact. If we have another winter like that, we'll be reduced to riding pigs, I'm afraid.

The son of the King of Wessex fed off the hospitality of the Countess all winter long at Sarum. As the weather warmed up we sent him on his way, with the same answer we gave last year: NO tribute! Although we hear everyone else paid it. We rode to Duke Ulfius at Astalat looking for aid. When we arrived it was clear that not only was the Duke also paying tribute, he was actually collaborating with the Saxons! Incredible. I'm afraid I couldn't contain myself: I picked a fight with one of the Saxon nobles by the latrine. We dueled, which greatly displeased the Duke, but I had the satisfaction of killing the saxon. Then the Duke kicked us out.

To hell with Duke Ulfius! We'll kick the Saxons out on our own, at least from Salisbury. Sir Berwyn and his cohorts from Silchester offered us their aid, so we marched into Hampshire. First, we sacked and burned Camelot. Go Salisbury! Then on to Portsmouth: sack and burn. With each victory we sent a stream of freed peasants and loot back to Sarum. At the Battle of the Wharf we destroyed half of Wessex's ships! We couldn't finish the job, as he was on the Isle of Wight with the rest of his force, but we slowed him down for sure, and showed him what the men of Salisbury are made of!

Oh, no! My lovely lady Rose died in childbirth, though my son survived. With the blessings of the Countess I married Lady Alis of Winterbourne Stoke.

496

2005-11-05T14:23:00.000-08:00

Sir Mortimer rails

Tribute?! No Way!

The wolves are circling: King Aescwine of Essex is asking for protection money. The Countess asked for our opinions, and we advised her to say no. We had parley with King Cerdic of Wessex after he landed his army in Hampshire. We gave him the same answer. We also saw a most curious thing in Camelot: a very fine sword, held fast in a large rock. Odd.

I think we shall have a war on our hands next summer...provided we make it through the winter.