Thirty Fifth turn!
England; the Dark Ages; a small hut in the Forest of Hell; night time.The four questing knights stand in the interminable drizzle before the soothsayer’s hut in the depths of the Forest of Hell, hunger gnawing at their stomachs and at their wills.
Sir Beadocáf stands silently, too concerned about his gently rusting [2] boots to utter a single learned phrase, leaving
Sir Conchobar first to approach the old man.
“Hail! I am Sir Conchob-“
“Arrrgh! Get thy face away from me! Get thee gone from here, foul monster of the dark! Thy very presence doth disturb my mind! You shall have no shelter this night: you must sleep in the barn [1]!”Conchobar leaps back in amazement, for apparently his ugliness effects even the blind!
Title Acquired: Sir Conchobar the Miraculously Gruesome, Potless Insulter of Mothers and Piercer of the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh, Splitter of the Left Head of the Dreaded Three-Headed Knight of the Wood of Doom!Sir Feyman too is astonished; too much to talk, in any case. He lets Sir Keardwall, the smooth-talker, talk his way into the old man’s hut.
"You there!"
Keardwall bellows as he hops across the clearing, an imposing yet strange figure with his armour, missing leg and collection of jars, "We seek shelter this night! We are four Knights of King Arthur, sent out to quest for the Holy Grail! Let us warm ourselves by the fire a while, and perhaps the Good Lord God shall smile upon ye."
He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Oh, and if you happen to know anything about the Grail, that could be handy too, of course!"
A crash of thunder blasts overhead. Beadocáf winces. The rain pours once more.
“The Grail?” The old man laughs. Lightning flashes.
“I knowe of the Grail…”… … … … … …
The three knights sit about the soothsayer’s dying fire, drinking tea as the old man lies on a bed of stinking animal skins in the half-light.
“There is a cave… A cave which no man has ever entered!”“And the Grail,” asks
Feyman, “the Grail is there?”
“No, no,” interrupts
Beadocáf, “the last known
location is there, scribed upon the walls of the living rock itself! I told you before, when we spoke to the old man before last.
Beati pauperes spiritu, as they say, what,” he adds.
The old man laughs to himself again.
“There is much danger… much mortal
danger… and beyond the Cave, there will lie the Gorge of Eternal Peril, which no man has ever traversed!”“But the Grail?” demands Feyman, “Where is the Grail?”
“Seek you the Bridge of Death…”“The Bridge of Death?”
“You must cross… the Bridge of Death! That which no man has ever crossed!”The soothsayer laughs, mocking and sinister; a wisp of smoke appears and then, when it passes, the old man is gone.
… … … … … ….
“Good Lord,” exclaims
Feyman, “What foul magick is this? Is this the work of a witch?”
There is the sound, suddenly, of movement behind the three knights. They turn to see a black cat run off into the night.
“Conchobar!”
Beadocáf cries out, “Conchobar, come quickly! The old man! Have you seen the old man?”
No sound breaks the insistent whisper of the pouring rain.
Keardwall, Beadocáf, and Feyman rush out, and discover why
Conchobar answers not.
… … … … … …
Sir Conchobar the Miraculously Gruesome, Potless Insulter of Mothers and Piercer of the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh, Splitter of the Left Head of the Dreaded Three-Headed Knight of the Wood of Doom is standing in the middle of the clearing, face drawn tight with abject terror. Before him stands a knight of enormous height, a knight who is of more fearsome and gruesome countenance than Conchobar himself!
Conchobar’s three comrades look round the clearing, now made smaller by the ring of horned knights lining its inner edges; they look up at the enormous knight. They gasp in horror at his horrifying visage! They gasp at the wetness of Conchobar’s pants [1]!
Title Acquired: Sir Conchobar the Miraculously Gruesome, Potless Insulter of Mothers and Piercer of the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh, Splitter of the Left Head of the Dreaded Three-Headed Knight of the Wood of Doom, Wetter of Pants!“Wh – who are you?” manages
Keardwall [5]. The knight before him has imposing black eyebrows, and wears a helmet encrusted with antlers the breadth of a tall man’s height and the colour of a thousand bleached skulls.
“We… We are the Knights Who Say ‘Ni’!”“No!”
Feyman cries out, staggering in pain as he soils himself [2], “Not the Knights Who Say ‘Ni’!”
“The same! We are the keepers of the Sacred Words!”“Those who hear them,” points out the learned
Beadocáf, controlling himself admirably [5], “Seldom live to tell the tale.”
“If you wish to pass through this forest alive... the Knights Who Say ‘Ni’ demand… a sacrifice!”Name: Sir Keardwall the Exteriorly Spleened, Stony Defeater of Bandits, Destroyer of the Son of the Eel of Stafford, Terror of the West, and Slayer of the Two-Headed Knight of the Wood of Doom.
Bio: So named for his rather unyielding demeanour towards his foes, and those of God and the King, Sir Keardwall the Stony was a natural choice for such a quest as this. Bearing a near-permanent frown, stout forehead and a square, manly beard, not to mention his well-kept armour, Sir Keardwell is the very picture of courage and skill-at-arms.
Enjoys fighting for King and Country, feasting heartily, and glaring stonily at those who cross him. Apart from his lance he wields a broadsword and a shield, upon which is displayed his family's crest, which involves a castle on a mountain guarded by a red dragon. He would never dream of refusing such a mission from his Lord, but of course the sorry state of his financial affairs offered an extra incentive to set out on this grand journey. After all, what born warrior would wish to be cooped up in a castle all day, counting tithes and taxes when he could be out doing great deeds?!
Traits Fearsome frown of fierceness, loud voice.
Retinue Member: Standard Bearer, Gertad Brownfoot. Old fellow who faithfully follows Sir Keardwall on his travels on a small pony, bearing the noble Knight's coat-of-arms for all to see. Always glad to recite a few of his Lord's deeds for any audience, he speaks sweeter still when his tongue is greased with alcohol. Gertad is currently away.
Chivalry: 3.
Arm Wrestles Won: 0/1.
Inventory: A spleen in a jar of pickled eggs, a lower leg in a jar of gherkins.
Wounds: No lower left leg.
Name: Sir Feyman the Judging, Slayer of the Black Knight.
Bio: Sir Feyman gladly accepts his role in any quests, but is always suspicious of the motives of his fellow questers. He likes to play music, but doesn't have the opportunity very often. He fights with swords, but doesn't get too attached to his equipment.
Retinue Members: Crannock the Minstrel.
Lost Members: Naughty Melga the Possible Witch.
Deceased Retinue Members: Maine the shy Minstrel. He usually followed Feyman around, blindly agreeing with him, even though he taught Feyman many things, including how to play music; Eric the Lutist, who bravely followed Sir Feyman for over an hour, only to be sliced in twain by the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh
Chivalry: 1.
Duels Won: 1/2.
Arms: 1/2.
Minstrels: 1/3.
Name: Sir Conchobar the Miraculously Gruesome, Potless Insulter of Mothers and Piercer of the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh, Splitter of the Left Head of the Dreaded Three-Headed Knight of the Wood of Doom, Wetter of Pants.
Bio: The stuff of legends, Conchobar is feared throughout the world. Not because of his deeds mind you, but because of his legendary ugliness. He is said to be so ugly that the heads of lesser men have shattered in his presence. It is also notable that his favored weapon is a man wearing spiked armor named Fiddles.
Traits: Unimaginably intimidating. Ridiculously ugly.
Retinue members: Fiddles the man club; Kenneth, Shielder of Yon Face For the Protection of Others.
Chivalry: 4.
Arm Wrestles Won: 1/1.
Inventory: The Holy Crossbow of Beersheba, Renowned Slayer of the Green Dragon, Bolt Foot.
Name: Sir Beadocáf Aethlearne the Rotund
Bio: A large man, both tall and wide, with long reddish hair and beard. As the shape of his body might give away, Beadocáf enjoys a good meal. And a good drink. And anything feast-related, really. Despite this affection, Beadocáf is also a rather pious man, spending a lot of his money on building churches on his land, and prefers to spare his fighting skills for when God calls upon them. His colours are red and gold, and his crest is an eagle carrying a cross. His weapon of choice is a long-shafted, knobbed mace, inscribed with the words Nutu Dei. Sometimes also called the Boar, or possible the Bore, Beadocáf is never quite sure which one people mean by it.
Lost Members: Godewine of Norwhyiche, an old friend and monk scholar who was witnessing his quest for chronicling purposes but fell to the temptations of spanking.
Retinue Members: Hagley the Squire.
Chivalry: 0.
Author
Topic: Roll to Seek the Grail! (Read 51083 times)