Forty third turn!
England; the Dark Ages; half past Tuesday; deep within the Cave of Caerbannog.“Oh blast. John? Is that you John? Oh bother. Sorry. I er… SHIT! What’s happened to my bloody nose?! Ooh, what’s this? Oh, I say. Chaps? Chaps? I appear to have found the location of the Holy Grail!” Keardwall pokes his head over the newly-created hole in the floor, stony features set in concern and mild surprise as he blasts out a reply. Dust and debris, shaken loose by his bellowing and manly voice, clatter down below as he leans.
"Ethlehead my friend! Are ye alright? What in blazes did ye land on?!"
“I er… I seem to have landed on my fool. Do you know any Welsh?” … … … … … …
Above, Sir Feyman looks flabbergasted.
"A trap floor? Here? It is like a trap door, but dirtier! Holding on, Sir Ethlehedehed, I'm coming for you!" he shouts, as he jumps straight through the hole in the floor [1].
"Oh bloody hell," he continues, a second later,
"I seem to have smashed my nose!"Wound Acquired: Smashed nose!
Another second later another blast of profanity flies upwards through the dark hole as Crannock joins him.
"Sorry sire... I... er..."Wound Acquired: Smashed face!
... ... ... ... ... ...
Keardwall, mindful of his jars, searches about the cavern for a safer and less direct route down to Sir Ethlehed [3], and after a few minutes finds his two companions, Beadocàf following carefully behind. The knights gather round the evidently Holy Inscription carved upon the very living rock of the cave wall itself. Beadocàf peers over the edge of his glasses, leaning forwards in the gloom, a darkening frown spreading across his scholarly features.
"Curse my strictly Saxon ancestry!" he yells, as he reaches the end of his patience, banging his fist on the inscription and knocking cracks into it.
"And damn the Welsh for making up such a silly language. This is impossible to read! There's not even any vowels! Alas, if only Godewyne was here! Damn the Welsh, damn the lovely women, and damn the bloody French! I believe we will need the intervention of Our Lord to break this infernal and silly code. Omnius patrium asperges et ovium...”Beadocàf trails off into silence as he kneels and prays with great intensity.
Suddenly a great light appears in the sky! It seems as if the clouds part! The face of Beadocàf strains as if in deepest constipation! A choir seems to sing, and suddenly the Holy Inscription cracks into pieces and falls from the wall. In its place a map draws itself out of the thin air and of the minerals of the rock: a map towards the Grail! Beadocàf's eyes glaze over, and he falls to the floor.
… … … … … …
A few minutes pass between Beadocàf's sitting upright and his being able to coherently talk, but talk he does. In English! Praise be!
“Sirs... I was in deepest concentration, and the Lord did speak unto me! He revealed to me the location of the Grail, and He has drawn it upon the very rock itself! We must exit the cave, and take the next left, whereupon we shall find the Bridge of Death. We must use the Bridge of Death to cross the Gorge of Eternal Peril, which is of a nameless and unmeasurable depth! Once across the Gorge of Eternal Peril, we must walk to the Lake of L'Homard, and there, in the centre of the Lake, lies an Isle: the Isle of L'Homard. And there, in the centre of the Isle, there lies a castle: Castle L'Homard. And there! In the centre of the castle! There lies... the Grail!”
“Ah...” remarks Keardwall,
“Castle L'Homard
, not Lombard
! Bugger. I see.”“Er...” more bravely remarks Ethelhed,
“the Bridge of Death
?” Name: Sir Keardwall the Exteriorly Spleened, Stony Defeater of Bandits, Destroyer of the Son of the Eel of Stafford, Terror of the West, Slayer of the Two-Headed Knight of the Wood of Doom and Soiler of Armour.
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 with a hand.
Wounds: No lower left leg.
Name: Sir Feyman the Judging, Slayer of the Black Knight, Soiler of Underwear and Fiendish Smasher of the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.
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.
Wounds Acquired: Smashed nose, smashed face.
Minstrels: 1/3.
Name: Sir Beadocáf Aethlearne the Rotund, Sacred Feller of the Tallest Tree on the Hillock of Fate.
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. Hagley the Squire, who joined Beadocáf to learn how to become a knight, but was instead flattened by the very man he sought to emulate.
Wounds Right hand bitten off by a rabbit.
Retinue Members: None.
Chivalry: 0.
Inventory: The Holy Crossbow of Beersheba, Renowned Slayer of the Green Dragon Name: Sir Ethlehed the Curious, Knower of Names.
Bio: It is said that curiosity killed the cat. Sir Ethlehed would remark that he is no cat and therefore perfectly safe. In fact, through absolutely dumb luck he has managed to survive everything his insatiable curiosity has brought him into, often at the cost of comically maimed retinue members. He is interested in absolutely everything and will frequently conduct experiments to satiate his curiosity. Again often at the expense of retinue. He wields a vaguely weapon-like contraption that has so far managed to elude a good description and could go horribly wrong at any moment. He also wields a sword, but it is rusty and blunt from years of neglect.
He is the kind of guy who compulsively pulls a lever to see what happens. He is also inexplicably lucky.
Lost Retinue Member: John the Snarker. A former fool who lost all of his humour while in Ethlehed's service. Crushed to death during Sir Ethlehed’s rescue from the Beast of Caerbannog.
Chivalry: 1.
Wound Acquired: Smashed nose
Author
Topic: Roll to Seek the Grail! (Read 50734 times)