[Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Pendragon: Tales of Chivalry and Sorcery is the place to go if you want to play Pendragon. Cpt._Funkotron will be your GM, with assistance from CarrieVS.

Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby CarrieVS » Tue Nov 21, 2017 1:20 am

Even though he knows every detail of the story already, Merlin's telling of it holds Eliver's rapt attention. Of course, the wizard has an unfair advantage: regardless of the tale the magical pictures in the air are a marvel. After it's over, Eliver is intrigued to notice Roderick, in conversation with Merlin, looking right at them.

The King's journey north might be interesting, and being in the Earl's company - to say nothing of Uther and other great people being there - could prove advantageous as far as favour and advancement go. And the wizard might be with them too: whatever else you might say about him, events rarely seemed to get more boring when Merlin was involved. But El can't help but prefer the idea of the raiding expedition the Prince talks of leading over embassies and politics.
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Cpt._Funkotron » Sun Dec 10, 2017 7:29 pm

OOC: This was pasted from a google doc, the formatting didn't carry over, and I am not reprogramming that back in with BBCode, so sorry if it's a little hard to read.

-------

Early February, 487.

Castle Ebble.

Leiryn inhales. He raises his longbow and draws the string back to his jaw in one motion, takes quick aim, and lets fly. The arrow strikes its target dead center. He breathes out, fogging the air in front of him. He wraps his cloak tight and trudges across the snow-covered courtyard to retrieve his arrows and start again. The squire can hear his lady-knight's cries of agony from the keep above. He's set about clearing his head the only way he knows how.

Nock, draw, loose.

The babe's a month early, the midwife reckons; hardly ever good news. He hears Arcadia scream again. She’s looked in a poorly state for three days now. First it was her skin, gone white as bone. Then it was her eyes, bloodshot all over. Then it was her veins, black webs streaked across her arms and legs.

Nock, draw, loose.

Lord Amig’s been in an agitated state, walking circuits between the keep and the hall all morning, before being forced to settle down by cooler and younger heads. He and his remaining sons Alnor and Lycus are half fallen into another barrel, last Leiryn saw of them. More screaming.

Nock, draw, loose.

They were right to be on edge. Yesterday a roman priest, a british monk, and a heathen druid paid visit to the keep at the Amig’s summons. None of them very pleased when they saw the other two. They’d all had just about enough of the whole affair when shortly after arriving, Arcadia, terrifying as she looked, leapt up from bed with uncharacteristic vigour for a woman in her state and chased all three of them out with a sword, before she could be carefully restrained.

Nock, draw, loose.

She isn’t quite so strong today. Her cries sound like they’re getting weaker.

Nock, draw, loose.
Nock, draw, loose.
Nock, draw, loose.
Nock, draw, loose.

He can’t hear her anymore, and he’s out of arrows. He crosses the courtyard again, glancing up at the keep. He pulls the arrows free of the target, but something catches his attention in the corner of his eye. He looks up.

Is that...smoke?
So it is.
From the Second-floor window.
The bedroom.
Quite a lot of it as well.

The midwife shouts something down to the guards, and they start running down the motte, spreading the alarm with them. Fire. Leiryn throws down his bow and arrows, and sprints to the keep.

The midwife emerges from the doorway, weak on her feet and in the midst of a fit of coughing, at the same time that Leiryn reaches it. She tries to say something, but he rushes past her without trying to find out what, drawing his cloak across his face, bounding up the stairs.

What the woman meant to say was that “The Lady is on fire”. She would be half right, but for that the lady is the fire. When he finds her, Arcadia’s whole body is alight, wreathed in flame, from the inside and out, as if her blood were of lamp oil. But she is not dead. She does not appear to cook, only that her skin grows red, and then darker in shade. She writhes, silently, wordlessly, arms splayed out, thrashing her head against the backing wall, feet kicking into the mattress, fire spreading all around her, black smoke spewing out of her mouth and nose, her eyes clamped shut in pure agony.

Leiryn comes a simple truth quickly. Whatever in hell or has taken hold of her, she is beyond his help, or anyone else’s.

And then he finds himself sitting on the side of the snow-laden motte, covered in soot, with something in his arms, and no memory of the intervening minutes. He looks down, and the face of a newborn child greets him, peeking out from its swaddling. Unusual for a newborn, its eyes are open. Practically unheard of in a human being, its irises glow red. Leiryn is nearly catatonic, otherwise he would be unnerved. He turns his head to look up the hill. Where the keep of Castle Ebble once stood proud, now there only lies a heap of smouldering rubble.
“Lady Arcadia!” shouts one of the guards. “I think she’s still alive!”
“What the hell are you talking about man?” demands Sir Lycus, climbing the hill with Alnor and Amig in tow.
“Look, sir!”
Leiryn finds himself carefully climbing to his feet and following them.

In the center of the rubble, is indeed Arcadia, her flesh undeformed but blackened like charcoal. Her fingers slowly move. Her eyes are shut, her mouth and nose still emanating narrow wisps of smoke.
Alnor approaches her, horrified and bewildered at once. He reaches out a hand to touch hers, to feel if her heart still beats, and no sooner has he done so that Arcadia of Winterstream disintegrates and collapses into a pile of ash.
Alnor screams and curses to shake the mountain tops. His brother Lycus comes to pull him back, hugging and dragging him away.
Sir Amig, wearied with age, dulled by strong drink, and stricken with shock, falls to his knees and laments. “A curse! A vile curse has been laid against my house! Who could I have given such grievous offense?”
“Who has magic enough to have done this?” asks Lycus.
“There’s only one man in all Britain” spits Alnor through gritted teeth. “And he sits at Roderick’s table!”
“You wouldn’t dare accuse the archdruid without proof...without reason!” says Lycus.
“Reason enough, you saw well as I that he and Roderick spoke at length, suppose they are now allies! They must have di-”
“Be silent now, Alnor” interjects Amig, tiredly, and wary of those who might overhear. “If Merlin Emrys means us so ill, and brings death such as this-this-this, wicked magic, to his own people, then Britain is lost. Hope is lost. I cannot believe it...and I certainly will not have let you humiliate this house further by bandying our affairs about.” He swallows, and seems to grow more steady. “Arcadia is dead. The keep burned and so did she, along with the child, this is all that will be spoken.” There seems to be silent agreement, and for a moment, all is quiet.

“But the child didn’t perish” says Leiryn, who no one had noticed up until that point. “It’s right here, seems to have been unharmed.” They turn to look at him, confusion crossing all their faces at once. He closes the distance to show them. One of the guards crosses himself and spits, the general reception is not much better.

Leiryn again finds himself in new circumstances with a gap in his memory, kneeling by a body of water, a bundle in the crook of his arm, a rondel in his other hand. He quickly surmises what he is there to do. He looks into the child’s burning eyes, and he knows the truth. When he dreamt of Arcadia on the night of Beltaine, and she of him, somehow this child came of it. His child. He breaks into tears. The baby breaks its strange silence, and coos. He looks at his daughter again, in a new light. A sense of duty begins to overtake him. He sheathes his dagger, and holds his infant daughter tight, wrapping his cloak around the both of them, and rising to his feet.

Amig and his sons will not take either of them back. Amig and his sons can all hang. Leiryn still has friends. They will be her friends now as well.

Several hours later, after a hard gallop, they come to Barleyfield Hall, the home of his sister Llewella, and her husband Sir Bleddyn. He goes first to the chapel to escape the cold, and comes face to face with a pair of old friends.
“Leiryn? Is that you?”
“Garr you old goat, what are you doing here?”
The old Gallic priest falls into a coughing fit. “Enjoying the holiday”
“He’s sick, ‘e ‘is, thought’d be best to keep ‘im close to proper ‘ealin’ folk, outta them woods” explains Gladys, giving him a hug.
“What’ve you got there, m’boy?” asks Garr, pointing to to the bundle.
Leiryn’s face darkens. He takes a seat, and explains to them everything that has happened. When he has finished, Garr nods solemnly, a deep understanding hiding behind his eyes but not escaping his lips. “I will tell you what I know, but first you must trust me.”
“I do”
“Give me the child.”
“Why?”
“I thought you trusted me”
Leiryn hesitates, but then puts his daughter in the priest's arms. She immediately begins to wriggle and squirm, for the first time in its life, the baby shrieks terribly.
“Take it back!”
Leiryn does, and she calms.
“It’s as I feared” says Garr, catching a breath.
“What is?”
“This…” he waves his hand in his direction ”It isn’t the work of Merlin...the druid is many ill things but never has he been a broker of demons, because my boy, that is what this is, this child, demonry, in case you had been wondering.” He rises and begins to pace as he explains. “Demons cannot give life of their own, see, you need a soul to do that, thus they cannot have children. But they can create more of their kind by corrupting the unions of mortals. They send succubi, demons in the form of beautiful women, into the minds of men and there lie with them in their dreams, taking their essence, and then transforming into incubi, the form of handsome men, entering the dreams of women, I need not tell you what happens next. When the time comes, the woman invariably perishes, and the child is born a cambion, a fiend. That is why she recoils from my touch. I am a man of god and that...is a thing of hell.”
“What’s to be done?” interjects Gladys.
“I have heard that baptism, if performed early enough, can cleanse the soul of a cambion before the devil takes complete hold of its nature. It’s worth trying. Gladys, bring me water.”
When Gladys has gone, Garr pulls Leiryn close.
“Listen to me very carefully. If the sacrament does not take, the child must die. It cannot be allowed to mature. You must slit its throat, do you understand me?”
Leiryn nods dejectedly.
“Good. There isn’t a moment to lose. Give me a name, any name.”
“Carys” suggests Leiryn, after his mother. Garr pats his shoulder comfortingly.
“Good choice.”

No one had ever heard such shrieking as when Garr poured the consecrated water over the head of young Carys in the name of the father, until he did it again in the name of the son, or yet the third time in the name of the holy spirit. Eventually, her temperament eases, and she lies still. Then she begins to cry again, not horrifically as before, but like any healthy baby girl.

Just as a collective sigh of relief goes out, Llewella, the lady of the house, appears at the doorway, heavily pregnant, wanting to know just what the hell is going on. She is brought up to speed, and in not so many words happily welcomes her brother and niece into her household, without consulting her husband, currently at court.

As far as anyone can know for now, Carys is merely a foundling orphan that has been taken under their care. In time, she will need to be thought of as the daughter of Amig and Arcadia, heir of Winterstream Manor, but never the daughter of Leiryn. It is a most delicate matter, because if Carys is known to be the daughter of Amig, he must surely claim parental custody, and in his current mind he may be liable to have an accident befall her as a precaution. But if she is not known to be the daughter of Amig and Arcadia, then Carys has no sort of future at all. She would be unable to claim her inheritance, or become a knight like her mother. Untold woe betide her if she is known for what she is, a bastard and a cambion. Garr carefully and tactfully explains this, and everyone agrees.
“I won’t pretend to have any answers, m’boy. What comes next belongs to you” says Garr.
Just then, Leiryn stands and gathers his things.
“Where are you going?”
“No matter what else happens, no one will ever take the word of an ex-squire over a hero lord. Perhaps a knight, but given the circumstances I won’t ever be one unless I get noticed.”
“Well then what will you do?”
He belts his sword on, dons his cloak, takes his bow and quiver over his shoulder, and replies heading out the door.
“I’ll get noticed.”

--------------------------------------------------

March, 487

Castle Salisbury

(Persidius and Bleddyn)


At court, the feasting and merriment has gone on more or less unabated. All preparations have been made for the journey north. It is decided first to pay visit to the Duke of Lindsey, notably absent from the last battle, and resistant towards the king’s prerogatives for some years now. Uther and the privy council are confident that a personal conference will see the right of things. Merlin leaves such ‘trivial’ matters to other men. Instead, he entertains the youth of the court with smoke and lights, and spends the rest of the time eating like a bear.

In local news, Bleddyn has had his first born son, an event he quickly visited home for, at the time making acquaintance with an unnerving fosterling that the Priest has taken in.

Everyone at court has heard of Amig’s great tragedy, how a cracked brazier set the keep on fire, and claimed the lives of his wife, the valiant Arcadia, and their newborn child. Roderick sends Sir Rufon and Sir Elad to inspect the damage personally and send his condolences, unable to divert himself from his hostly duties. On their report, Bleddyn hears Uther remark
“You see Salisbury, this is why masonry is the future. Timber must be one of the worst things to build with, too much damp it rots, not enough damp it burns.”
“True, sire. I’d been looking into rebuilding a few of the old forts in brick and mortar, but the man I had overseeing it was caught up in some bad business and I had to retire him” replies Roderick.
“Well if the barons can stop making miseries of themselves and the saxons all go fishing in a hurricane and drown, we’ll have to embark on a building spree, or perhaps just one great castle somewhere. A stone one, naturally.”

A late arrival, Sir Alnor, son of the glorious Amig, is welcomed into Roderick’s entourage with open arms. The day of departure draws near.

------------------------------------

The city of Hantonne, to the Southeast, on the river Test.
(Eliver, Terwynn, Elspeth, Miles, Leiryn)

About a hundred knights have answered the Prince’s call. Some have been in the city for a few weeks, taking in the amenities of the busy port, some have only just arrived. They stand huddled along the riverbank. The admiral, an indomitable cambrian by the name of Gwenwynwyn ap Naf, regards them all with his one good eye atop a ship’s prow. Madoc stands amongst them and speaks.
“My friends, we do not embark this day for wealth, women, or glory. We embark this day to burn the ships of the enemy, and give peace to our shores, to our people, and keep those mongrel dogs on land where they belong. Do not concern yourself with setting the fires, the sailors will have the handling of that business. But when the saxons come to stop us, then will be your moment, to show them what men are made of in Logres!” A cheer goes up.
“Get to the boarding, Admiral, I trust you to get things in order.”
The man nods.
A young man in a mail shirt with a bow over his shoulder rides up to the gathering, the Prince first mistaking him for a messenger.
“Do you bring news?”
“I bring myself, I want to join the raid.”
“What is your name?”
“Leiryn ap Laingrin, sire. From Salisbury”.
“Not a knight then?”
“Not yet, sire”.
Madoc smiles. He looks over to the admiral. “Do we have room for one more?”. He’s met with a shrug. “Very well Leiryn of Salisbury, I think some of your countrymen are huddled over there. You’d best follow their lead if you know what’s good for you”.

Leiryn joins them and they board together. Word has not yet reached Hantonne of Arcadia’s fate.

OOC: Leiryn will henceforth be played by KleinerKiller
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Ladki96 » Mon Dec 11, 2017 8:50 pm

Terrwyn waves cheerily at Miles and Eliver as they arrive, wondering where the rest of the usual faces are. Perhaps they are somewhere else in the crowd. In any case, she had missed the guys. "Hello, how have you two been? Is it possible you have gotten even taller somehow, Sir Miles? :P Thanks for taking the girl off my hands, think I forgot to tell the guy to put that in the note. Hello Eliver! Played any more pranks?" <3 She waits to see if either of them acknowledges her, not that she gives a hoot if they turn up their noses, okay?! And stop it already, none of them can see you anyway, stupid. Erm. Terrwyn smiles brightly to cover up the little mistake, and listens more than she speaks for the rest of the time on the port.

Soon enough, the Prince is giving a rousing speech, so Terrwyn supposes it is time to depart, when she notices some guy making an entrance, and speaking to the Prince. Then as he approaches them it clicks. Once they have boarded she turns to him. "Ey, aren't you Arcadia's squire? What are you doing here? Where is she :?"
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Scarik » Wed Dec 13, 2017 11:39 pm

The news of Arcadia's death shocks Caius but does not sadden him. It is unfortunate to lose a knight in such times, and always awful to lose a child, but if one must be lost then a butcher like Arcadia would have been his choice. And no child of hers is liable to be any good either.

But he can hardly say that to his sister's family by law or his old master so instead he allows that famous, Roman coolness to be his shield and makes his expected condolences.

"Alas that such misfortune can strike such a noble house. Truly we live in dark times."

He has little to say to Bleddyn, either. The man is a bit of a mystery and Persidius has no desire to deal with his irritating suspicions today.
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Kivutar » Tue Dec 19, 2017 2:45 am

Miles looks leerily at Terwynn. Does she seem insane? Maybe a little. He glances around for Dianne, and finds that she has slipped behind him at the sight of her sister.

He tenses for a moment as Terwynn turns her attention toward Eliver, but fortunately she's distracted just as quickly by the arrival of Arcadia's former squire.

The sooner they are all on the ships, their energy directed against the Saxon hordes, the better.
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby sunglasses » Tue Dec 19, 2017 4:08 am

"S-so i-i h-have a s-son. A-and s-some st-strange w-ward," Bleddyn States to no one in particular, as he is still baffled by the whole baby making process.
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby KleinerKiller » Wed Dec 20, 2017 9:00 am

Though he was long prepared to answer, being directly asked about Arcadia sends a chill down Leiryn's already tensed spine. Facing the knights his mistress once rode with, he clears his throat and tries to look like nothing but a mere crestfallen squire delivering terrible news.

"Arcadia... is no longer with us, I fear," he says in a restrained, measured voice. "A fire broke out. Accidental. Her and her child are... are dead. We can only hope they did not suffer."

An image rises to the front of his mind: Arcadia's last moments, lit up from the inside out, every second feeling more excruciating pain than he would likely ever know in his life -- her soul rent apart by their daughter's existence. Did she turn toward him before she died, even though all of her senses were blinded by the hellfire that should never have been? He cannot remember, but he wants to think she did.

He grits his teeth and the image slowly fades, not quite disappearing and occasionally pulsing like a dull headache.

"I've come to fight in her place, and to honor her memory however I can."
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Cpt._Funkotron » Mon Dec 25, 2017 4:10 am

Salisbury

The Earl and his wife are sat by the fire in the solar. Little Lady Jenna is between them on a carpet, playing and making the customary noises of her age.It is the day of departure. Bleddyn and Persidius, now being the most prominent members of the Earl's guard going north, wait by the door in full armor.

"She always seemed to me a right brute, but really, what a dreadful way to go. What's to be done about her land?" asks Lady Ellen of her husband, Lady Elaine braiding her hair behind her, the latter stealing a few occasional glances at Persidius.
"Oh, standard procedure. It'll be under escheatment for a year and a day. If she has any remaining relatives they have until then to make themselves known, or it all comes back to us." replies Roderick.
"If that ends up being the case, maybe we could farm the fee out to someone, put the silver to good use. I've been thinking King Uther might have a point, that I should bring the guildsmen round while you're gone; see about putting up stone and tile rooves instead of the wooden ones, save us an eventual tragedy" muses Ellen.
"No need to, I had Baverstock look into it a few years ago. The walls aren't thick enough, the whole thing would fall down around our heads" replies Sir Roderick, with his feet kicked up by the fire.
"Is this the same Baverstock who was skimming your silver and waylaying merchants on the king's road? The one who who no one respectable seems to have laid eyes on in two years now? The one whose sister is the common-share oxcart of the west country?" Said oxcart seldom kept Lady Ellen's company these days; at the moment she was off in the hall carousing with courtiers, last she'd been seen.
"The same, what's your point?"
"A second opinion might be in order is all"

A knock comes at the door.
"Enter" says the Earl. One of the king's functionaries appears.
"Sire, his highness waits for you at the gate".
"Tell him I'll be right down" he says, rising from his chair, snapping his squires to bring him his hat, gloves, and cloak.
"You're probably right of course. I leave all such matters in your hands, goodly wife." She rises to meet and face him, equal in stature if not musculature. They share a smile and a congenial kiss.
"Just take care, and come home safe. They say the north is full of witches and savages."
The Earl chuckles. Ellen continues seriously.
"I don't know what the king's crow is playing at, but I don't trust him...or his magic sword." she says.
He pecks the foreheads of his wife and then his daughter, unconcernedly. He goes to leave, and turns at the door. "I've got a pair of giant-slayers at my shoulders, what have I to fear?" he says, patting both Bleddyn and Persidius on their respective arms, before going out the door, the two knights to follow him.


The embassy is deliberately sparse.

The King, with Merlin, rides with only half of the knights and squires of his royal guard, the others with his son in Hantonne. He is leaving the Hundred-fifty foot-soldiers behind.
Earl Roderick travels with a dozen knights, including his champion Sir Persidius, Sir Bleddyn, Sir Alsinus ap Amig, and nine of Roderick's household guard, led by Captain Kenian.
The rest of the party, made up of a handful of other nobles and their escorts, with a few dozen servants and lackeys, make up a little more than a hundred souls.
All told, some two hundred men ride from Sarum with Uther Pendragon.

The party first rides east, and then north. Each day, they hop from one castle to another, the king and other high men of dignity given best place in the hall, the rest pitching camp elsewhere. Whether Persidius and Bleddyn make the cut depends entirely on the size of the castle. They ride from Sarum to Levcomagus, Levcomagus to Silchester, Silchester to Staines, Staines to Wynchbank, Wynchbank to Londinium, and so on.

The king is often distracted and diverted along the way, sometimes spending an extra few hours at breakfast here, an extra day putting local matters to rights there, and spending considerable time in every margin relentlessly flirting with ladies of the courts he passes through. Because of these delays, the journey from Sarum to Lincoln that would take a rider eleven days, takes King Uther Pendragon et. al. three weeks.

The journey began at the start of tilling season and was finished near it's end, so as the procession travels east and north at their crawling pace, the road-side fields are transformed as they ride from rough swathes of dirt to orderly furrows of dark, soft, soil by the time they reach Lincoln.

Lincoln is a castletown on the river Witham, its stone outer walls a memento of the roman legions. A cathedral, a market, a common paddock, and a few rows of houses take up three-quarters of the interior, the rest is walled off as an inner ward, where the true heart of the baronial castle lies.

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A few houses and taverns line the road up to the gates, as well as dule tree with several occupants.

The party is greeted at the gate of the inner ward by the Duke's steward, who explains, to Uther's supreme annoyance, that the Duke is not at home, and it is not known where he's gone or when he plans to return. With nothing better to do, the party simply settles into the castle and city, waiting.
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Ladki96 » Mon Dec 25, 2017 8:58 am

Terrwyn is speechless for a moment. Then she remembers where she is, and quickly reels it in. You are in front of a hundred people! Um. Okay, say something now. He's staring!

"I'm very sorry to hear that, she was a brave fighter. I hope no others were harmed in the fire. It is good of you to honour her memory in service." Terrwyn excuses herself with a sympathetic smile and makes her way to the admiral to keep her mind busy with military talk. "Hello sir :) How big do you estimate the Saxon force to be?"
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Cpt._Funkotron » Mon Dec 25, 2017 11:20 pm

Hantonne

Gwynwynwyn is leant against the dragon-prow of the ship. His one eye swivels to meet her two. "Things go right, we won't meet any Saxon force. Things go wrong, well can't rightly say."
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby CarrieVS » Tue Dec 26, 2017 12:19 am

Their little band has been quite broken up since the previous spring's adventures. Indeed, although other friends are here, of the handful of squires who set out to Imber two years ago, on the quest that started his career as a knight, Eliver is the only one present with the Prince's force. Arcadia has joined poor Tathel - and his equally ill-fated kinsman, though El does not really count Drusus among their group - in whatever heaven Pagans may go to, and if one fraction of the rumours about her demise are warranted, in even more terrible fashion.

And Bleddyn of all people is away with Uther's embassy. Eliver wonders, not for the first time, if his friend will get on alright. Perhaps he should have gone too. But it's not as though Bleddyn will be entirely without allies. Before leaving Salisbury El made a brief visit over the river to Wayford.



"I've a favour to ask you, cousin," he said to Persidius. "You're headed north with Roderick and Uther, are you not?" Eliver could hardly imagine Persi choosing anything else, and besides it would probably be expected of Roderick's own champion. "I'd much rather go with Madoc. And I know that Miles would too, but that if I said I was going with you he would feel he had to come." El supposed that the two of them would have few chances to be together in privacy whichever they chose, but being together at all would be better than nothing.

"But I know that Bleddyn means to go with Roderick as well. And you know how he is, how he gets strange ideas into his head sometimes, and it's not easy for him if he has to talk to people he doesn't know. I know you and he aren't really friendly, but won't you keep half an eye on him, just in case he gets into some kind of difficulty? As a favour to me?"



He didn't ought to worry so much about Bleddyn, Eliver knows. He's a grown man and a knight, and no doubt he'll be fine. El just got into the habit of watching out for him years ago. And it's much too late to change his mind. He turns his attention to the here and now.

Terrwyn is here, in spite of her disgrace. El greets her almost as warmly as ever. Elspeth too. And most importantly Miles. Another familiar face arrives late: he's happy to see young Leiryn, who's also been a part of their group, after a fashion, since Imber, and whom Eliver liked as soon they met.

It's time to go aboard ship: this promises to be exciting.
  • 6

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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Cpt._Funkotron » Tue Dec 26, 2017 8:45 am

The Fleet

The knights and squires all stowed, the sailors give each small ship a running shove into the bay, and hop aboard. The fleet is underway. They stay close together for safety in numbers, and hug the coastline so as to not lose their heading. The ships have both a single mast and several rows of oars. If the wind were unfavorable, the knights would be exected to row, but it isn't, and they don't. None of the knights are particularly comfortable at sea, but all except Terwynn, who is miserably seasick, all are able to tolerate it.

As the sun is almost set, the fleet pulls onto a nearby beach and make camp on land, roasting food, gambling, and singing songs. In the morning, they're all off again, and by midday, one of the prow-spotters up ahead spots their first destination: Pevensey, admiralty of King Aelle.

A quarter-mile off, alarm bells can be heard. The cymri ships make landing beside those of the saxons, a hundred knights and half as many sailors leap out into the shallows. Prince Madoc in his gleaming maille and silvered helm makes himself seen and heard, and rallies all the knights to him, before charging ahead of the sailors and further inland to stand between them and the town. A column of saxon warriors hastily pours out from behind the palisade to repel the raid. What they realize only too late is that the cymri outnumber them two to one. By the time they've sloppily organized their ranks to assess and realize this, the knights are already upon them.

Beginning of combat. Declare your weapon and your mode of attack.
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Kivutar » Tue Dec 26, 2017 4:32 pm

This is what Miles has been waiting for.

Balanced with spear as always.
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby Ladki96 » Tue Dec 26, 2017 4:46 pm

Heck yeah!

Balanced sword please ^^
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Re: [Pendragon RP] 487 Adventure - "Sword of Victory"

Postby sunglasses » Tue Dec 26, 2017 6:20 pm

Bleddyn, safely out of combat and waiting in the city decides to quite proudly show Persidus a Latin phrase Llewella taught him.

Romanes Eunt Domus


just kidding

Bleddyn stared at the walls of the city. Right proper walls, good stone. He wondered what would happen if the walls were actually make out of rock hard rolls instead of stone. Would the birds then eat them? and if the birds ate them would they then become heavy like stone? Would they then have a wall of birds?

He stared, lost in thought.

He became startled by the call of a black bird and snapped out of his head.

"I-I h-hope th-the o-others a-are w-well."
  • 4

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