Welcome to the Round Table of Bretonnia!

I have a distinct feeling that, in many stories representing Bretonnia, questing knights are seriously underwritten. I mean, you hear how they must journey through perilous territory and fight epic duels against evil, but you never actually get to hear of their (surely awesome) adventures. So, I have taken it upon myself to write (hopefully, if they are well recieved) the stories of the adventures of a questing knight on his search for the Grail. Since a quest often takes a knight far beyond the bounds of Bretonnia, I hope to incorporate a lot into my settings. Questing Knights are perhaps given the most leeway in what they do.

 THE FIRST TALE OF SIR SIMON DU MONTFORTE, KNIGHT OF THE QUEST:

THE ONE-EYED BRIGAND - PART ONE

In which a bandit commits villainous actions, a fair lady is captured, strange allies are made,

and  a rescue is attempted

 Listen then ye ladies and gentlesirs, as I tell thee the first tale of Sir Simon, a most noble knight of the Quest. It is a story of great battles with vile foes, unlikely friends, and most of all, the courage of a true Bretonnian. So hearken then, and let us begin our journey...

Jeane One Eye was a monster of a man. He was tall for a peasant, muscular, grizzled, and old. He wore his scars, which covered his face, forearms, and chest with a air of rough pride. His face, with one scar forcing his mouth into a permanent frown and a greasy leather eye-patch covering his namesake wound, was horrifying to behold. 

One Eye was a bandit. If such a classification could be given, he was an excellent bandit with a strong group of brigands and rogues that followed his orders unquestioningly. The one time a man had foolishly tried to challenge One Eye’s authority, he left him screaming in pain for four hours before finally slitting his throat with a rusty knife. No one had ever questioned him again. When their hide-out had been discovered in the forest near Gisourex, the band had fled south, establishing an outpost just inside the Forest of Chalons in Bastonne. 

Something had happened to One Eye since the move to the forest, and though many of his followers noticed, few dared to whisper about the changes that had come over their brutal master. When the cave network that now served as the band’s lair was discovered, he had explored many of the lesser areas of the underground network alone. Upon making a hidden discovery in one of the caves, One Eye refused to let anyone enter and often disappeared into the cavern off the main cave alone, sometimes for hours, without leaving any instructions to his followers. No one questioned what went on the cave, ignoring the unearthly screams and whispered words that sometimes echoed from behind the leather curtain that divided it from the main living area. When Jeane One Eye emerged from these interludes, he always seemed taller and stronger, yet more vicious, haggard, and irritable. His single eye bulged in its socket and was constantly bloodshot. His scars grew more numerous, until it seemed that his forearms were nothing but a mass of scar tissue. Yet, despite their fear and even concern over his changes, no one questioned him. Questions led to an unwholesome death at One Eye’s merciless hands. Plus, most of the rogues noted around their campfires that One Eye was still a good leader and brought in a decent pile of loot without ever getting caught. He was the kind of bandit all bandits, especially those in the well-patrolled land of Bretonnia aspired to be. 

On this fine summer’s day, One Eye stood looking down upon the approaching caravan as it moved it’s way across the empty farmland that bordered the woods of Chalons. The nearest town was a good distance away from the edge of the forest, for there were worse and more foul things that lurked in the depths of those woods, if there could be anything more foul than Jean One Eye. It was a simple caravan, merchants, probably from the Empire, trying to make their way to a pass from the ports of Bordeaux. Their poor choice, thought One Eye, in picking such an unprotected overland route. Clearly they knew very little about the danger of bandits living in the woods. One Eye smiled, a disgusting sight of rotting teeth and gums, when he noticed the presence of a young lady in the train. No Empire wench, he thought, she rides like a true Bretonnian that one. What a pretty prize she will be! One Eye smiled wider as he thought of pleasure yet to come. He signaled to his band to prepare for their surprise attack. The caravan was only lightly guarded, as no Bretonnian knight would willing protect a group of merchants from the Empire, so One Eye and his men would have very little trouble plundering the strong boxes and wares the wagons were carrying. Any prisoners would be taken, used for what they were worth, then ransomed or killed depending on their value. Some One Eye would execute himself, in his little cavern behind the curtain. Most would be killed by his men. 

Before anyone arrived at the scene, One Eye and his band would have faded back into the woods, taking the prisoners and loot with them. Ruffians hidden by the side of the road waited, weapons out, ready to roll a log across the path of the caravan at the back and front to block a chance of escape. The rest waited behind the hill One Eye now stood on, waiting for his order to swarm the guards, kill those who resisted, and loot the wagons. Jean smiled and then whistled. The caravan would never know what hit them.

************ 

Sir Simon du Montforte had been riding for days. Tall and strong, Simon sat well in his saddle, the greatsword of a Questing Knight strapped to his back and the helmet of his father slung across his saddle pommel. Simon was not a handsome man. In fact, his appearance was rough indeed and certainly did not meet the image that many peasants conjured up in their heads when they though of a glorious Bretonnian questing knight. His most distinguishing feature was the scar that drew a thin line along his neck, the reminder of a narrow call with an undead warrior of some might. He was never clean-shaven, but did not grow a beard, instead preferring a rough stubble to add to his ragged looks. The dark green coloring of his eyes gave them a piercing quality, and many a foe had fallen fixed under the penetrating glare of Sir Simon. Despite his knightly status, Sir Simon's equipment, besides his sword and armor, was poor at best. He simply did not have the funds that so many young questing knights did and was not able to outfit himself with the greatest of gear. Even his armor was second-hand, borrowed from his uncle at the very beginning of his quest. However, those who had gotten to know him during his travels had come to realize that beneath the rugged exterior lay the heart of a loyal, noble, and skilled warrior.

The son of Guillame du Montforte, a knight and lord of some standing before his untimely death at the hands of a malicious vampire in Artois, the disenfranchised Simon had been questing for the Grail for seven years now. His last vision of the Grail, in all its holy glory, had come to him in a dream. The shining, beautiful Grail had been floating over the Forest of Chalons in Bastonne. The very next morning, Simon had arisen and rode straight from Quenelles towards the Forest, stopping for nothing but sleep and food. His horse, Marcelles was tired and Simon himself was beginning to feel the strain of the rough travels. However, the vision of the Grail appeared to him again each night, driving him ever onward towards the woods. 

Simon rode along a path that bordered the very outskirts of the Forest of Chalons in Bastonne. Instinctively, he knew he was not supposed to ride straight into the woods. He could not explain his understanding. It was the same feeling that always came upon him in these situations. A powerful guiding force that was most likely none other than the Lady herself pushing him to complete a certain task or ordeal in order to further himself both physically and mentally on the quest. It was as if he was under the influence of some trance-like spell until he reached the end of his appointed journey. The same effect drove him to join armies and fight under lords, always inspired by the Grail. However, the invisible hand which drove him along certainly guided him into situations that were extremely dangerous, such as the one time.... Sir Simon’s thoughts trailed off as his sharp eyes caught sight of smoke on the horizon.