Welcome to the Round Table of Bretonnia!

The undead had blocked the road, a host of thirty Zombies at least a dozen ghouls lead by a dark Necromancer. Ferran had ordered both lances to charge, just as dark magic engulfed two of the knights in Maurice’s lance formation. Their screams ended as fast as they had begun and both knights and their steeds turned into piles of ashes within seconds. Moments later Lady Lucille called for the powers of the lands, and a howl of wind engulfed the knights as they charged forth into the ranks of the enemy.

As Ferran discarded his lance to draw his sword did he see the Wight emerge from the woods on right and move towards Maurice and his knights. He cut the head from the shoulders of a nearby Zombie as he spared himself a glance towards Lady Lucille behind him, and the peasants off to the left.

Never before had he felt pride for the lesser caste, but he felt it now as he saw the throng of archers sent volley after volley into the fell bats sent towards them. At least two dozens of foul beasts meet their final death by the peasant’s arrows.

He just managed to block a sword aimed towards him, and felt the discharge of magic as the blade struck his shield. His eyes moved towards the attacker and felt a moment of fear as he looked into the eyes of the Necromancer. ’I am with you young knight. Feel no fear and lend me your sword.’ The enchanting voice of a woman sung in his mind, and the fear washed away. He bellowed out for the Lady as he began to exchange blows with the dark magician, and with each blow did he feel himself growing stronger. The Lady of the Lake was truly with him this battle, it was as if he knew where the enemy would attack and was always a step ahead.

Then with a final stroke did his blade cut through the sword of his enemy, shattering it in a thousand pieces, before his blade cut the magician in two. The scream that followed with the dying breath of the Necromancer, showed all over the field as its restless dead servants began to crumble. In addition, with the Wight dead, Sir Maurice finished off the few remaining Ghouls without much trouble.

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After having told the tale of the battle against the foul Necromancer, Jean-Luc paused once again to moisten his lips with a mouthful of the full wine in his goblet. A few of the peasants in the tavern moaned and begged him to continue the story, to tell what happened to the young Knight Ferran.

Sitting on his chair, upon a small stage in the corner of the tavern, the minstrel gave a slight nod of his head, which in turn made the begging die down. ”Be still my brothers, the night is young and there is far more to this tale to tell.” he said as he lifted his trusted old lute back into position.

One of the serving maids, ventured over towards him and filled his goblet with more wine, and offered a soft warm lustful smile before she coyly turned to tend the rest of the crowd.

The smell of honey-drenched boar roasting over the fire, the tobacco brought in from across the sea, along with sweat slowly became annoying to the Minstrel where he sat. He could imagine the burning gaze towards him from the cloaked man in the corner. ’Oh blessed Lady, what scorn have I earned to suffer this’ He thought for himself as he struck the first cord of his lute once again, to begin anew the tale of the young knight.

”And to Bordeleoux the lady he brought.
Through his journey five battles they fought.
By his deep desire to find the grail.<
Through visions of the Lady, he would find his trail.
Across oceans, to faraway lands.
Under burning sun, and dunes of sand.
Fighting, through the countless dead.
His retinue, for Breton they bled.

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