Welcome to the Round Table of Bretonnia!

The first weeks were hard as game in the mountains is scarce and hard to come by. Luckily he had a rudimentary knowledge of edible herbs in the local surroundings which sustained him enough. With the foresight of another hard winter in the mountains, Josserand moved lower and lower. Finally after weeks of travel he reached the foothills of the Pale Sisters. Realising he would be in danger on the road as he could be recognised: after not many wandered these lands, dressed in fine albeit torn clothes, with a lord’s sword and shield bearing no significant heraldry. He tried to stay out of villages where gossip may betray his whereabouts safe in emergencies for instance as when he had cut his own hand. Finally he sold his clothes for more rural peasant clothes which itched and smelled but where infinite more safer. 

For a year he felt at a loss at what to do now. He settled temporary in a small wood near a river and a village of several families where he could barter his game for milk, vegetables and bread. His civilised speech rose a few brows at first but didn’t alarm the villagers. There at the shore of the river he build a humble abode with trial and error. Winter came which tormented him more then usual as he barely managed to survive the barren cold in his makeshift shelter yet he was used to the mountainous winters which helped him endure. During spring he saw per chance a knight pass through the village and decided not to  push his luck. After all he once vowed to see more of his Bretonnia and now that he had no ties nor kin keeping him in one place, he was free to roam throughout Bretonnia.  

Years passed and he had wandered far and wide through much of Bretonnia: from the north coast until the Iranna Mountains, from the Western sea to the Pale Sisters. Using his cunning and skill he learned in the wild, he managed to see his parents twice near their fief. His mother had grown very old and grey during these years but was invigorated every time she saw her beloved son. His father told him he had adopted an orphan of a knight’s family as heir. Though this news stung, he realised that the total freedom he had been granted, would be hard to give up. His father had no choice however: either adopt or the fief and name would disappear from the Bretonnian chronicles. His control of his talent however was erratic and dangerous: he quickly discovered that emotions mostly set off his innate magical source and that he somehow knew how to channel it into manifestations. However his arcane was always limited to destructive and self-centred use.

 While exploring the Forest of Chalons one autumn morning, he by chance discovered a man who did not wish to be discovered. Deep in the wood, hidden from sight and danger, there lived a hermit of great age and wisdom. Though blind and weak on his feet, he managed day by day to survive to harsh surroundings of the forest and its evil denizens. One moment Josserand seemed lost in the dense trees of the forest and suddenly he crashed through the tree line into a small clearing, harbouring a small hovel made of clay and strong branches. Curiosity made him step forward and enter the small hovel. The moment he crossed the doorstep, a staff connected painfully with his chin, sending him flying outside. The follow-up was also deadly efficient as the end of the staff suddenly knocked out all air of his chest. Coughing Josserand rolled over the floor out of reach of the staff. Finally he could have a look at his assailant and noticed a bent-over old and greyed man, leaning on his staff.

“Hold on,” the old man said to himself aloud: “that cough be not animal but man. Not keen on that either but somewhere we got to be friendly.” Though his eyes were shut, he aimed them right at Josserand: “Come, sit, stranger. I’m sorry to welcome you like this but most would warn some-one before entering their abode unannounced. You were actually lucky I didn’t seem to find my sword.” The man’s mind wandered off as he scrambled into the hovel: “Where has that blasted thing gone this time? It still goes beyond me how and where I could lose a longsword here.”

While the voice trailed off in muttering and curses, Josserand sat upright, his jaw and chest protesting fiercely. He still had trouble breathing deeply and when he touched the painful place on his face, it seemed like a hundred daggers had been driven in point first. His lip was bleeding but that would be the least of his worries: would that old man have knocked some teeth loose? Josserand dropped his equipment to the ground and sat a moment in silence to regain his composure. That man is fast for his age, he thought to himself: time has spare his body apparently. I’d be lucky if I could lift a staff when I look that age. 

A victorious cry interrupted his thoughts: “Found it! It was lying between the straw. Which means I’ve slept on it again. Oh well.”

As the hermit stepped out of the hut, Josserand’s eyes grew wide in amazement when he saw the beautiful decorations. The blade of the sword had been engraved with a detailed tree with a woman and chalice beneath it, offering it to a knight standing in all grandeur on the other side. Meanwhile the hilt shone as it was brand new and was shaped as a golden fleur-de-lys. The man didn’t seem to notice that his visitor had been awestruck and planted the sword into the ground and sat down in front of the hovel.“There we are,” the hermit said to Josserand: “Now how are you? For I know I know my staff hit you twice, jaw and upper chest if not mistaken.”

“I’ll be fine though my jaw hurts like the seven hells.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” The old man honestly seem to wonder if he had: “Anyways, you should know better than sneak up some old man. So what brings you to this piece of the woods: fame?”

“Safety is more like it.”

“Safety? I can’t even remember,” the hermit interrupted and continued: “when I was last safe here. Always some goblin or goatman seem to think that’s it is nice here and come disturb me. Why would I be here if I didn’t want some peace and...”

“Are you a knight?”

“Oh Lady no, I’m too old to be chasing dragons and women, not necessarily in that order nor likeability.” The old man chuckled: “I met some dragons of women in my days, boy, and female dragons as well: you don’t want to disturb them when brooding. No, sir, no.”

“Why do you live in this dangerous area?”

“Like I said: peace and quiet. Also the Lady in all her wisdom thought she needed some-one to guard this place.”

“Guard? There is nothing here safe rocks, trees and evil.”

“You forgot water: there is a lake somewhere over there. Never seen it though: that was already past the time of my eyes.”

“You guard a lake in the middle of perilous forest?”

“Yes, I told you: I got tired sitting around a dusty shrine and the Lady guided me here through dreams. Seems that this lake is important to her somehow and she needed a guardian that can’t see trees in the woods. You staying for dinner?” 

In the end Josserand did just that, even for his demented way of speaking and wandering off the subject, the old man was likeable and didn’t judge him. Nor did he ask much questions, Josserand wondered later on, I guess he knew me to be an outcast. It’s been so long that Josserand had a companion to talk to so he stayed for awhile. The old man was wise beyond his years and had found peace in this hazardous but beautiful surroundings. His way of life humbled Josserand and he took after the lonesome guardian. Guided by his new lifestyle, he started experimenting with his magical abilities. Manipulating nature and its wildlife was hard and draining his energy fast every time. Slowly he learned how to heal open wounds, use the woods as obstacles and so on. If the hermit knight noticed his strange talent, he did not show any reaction to it.