"Engineer Mattias, a pleasure to make your acquaintance"

Mattias' eyebrows shot up, and he quickly smoothed his uniform.

"At last, somebody with whom I can have adequate conversation with. Clearly I was wrong- this nation is not entirely comprised of filthy, primitive peasants. Only mostly." Mattias shot Clay a glower.

"I hope to start work soon, Marquis." Mattias turned his back on Agonold, studying the wall of the keep. His voice dripped with sarcasm, "These walls seem oh so masterfully constructed, I couldn't possibly wait to study them in more detail..."


Mattias snorted to himself, oblivious to the Bretonnians surrounding him.

"When you have need of me, mein Marquis, you may find me here, provided of course I find my accommodation to be satisfactory. I trust that as a delegate from the glorious Empire, I shall receive nothing but the very best. I would say now, that I expect my room to have a view of something other than the city- I couldn't bear to witness such atrocities of architecture whenever I glance from my window. In addition might I remind you that I like my meat well cooked, rather than scorched in the fashion of your Bretonnian 'cooks'. I'm sure your servants will see me well attended to."

Mattias began to walk away, towards the inner keep. As he passed Clay he murmured,

"You'll be regretting your actions, peasant."

And with that, he was gone.

Reynard stood silent during the exchange between the Marquis and Mattias the Engineer. Reynard had not excelled in the art of foreign languages, but he understood a words of Reikspiel, enough at least to get a general sense of the conversion. Reynard gave his Lord his mount, so he could visit the Chalons' Shine, as he so often did when he was in need of quiet contemplation.

Once the Marquis had departed, he and the renown Grail Knight Charles of Bastonne had given explicit orders to Clay and himself: Ready the Marquis's forces. The command could mean only one thing, they were going to ride out for some quest or mission of great importance. Mostly, readying the troops would be Clay's job, but Reynard would help the Yeoman for a time before heading to secure the necessary equipment for his Lord, the Marquis.

Clay and Reynard went to the castle barracks to inform runners to muster the troops who were on leave in town and other places nearby, setting a well-oiled process for rallying the Marquis' forces in quick order. The Marquis was well known to drill his men to rally to the call to arms in quick order. The first to be summoned would be the Knights of the Realm and the Yeomen, as they were usually part of the van and the first to set out. The archers and men at arms would take more time, as their numbers were greater and logistical needs higher. This would give Reynard at least a solid hour to prepare the Marquis's and his equipment for the journey.

"Well Clay, I've helped the best I can for now," Reynard said. "Well, until the troops are rallied at least. I must head to the Marquis's chambers to begin organizing his equipment and necessities for our travels." With that Clay and Reynard departed on to their separate tasks.

As Reynard turned to leave, Clay placed his hand on the squires shoulder.

"Young Lordling, you should not have let ..." Clay stopped, refusing to say Mattias' name "the builder insult you so. Your not slow of mind or unlearned. You know your letters, the noble numbers and have had scholars and priests talk at you until your arse hurts from sitting so long!"

Clay watched as Reynard smiled at the last comment, but then waved him off before the squire could respond. "You did a decent enough job getting the men going, but you shoulda asked Hoss what he had going before you got the men riled up. I am going to find Hoss, while you pack up the gear. Remember, M'lord Agonold is not called the daring for no reason. pack some extra armor for him.

Clay scratched his head thinking about it for a moment, "Maybe a few extra shields... and a chain shirt for yourself."

Clay then left the squire who was deep in contemplation

As Agonold took his leave, the Grail knight cast his eyes back to the table, taking one last look at the map as he tried to take a final measure of the likely battlegrounds. "The lady protect him and his," he muttered, offering a final prayer for Wendolyn's lord before heading out into the courtyard.

Though he had heard the commotion echoing along the corridors, the altercation had quite finished by the time he set foot out from the castle. He cast an appraising glance in the direction of the architect and the others, but he said nothing at first, approaching them with deliberate steps.

"Master Rech, young Maudrell," he said, addressing the engineer and squire in turn, before giving the Yeoman a nod of acknowledgement. "There is much to be done and done quickly," he said, signaling for his squire.

"A war-herd of beastmen have poured from the forests near Wendolyn, which lays to the south east. Sir Farrance shall soon ride out to meet them in a final desperate strike... and will pay for it dearly, I fear." The knight's words were somber and he began to walk towards where his squire had begun preparing his horse.

"We ride with what forces we have to meet the foe and, by the lady's grace, to stop this threat before it spreads," he continued, taking stock of those gathered nearby before locking eyes with Reynard.

"Unless the Marquis has made arrangements for which I am unaware, Lord Agonold and myself shall ride at the head of this army. Even so, I know that we will move too slowly to do naught but avenge the fallen... honor and glory have been burdened by necessity," he growled, the hard reality of the situation sitting poorly with him.

"Sir Reynard, if you believe yourself fleet enough, gather a vanguard from our swiftest and most eager riders. If we deal a counter blow swiftly enough it may buy us the time we need."

Mattias turned as he was greeted once more in his own tongue, but something worried him far more than a Bretonnian's poorly accented Riekspiel.

Surely Knight, Mattias began, feeling a hint of fear settle in his stomach, "You don't expect me ride with the force?"

Mattias followed as the man went to his squire.

"I would be far better suited here. I have little knowledge of combat, having always chosen to fix my problems with wit, rather than brute force." Mattias hoped the knight would ignore the barb in that comment. "If I rode with you I would of course have to have a full compliment of bodyguards, as befits my status, of course. It would be foolish to take a dozen knights out of the force to guard myself- and you do understand that I do expect my guard to be comprised of experienced knights, rather than peasants or little lordlings?

Mattias doubted he would be allowed to stay behind if Agonold expressly demanded his presence, and expected that the primitives would demand that he, as a man of culture and learning, would accompany the force.

Even so, He thought. Worth a try.

Nearby, at the shrine of Chalons

Isabella curtsied gently as she lowered her gaze, speaking softly as she did so.
"I bid thee welcome, my Lord Agonold of Estern. How may I be of assistance this day?"

Agonold stood up, his armour clanking into position as he stretched his back. Isabella stood with him, rising in perfect unison with him, despite the pool between them. He had worded his request over and again in his head during the ride here, and had decided that humility and honesty were the way forward. It was easy, when the responsibility of leadership settled heavily upon his shoulders, to settle into the habit of commands and demands. Hundreds of years of warfare had given the leaders of Bretonnia's forces an expectation of response to orders given, but the greatest of Bretonnia's weapons were requested, not taken.

"Lady Isabella, his grace is bound for Quenelles, and yet I am bound for Parravon, to relieve yet another fair settlement under threat. I command the finest of men and aim to ride swiftly with those who are able. I can ask for no more favour for myself, for the Lady has seen fit to send the Baron Charles of Bastonne to fight alongside me on this cause most noble. And yet, here I find myself, not as Her devoted servant, but as a commander of them. Will you bless my men, and would the Banner of Chalons be granted to defend them against the foul weapons of the enemy?"

Isabella smiled. "Succinct and to the point, my lord. To the first of your requests, the answer is simple. I mean to ride south with the army of Bastonne, and, should you guide me to his grace intact, I will gladly bestow Her blessing upon your own force. The smallest act in Bretonnia, undertaken in the spirit of chivalry, is as worthy as those taken that shake the very foundations of our enemies."

She paused to dip the toes of one foot into the water before her, causing a ripple to settle across the pool, the waves extending to the edges of the disturbed surface.

"As to the second, I require the price of an answer, given it's current popularity. The Banner of Chalons is a potent relic of battle, and it's need is great, as is the demand for it's deployment. What makes your cause greater than that of Bohemond's, when he rides with a thousand knights of this realm and you with a scant few dozen? Answer with truth now, and fear not, your words lie safe with me."

Agonold thought quickly, and noticed the damsel point gently to her right. A young girl stood holding the relic, wrapped carefully around a gilded banner pole, and holding the reins of a white horse. At her feet were saddlebags and boxes, the trappings of a damsel prepared to join Bohemond's campaign.

Isabella interrupted his train of thought as she began to take the bags from her young assistant and load them upon her steed. "You have until we reach his grace to provide me with an answer, my lord".

Reynard took his duties on the jog and with serious contemplation. Although, this contemplation was more of a daydream of visions of honour and glory. Perhaps, there had been a raid or incursion of orcs or other creatures of evil. Perhaps, he would finally get to test himself against a true foe instead of the just on the training grounds. Perhaps, he would even prove himself worthy of knighthood and errantry!

"Ouch!" Reynard yelped. Perhaps, the thought, he should stop day dreaming, as he just stubbed his toe against the table leg in the Marquis's study. With the minor injury bringing him back to reality, he ran through his checklist again out-loud.

"Chainmail and plate armor, he’s already wearing that, so check."
"Armor replacement parts and repair equipment, check"
"Sword, he’s got that too, so check."
"Iron dagger, check."
"Minotaur horned lance, check."
"Whetstones and oils, check."
"Spare tabard and cloaks, check."
"Journal and writing utensils, check."
"Minotaur Warhorn, check."
"Favor pillow, check."
"Ample wineskins of Agonold's favor wine, check"

With his liege's needs attended to, Reynard ran to the library in the study. Quickly perusing the geography, history and cartography sections, he found a few books with details about Parravon. He took the one with the most detailed content about the region for the ride. Perhaps he could uncover some important details of the region that might be useful in their quest.

With that, he went to his own quarters to prepare his own equipment for the adventure. Reynard grabbed his spear, short sword, some padded leather armor, his family shield, and dagger from the armory. Additionally, he grabbed his sachel with some spare clothes, bedroll, a journal, and some blank paper in map scrolls and stuffed the book on Parravon inside. Before leaving, he whispered a prayer to the Lady over his family's shield, "Lady give me the strength and courage to prove myself worthy of your blessing in service to my liege and to you, Lady."

With that, he rallied some house servants to assist him in bringing the equipment to the stables to prepare the horses for travel. The servants like the young squire, as he was kinder than many of the other young nobles to the common folk and servants. “Please, take the Marquis and mine belongings to the stables so that I can pack for our travels. Time is of the essence, and I must attend to other matters on our master’s behalf. Thank you all for your help,” he said, dismissing them to their tasks in a polite, yet prompt manner.

With that, he ran back to the barracks to check which and how many of the knights and yeoman had checked in. He might just get this all done before Marquis Agonold returned from his prayers and contemplation at the Shrine.

After quickly grabbing his gauntlets and helm, he quickly strode over to Isabella to help her with her remaining luggage and to assist her onto her steed, a gift from his brother Calen when he returned from the Quest as a Grail knight. He walked over to where Scal was standing and effortlessly mounted him before riding to Isabella's side.

At first, the two of them rode silently, Agonold pondering his response to Isabella's question and Isabella remaining silent for maybe that reason. He thought a dozen different answers, none of them sounding right, before Isabella said, "Let your mind be at ease, it pains me to see the knight I know be so silent, instead of his jovial attitude." As the words came out of her mouth, Agonold felt more at ease, nearly relaxed. He looked around the forest seeing the sun break through the foliage every so often, before hearing something much worse.

Nothing.

He straightened up slowly in his saddle and looked around, not seeing anything, before suddenly hearing a deep snorting noise. Agonold grabbed a hold of his sword, cursing himself for not having his lance, before a pair of boars came out of the nearby brush, wrestling for some reason or another. Isabella laughed, a beautiful sound even if it was at his actions. He let go of his sword before turning back towards Isabella, blushing slightly. She was right, he normally wouldn't have been so worried by a pair of boars and definitely would have knew what creatures the snorting belonged to long before they got that close. He sighed, before turning to Isabella, "You are right again, Lady Isabella, I am still a bit more tense than I realized."

As the two rode on, they reached the edge of the forest and rode onto the may road towards the village and Castle Estern. The two shared a little banter about various things, from the war to Isabella's apprentice who was riding on the back on Isabella's horse. They reached the palisade surrounding the village, when the yeoman stationed there immediately opened the gate for the three of them. After a quick nod to the yeoman, the two rode on-wards through the village. The village was no marvel of engineering or architecture, but it was built to keep everything centralized near Castle Estern. For a peasant village, it was much more organized and a lot cleaner than many others he had seen, whose peasants usually lived in their own filth. The organized 'cleansing' peasants would go around and clean the filth off the streets and get paid in the peasants' currency for their work. As they neared the town square, he heard his yeoman Boris reading the Peasant's duty to the masses of peasants who had gathered, listening to him recite.

"Thou shalt give unto thine glorious liege the taxes that he requires. Thou shalt labor all but feast days, and no more than a tenth-share shall you keep for kith and kin. Rejoice! For a knight of Bretonnia provides your shield." Boris recited in his deep voice to the crowd. A few peasants turned, noticing Agonold before telling their compatriots as the peasants began to all stare in amazement before starting to bow and cheer as they saw him. He gave a quick nod and waved to the throng before the three of them rode on. He may not be the most empathetic knight, but he cared for his people. "The townspeople will get to celebrate us leaving for war instead of going into the forest this year, let us hope they will get to celebrate another feast day when each of our missions are complete." Agonold mused as they neared the ascent up to the castle.

"We are almost there, I hope you have your answer." Isabella whispered in his ear. As they ascended the hill side, Agonold couldn't help but take a glance over at Isabella, she was seemed as beautiful as ever. He remembered the many times he visited the shrine and was also blessed to speak to her. She was a confidant, being a damsel of the Lady, for Agonold, and in one particular case, a bit more...

Agonold shook his head back to the present, nearing the gate, before turning to Isabella. He took a deep breath, knowing that his answer was final. He smiled, he suddenly realized something important, and knew his answer. "My Lady, I have my answer." Agonold began. "I don't." Isabella stopped her horse, nearly causing her companion to fall off her horse. "I don't deserve it more than the Duke, he has more land, is a higher rank, and goes to fight for a more noble cause than I do. I request this banner because of an oath I took years ago. We knights are the shield for the peasantry, we ride to war when a brother-in-arms calls for aid. I request this banner for the fact that if we forsake our allies in need, we might as well forsake our chivalry itself." Agonold waited for his answer...

Charles watched Reynard rush off and turned his attention to his own squire. "See to it that our men know what is coming. Let them know we march under the banner of Agonold. Ask any that are willing to join the vanguard to rally to young Reynard... and send a page in search of the Marquis, I would speak with him," he commanded, watching with some pride as the young knight saluted and left, before turning his attention to the engineer.

"With all the respect due to a guest of your standing in the realm," Charles began, his technically correct, if oddly accented, Riekspiel coming out as a soft growl before dropping back into a more diplomatic Bretonnian. "Your skills as a master engineer are more direly needed elsewhere. We go to face an enemy that will break itself upon our lances like a tide of hate, trampled beneath the hooves of our steeds. Though the beasts may be slain swiftly, I am under no illusions that this will be as quickly done as the troubadours will claim in years to come. Your talents will be most assuredly necessary once we reach Wendolyn."

Charles glanced around the courtyard, making sure that they were out of earshot of any of the more hotly blooded knights before speaking again, his deep voice becoming threatening. "Lastly, I am Sir Charles of Bastonne, Baron of Valegarde, I have sipped from the grail and have faced horrors across this land, from the scorched sands of Araby to the frostbitten hinterlands near Middenheim," the grail knight growled, his eyes seeming to flicker in the sunlight.

"You will be traveling with the main force, Master Mattias Rech, in the company of those who have chosen to honor you as a guest and peer. I know full well what your countrymen think of us and mark my words, each of these 'little lordings' as you called them could easily match any captain, champion or Elector of the Empire. You will be safe," he said, the edge in his voice fading along with the shimmer in his eyes. "On my honor, you will be safe."

"Take this warning as it is intended, Master Rech. We are not dullards and are not oblivious to your jests," he said with a weary sympathy. "While I have learned the price of arrogance and humility, most of these good knights have not. Refrain from dishonoring us too boldly, lest one of them force to answer for your hastily-spoken words."

Clay spoke with the other Yeomen Sergeants confirming that the muster of troops was going as well as could be expected. Clay would meet the mounted Yeomen outside the keep after he finished a couple of errands. Clay gathered his equipment and threw it over his shoulders with a practiced movement. He balanced the weight of his saddlebags on one shoulder with his saddle on the other.

As Clay made his way across the courtyard, he noticed that Mattias, was taking a stern talking from the Grail Knight Charles. Clay could not imagine what it would be like to be that close to the grail knight much less speak to him. Sir Charles must have felt Clay's eyes upon him because he looked up and locked his gaze upon him. Clay averted his eyes, and hurried into the castle blacksmith's forge.

He set his load of equipment down and taking a deep breath before calling out to Maril the blacksmith. The massive man turned from his work and simply said "Clay".

"Did you finish my order?" Clay asked as he rooted through his pack.

"Broad arrow heads, and the chain shirt for Squire Reynard."Maril replied as stretched his huge arms across his chest, "Did you get my order?"

Clay cracked a grin as he produced three clay jars, "Let's see, me special blend of tea for your misses. Me cream for your old achy bones, and some special spicy soup seasoning." Clay handed them over to the blacksmith before continuing to speak. "Don't eat the cream this time!"

As Agonold and Isabella neared the gates, the marquis waited patiently for the damsel to reply. From here, they could see the muster camp of Duke Bohemond, and it struck Agonold that he hadn't viewed the scale of it yet, the Duke having arrived late the night before.

Hundreds of banners proclaimed the presence of the flower of Bastonne's knightly ranks. Two dozen stood proudly before the Duke's own field tents, his own captains and advisors, heroes and landed knights in their own right. It was a riot of colour, and Agonold's heart soared to see so many men he had fought alongside before.

Beside the gate, a boy wearing a simple tabard in the colours of Sir Charles appeared agitated, both eager to gain the attention of the Marquis but also not wishing to interrupt a conversation between a damsel and a lord of Bretonnia.

Isabella brought her horse to a halt just outside the gate, gesturing with a smile to Charle's page that he need only wait a few moments more. Her gaze took in the activity in the courtyard as Agonold rode to stop beside her. Before them, in stark contrast to the muster of Bohemond, several dozen yeomen prepared horses and packs for a force ready to move quickly, each soldier taking a portion of the vanguard's supplies upon his back and spread across his horse's harness. Two squadrons of Knights Errant (some apparently the worse for wear in the morning after the night before, Agonold thought), in their simple colours and equipment, stood out amongst the yeomen through the confidence of Bretonnia's noble youth, a mix of inherited equipment and barely-used replacements marking them put as knights with a long way to go to reach the experience of those that served Bohemond.

Clay and Reynard moved slowly amongst the groupings, making arrangements for unit leaders amongst the hastily assembled and merged cavalry elements of both Agonold's and Charle's companies, and the lack of the presence of his own veteran captains and vassals, full knights of the realm, was evident. Agonold was sure that most would return shortly after urgently briefing his main force that was gathering nearby and at least another half-day from beginning to advance on foot, but the relatively lightly armoured and inexperienced vanguard appeared to be breaking Isabella's heart, and he didn't quite have time to explain the full situation before she lifted a daintily embroidered hankerchief to her eye, wiping away a tear of either pride or sorrow as she whispered.

"My Lord, I think his grace has banners enough. The banner of Chalons is yours, although I require that you appoint a determined young knight to both bear and return with it. It's time to be unfurled will be when you need it most, and not before."

The yeomen and Knights Errant in the courtyard began to drop to one knee as Agonold helped first the apprentice, Sara, and then the damsel Isabella to dismount. Isabella moved forward, ready to offer the blessing to the troops gathered before her, as the girl handed the banner of Chalons, wrapped and tied carefully around it's pole, to the Marquis.

Agonold thought quickly for a response, but the brief look of annoyance upon the page's face, as his delivery of whatever message he held was once more delayed, was priceless, and he found himself lost for words as Sara moved away to pick up the hems of Isabella's dress. He turned back towards the boy, one hand on the banner pole, and smiled.

In the fields outside of Wendolyn

“Is my horse darker on one side?” Dante asked, tipping his head to one side as he saw the peasant leading the horse’s across the field to the West of the shrine and village where so much blood had been spilt.

No one replied to his question, instead eying him curiously as if to query his sanity about asking about horse’s markings when they were faced with so many difficult choices.

“Just there if you look,” he continued ignoring the disapproving glances. “The grey on that side is darker than the other: I’ve never noticed that before!”

He was attempting to break the tension between the Knights that had been present since their exit from the shrine. It was painfully obvious as to the problem: they were hard fighting men of courage and cold steel. They had been faced with a scenario that no strength of arms could triumph against and for all their bravery, they had been as helpless as a mewling infant facing down a creature from the darkness.

Slowly, almost painfully so, the tall peasant he had recruited (arguably conscripted) from the village finally made his way to the trio of Knights and despite the carnage, he and the beasts appeared unharmed in anyway. His eyes however were wide with a terror that few mortals could witness without it damaging their soul and sanity.

“Did you see the damsel and survivors?” Dante asked impatiently: a servant of the Lady was missing along with a fair proportion of the village he and Oderic had fought to save last night, the latter having taken an arrow in the process that still seemed to niggle him slightly.

“…Elves….” The boy gasped, as if suddenly realising that the trio of Knights were standing in front of him for the first time. “…death everywhere…”

Dante grabbed him by the cheap tunic he wore and shook him roughly but without any real menace while simultaneously clicking his fingers in front of the boys eyes, bringing them into focus for the first time.

“Look at me and take a deep breath…” he said firmly. “Forget the Elves and forget the Wildhunt for now, the only thing you need to worry about is me! Do you understand??”

Generations of Bretonnian etiquette came flooding back into the lad and the realisation that he was being physically accosted by one of his social superiors for his lack of understanding snapped him out of the half dream. He nodded his understanding and, satisfied his message had got across, he let the lad go and tugged his tunic back into shape.

“Did you see where the survivors went?” Dante asked.

“No Sir…there was a lot of shouting and confusion and the horses were tugging at their reins…” he replied nervously as if expecting some type of harsh rebuke.

“Where is the most defensive point other than the castle?” Dante asked but the man looked more confused now that when he had first realised he was still alive and leading a procession of almost priceless warhorses: he would need another approach. “If I was chasing you on a horse, where would you run to for safety?”

For a few moments the man looked as if the Knight was actually about to mount his horse and run him down but as the realisation dawned on him that he was actually safe, so did the idea of where he would be forced to run to.

“The lake!” The man exclaimed a little too loudly. “I would flee to the lake in…that direction!” he pointed towards the south-east.

Without a word or pause Dante placed his leather boot in his horse’s stirrup and flung himself up on the horse: it felt good to be back atop the powerful beast of war with its taut muscles and the unique smell of leather and sweat.

“Gentlemen,” he turned to his companions, “I will not dally here any longer! You gentlemen must do as your conscious dictates. That relic, that so compels you Sir Ortwin, sits uneasy with me and while I do not doubt that your motives are pure, the weapon reeks of dark magic. Sir Oderic, an honour to fight alongside you.”

Bowing his head slightly to both Knights, who were technically his superiors, he started his horse towards the direction that the peasant lad had pointed towards. He didn’t care what the other Knights were planning on doing: they had their duty just as he had his.

"Dante is impetuous in his youth Ortwin," Orderic looked over at his remaining companion. "I'll secure what remains of the keep here; if we got a message for help, it's possible others would have as well, and we'll need a place to defend the survivors if Dante ever finds them. With that, Orderic leads his warhorse to the small courtyard of the stone keep that failed to protect Wendolyn and ties it to a post. Strapping his weapons to his horse, keeping his greatsword on his back Orderic spots a crude wheel-barrel and drives it to the main door of the keep. This wasn't his first joust, Orderic had seen defeated keeps before.

The smell of fear and death stank throughout the small stone keep, and the bodies of it's inhabitants were piling on his wheel-barrel, Orderic had filled and dumped it four times in a makeshift ditch Dante's peasant boy had dug before reaching the keep's masters chamber. Peasant and ungor bodies were all the same, the Bretonnians would be buried, the mutants of chaos would be burned to keep their taint from infecting these lands.

Sir Farrance's chambers were much more lavish than the rest, there had been a great struggle here, holed up in the room as they were, Orderic noticed the bodies of a woman and two young girls huddled in a corner, the knight's family no doubt. At least Orderic hadn't heard these screams as they were passing from this life, the screams stay with you forever. A small ring with a wide face sat conspicuously on a desk, and near it a finely crafted jeweled sword, which Orderic collected, Orderic emptied his wineskin before clearing this room. Bringing the nobles outside he keep he spent the remainder of the day digging a proper grave for the Keep's defender and his family, saying a brief prayer over them. Orderic took Sir Farrance's sigil ring and his jeweled sword in hopes of returning it to the brave man's family someday securing it to his own warhorse for now, before finally laying the family to rest in peace. Orderic wondered where the Noble knight had fallen, but turned back to the more immediate work of securing the Keep's defenses as best he could.

As night closed in Orderic was stripping the fallen garrison of their weapons and armor, salvaging what he could for future peasantry use, there was no need to replace expensive and still useful equipment. He raised a makeshift banner of bright green he had fashioned from a bedsheet on the castle ramparts, hopefully his companions would see it and return with survivors. After finally removing the deceased from within the walls of the keep, Orderic set about assessing the resources of the keep, and straightening up the worst of the bedlam of battle, starting with Sir Farrance's quarters. Orderic noticed the drawers from a sturdy old desk tossed about, Farrence's wife must have thrown them at her mutant despoilers; while returning the drawers to the desk, Orderic spotted several hand written notes regarding troop numbers of Farrance's muster to battle. Orderic shook his head in disgust, so many wasted lives; on second glance came the realization that these troops weren't the ones he had just cleared from the keep, they must have left with Farrence to fight openly in a nearby battlefield, leaving the village much easier prey for the beastmen tribes and fey huntsmen. Keeping these rosters and notes for further studies, Orderic leaves to redress the Lady's chapel within the Keep.

Now that the dead were cleared, and most the threat of disease from the rotting corpses gone, Orderic made for the small chapel to the lady. Returning her holy fleurs to their places, their meaning lost to the children of chaos, who were likely looking for steel and gold. Stopping for a moment to kneel and pray before the lady in silence, asking forgiveness and grace for his failure to prevent more innocents from meeting her in the spirit-mists. Noticing a grail emblazoned on a tapestry nearly falling from the wall in front of him, Orderic sighs and finishes his prayer before moving to the tapestry and re-securing it to the wall, pausing as memories from his lifelong quest flood over him. Orderic failed to fight back the tears that were running down his face; hearing the screams of peasants he'd failed to protect, orders failed to complete, and lastly seeing the face of a young boy who's body he recently pulled from the waters of a small shrine to the lady near the villiage. Orderic's hand rested for a while against the beautiful tapestry, glowing in the lamplight, before regaining his composure and turning to leave the nearly restored shrine.

Making his way to the armory to take inventory of it's stores, Orderic shook his head trying to clear the ghosts of his past and failing, taking a long drought of wine after noticing the failure.

Leuthere lay out beneath the shade of the trees where the Loren forest began to thin, watching the stars and planets shine brightly overhead. The past days had been more exciting than all his many long years tending and defending his grail chapel put together. Victoria had left soon after she'd finished her herbal tea and that which she had let slip was, as is typical for a Prophetess, irritatingly cryptic. Nonetheless she was right, the power of the Lady was waning in the forest the power of the Great Hunt was encroaching further towards the Bretonnian borders. He had two choices, either fight in vain and attempt to turn the tide single-handedly or root out the problem at its source.

Thus, resulting from his choice for the latter, the last two days had been a blur; a combination of preparing for the second Quest ahead and preparing the protection of his beloved grail chapel to give it the best chance of survival in his absence. He had gathered his meagre possessions and lashed them onto his elven steed while placing hand-carved fleur-de-lis at optimum places around the sanctuary, mutter prayers under his breath. Finally he had donned his tarnished armour,slipped his great-helm over his head and flung his faded red cloak around his shoulders pulling up the frayed hood. Then he strode out of the clearing into the dark forest without a backwards glance.

The journey this past day had not been particular taxing, but as himself and Lintie, had picked their way through the undergrowth something felt wrong. It used to be that his aura was enough to dispel the worst of the elven trickery in the forest but even that appeared to offer less protection than it once did. The Wild Hunt was stirring, he was sure of it. Thus he was pleased when the trees began to thin: marking the edge of the forest. Here he had decided to rest and make camp for the night before continuing for Somerspoole on the morrow.
For now he removed his helmet, pulled his cloak tightly around him and fell asleep.

At the shrine in Wendolyn, morning

As Dante informed his comrades of his plans and rode off, Orderic remarked:

"Dante is impetuous in his youth Ortwin. I'll secure what remains of the keep here; if we got a message for help, it's possible others would have as well, and we'll need a place to defend the survivors if Dante ever finds them"

Ortwin stood beside Orderic. He listened to his fellow knight, but his gaze was fixed on Dante. The younger questing knight was galloping through the fields leaving only a cloud of dust as a sigil of his own rashness... Or courage? It baffled Ortwin how such a beautiful morning could follow a night of blood and carnage. Pockets of mist were still rising from the plains or flowing from surrounding forests as the sun grew stronger, dispersing them in time. The grass was moist, green and overburdened with heavy drops of dew. The Land was healing, applying unchallenged beauty where evil took place. Finally he turned towards Orderic and said:

"I wonder, my friend, if it is impetuousness or bravery... Has the quest given us a veteran's calm, or has it taken our mettle from us? Do apathy and disappointment hang so hard from our shoulders that we fall to the ground, again and again... Unable to ascend..."

Ha gave a quick nod to himself as if to validate his own thoughts, and than placed a hand on Orderic's shoulder:

"You do as you planned, Sir Orderic. Clear the keep. Gather the survivors. Fly our standard. Expect us at sundown. If we are not here seal the gates and wait for Agonold and his men. I will follow Dante. The girl must be saved. And I need my answers."

They shake hands, and Ortwin mounts up on Baiard.

Between Wyndolen and Lake Sommerspoole

It had taken Ortwin a considerable amount of time to catch up with Dante. And even as he did, it was his impression that Dante heard him following and slowed his gallop a bit. The young knight was a far better rider than himself. He could have blamed it on Baiard or the age difference, but that was not what he wanted. At this point Ortwin enjoyed being bested by his peers. It gave him at least one plausible explanation to why his quest is not yet finished.

The younger knight turned his head inquisitively towards Ortwin. Sir Ortwin of the Border did not deem it necessary to explain himself. They aligned their warhorses and proceeded together towards the lake.

After a while they saw the lake to the south east of their position, a half an hours ride to it. But on the other side, within the forest south west of them, they saw a smoke rising from a small campfire. Ortwin pointed towards it but the young knight was already aware of the new twist in the plot.

"The Damsel must be saved. The survivors rallyed. But we are three knights in a broken hamlet. Neither feys nor beasts make campfires. That smoke yonder could mean that Agonold has arrived...", said Ortwin waiting to hear Dante's thoughts.