After the Legends, A New Tale of the Round Table (IC)

[SaintB]

From behind the veil

Piercing through the mists of Avalon

I, Merlin have summoned you

Descendents of Arthur’s knights who’s blood flows potent in your veins

You must take up the mantle that has been dropped and save your home from the Saxon scourge

I summon you

I summon you by your dreams

I summon you by pulling on the strings of destiny

You must go to Beckery Chapel

Find the sword

Find Arthur’s kin

Save the Britons and restore Camelot…

______________________________________________________________


Two days East of Beckery Chapel, March 23rd, 540
The spring snow blanketed the hilly landscape in a layer that was about ankle deep and reflected the light of the morning sunshine right into the eyes of anyone who was careless about such things. The ground beneath was not frozen so each step taken stirred up mud from beneath the sparse plant growth that had begun to pop up after winter had seemingly subsided; on this battlefield the snow and mud had stirred together to make a brown, slushy, and wet stew that threatened to make one slip and fall with each step they took. At least the brown morass hid the rusty hews of the blood spilled only minutes ago.


This mess was what Chad picked through, spear in hand, as he searched through the dead for survivors. “Hurry up boy,” called Wilfred, “You’ve got nothing left in that stomach of yours to expunge anyway so make your work quick. I say just stab ‘em all through the neck to be sure!”

Chad was the youngest in this warband by a few summers, only newly minted into a man and on his first raid into the Briton lands. He had never seen a life taken before and had become violently ill when the first of the Britons’ blood hit the snow, so now as a consequence, he had been charged with ensuring they were all dead. One by one he poked each of the first five victims with the tip of his weapon, inwardly hoping they would not react in any way. With a sigh of relief he started back to Wilfred only to get a finger wagged at him.

“That one over there boy…” the wagging finger went taught and then pointed toward a sixth figure, “Away from the rest. Go get him too.”

Chad felt his heart sink at the prospect of checking over another corpse, but did as he was told and gingerly made his way through the mud, snow, blood stew while stepping over the dead, Wilfred’s voice followed him, “Your spear point best be red when you get back to me whelp.”

The sixth man was several yards away from the others; he had taken an axe blow and stumbled away like panicked game then made his way farther up hill before he fell motionless. Surely he had bled out for sure by now? Why was he being punished by checking these corpses? What if that man was still alive? Could he rely on Wilfred to kill him?

He wasn’t ready yet… to take a life… he just wanted to take some plunder and go home richer than he could be digging in the dirt with a hoe. Now he was having second thoughts about this whole thing, these men, they seemed blood thirsty. As Chad grew closer he saw the man wore a rough robe of brown stained wool tied together by a simple cord beneath the dark cloak he had discarded as he fled the carnage. Chad had never seen anyone dressed that way and hesitated as he observed the man’s clothing which was rougher than the man’s dainty appearance would bely… Wilfred interrupted him with a nudge, the big man had walked up while the greenhorn hesitated once again.

This time there were no words exchanged, just a stabbing motion toward the ground. Chad nodded and bit his lip, he held the spear in both hands and poked at the corpse with the point …. and… he… came.. alive! With a gasp the wounded man crawled away and then stumbled up to his feet to try and take off at a dead run but was injured and losing blood so only staggered away once more.

“Well boy!?” shouted his shadow as he gave him a hard push in the victim’s direction.

Chad moved hesitantly forward and raised his spear, making a quick and awkward jab at the man he was to kill, striking a glancing wound across the back of his neck. The victim fell with a shriek and continued his vain attempt at escape on all fours but now Wilfred had lost his patience. The big man grabbed the Briton by the legs and flipped him onto his back, all but shouting at Chad to stick him again and finish the job, this time the spear struck home, sinking into the Briton’s guts with sickening ease as the man grasped the pole then fell silent… fell still…

“About time.” Wilfred muttered.

Chad dropped his spear and retched, heaving dry empty gulps of air as his stomach struggled desperately to void something, anything at all, but was already emptied not so long ago. Meanwhile Wilfred busied himself, ignoring the blood and gore covering the fresh body to search for anything of value.

“By the gods.... That was gruesome.’ moaned Chad.

“Twas nothing.” Wilfred murmured, “I’ve seen worse.”

“Worse?”

“Worse.” came the reply, “Saw a man slashed across the belly with a sword. The wound was so deep you could see his spine and all of his entrails were hanging out. He was lucid too, he started to talk to me about this chicken that he raised as a boy, and how his mother rung its neck and served it up for dinner when company came to call. He told me how he resented his mother for years and that all he wanted was to settle down and raise more chickens. Just him, with his cocks and naught else,” he chuckled, “He got cut in half because he wanted to live with some dumb birds.”

At the end of his story the veteran pressed something into the young man’s hand, “Your kill, your spoils.”

Chad looked at the object now cupped in his hand, a cross made of silver, still dripping with the blood of the previous owner.

______________________________________________________________

Beckery Chapel, The Kingdom of Dumnonia, March 25th, 540

For the life of him Judoc could not fathom why this backwater monastery required protection at all, let alone from a full company of spears paid in silver to guard it's grounds. The young man leaned on his spear and yawned, allowing his eyes to close and get a break from the bright light. Snow had fallen overnight and now the morning sun shown so brightly as to nearly blind him and the others posted as watches for incoming travelers; a boring assignment, but far from the worst one to be had this day. Elsewhere beyond the tents and leantoos others were trying to keep the latrines from filling with meltwater. "Better them than me." he mused as he resumed his watch over the old Roman road that ran east to west just outside of the cloister's grounds.

As far as he could tell there was nothing at this place that should warrant a score or more of armed men for protection. The abbey itself had a simple chapel that served the village on the hillside below, it was built of stone with a thatch roof and was white washed but otherwise unimpressive if not on the largish size for being in the butt end of nowhere on the Dumnonian frontier. The only other structure was a rectory that served as the home for the half a dozen or so monks that resided here, it too was a single story building of white washed stone and smaller than the chapel was. The grounds also contained a cemetery, and now opposite it, a series of tents and lean-too's that served as an encampment for a temporary mercenary force with the task of preventing a Saxon incursion. Raiders and brigands from West Saexe were in the region, likely to find food or wealth after winter broke, and someone with the wealth and will had marked this spot as a place worth protecting, for whatever reason. It wasn't Judoc's place to question why though, it was just his place to stand here, by the road, watching the snow covered landscape for anyone approaching from the Roman Road.

OOC

[Kaledoria]

Niall Mac Ewan

The knight from the north arrived at Pendragon Castle three days ago. Niall brought the news of his father's promotion to landed gentry and was invited to stay for a week. Coincidentally, his cousin Morwyn had recently born a son and Niall was invited to the baptism celebrations. He noticed, that his family had not send an invitation north but did not press the issue. His father would have probably wanted to see his grand niece but if the parents of the baby did not want the ceremony to be that big, it was their decision.

Early in his stay, Niall noticed that Pendragon castle was not in the best state of maintenance. He helped with the daily chores in the morning and noon and in the evening chatted with his family members. Soon he found out, that in fact, the times had gotten harder since they had seen each other the last time, 9 years ago at Sir Brunor's funeral. He also learned the reason for it: Sir Brunor had, in his lifetime, often been considered a good ruler but a poor Christian. At least half of his subjects had followed the old faith, openly practiced their ceremonies and Brunor had done nothing about it, he even had a pagan wise-man at his court. Niall's uncle Dinadan on the other hand did not follow this example and over time many of the pagan freemen decided to leave, leading to a shortage of workforce on the fields surrounding the castle.

It was on that matter that Dinadan had a request for Niall the day after the baptism of Morwyn's baby. The two were alone in Dinadan's study and the lord of the castle was visibly uncomfortable. "The bishop's steward has brought something to my attention. Not a problem yet but a ... difficult situation that could get embarrassing. It's about three of my former commoners, who decided to look for their fortune elsewhere about a week ago. It seams, they have moved to the village of Glastonbri, a day and a half east of here. They are problematic and since the problem is in relation to their faith and because you are also of the old faith, I was hoping, you could speak to them. You see, Beckery Chapel is close to Glastonbri and the Monks there could be bothered by them. And this could fall back on me and in this time I do need good relations with the church. You would do me a favor if you could speak to them. Ideally you could convince Branwenn and Ianto to return here and work their fields again. You can even tell them that I have changed my opinion on this Triquetra of theirs, they may wear it instead of the cross, if they want as long as they just tell anyone who asks, that it represents the holy trinity." Dinadan sighted. Niall had the impression, that his uncle really did not care, what his people believed in, all he wanted was good terms with the Christian church. Niall could understand this, he had once visited the great monastery at Armagh in Ulaid. He had seen the masterful craftsmen they sponsored and heard about how they had fed the poor with grain they had imported from the Franks during a food-shortage in 525. The church was a resourceful faction.
Dinadan continued: "But the third one, a red-haired woman named Gwenabwy - I'm actually very glad, that she is gone. She was a troublemaker and rumored to be a witch. If there is just one thing you can do, convince her to move further away where nobody knows me. Maybe she wants to see your kingdom where she can be among other pagans like herself, I don't care as long as she is further away then just Glastonbri."

Neill did not like how is uncle handled matters of personal believes, especially since he did not act out of conviction just out of concern for his public image. But it was a small favor that he really could not refuse and so he packed his things and traveled to Glastonbri, a small village near Beckery Chapel.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Peredur

The village of Bryndunon received its name by way of the ancient Celts who inhabited this region before the Romans arrived from the Continent. Its name, into our language, would translate into ‘forested hill’. While this might at one point have been true, the forest has long been cut down for use in building materials. The hill overlooks a river valley with some fishing docks, where merchants dock to stock up on supplies. In return, the townsfolk receive items they cannot manufacture themselves, including pottery and iron tools. Goods are traded directly, because there is no coin that holds value for the townsfolk of Bryndunon.

Their leader Manachan is the town priest, an aged but well-travelled man who welcomed me happily when I arrived by river barge. We conversed in Greek and Latin, and spoke at length on matters of theology. I was happy to find out that Manachan had once seen Arthur, as he had travelled by Camelot both on his way to and from Rome. The ancient city had lost some of its vigour, but no barbarian could reduce the splendour of Rome, not with a thousand sackings.

Manachan ruled his village fairly and with an even hand. Merchants readily accepted his judgement, such was the nature of his compromise, even though they had plenty of reason to suspect bias towards his townsfolk. In his judgement he mixed Celtic legal principles with Christian virtues, and he relied on documentary evidence like the Romans. Some troublesome merchants, especially those from West Saexe and Scandinavia, insisted on trial by combat, but Manachan could always talk down these troublemakers and make them accept a settlement. Manachan did not have patience for the quarrelsome, however, and those who committed violence, citizen or visitor, were banished equally.

Peredur put down his quill next to the parchment, and felt his wrist. He had only recently begun on his journey, and already he had written down multiple pages of notes on local customs, locals and people. He would have to choose what he wanted to write about more carefully, if the parchment were going to last him his journey. Manachan, the leader of the village he stayed to rest, had kindly supplied him with some pieces, but there were many more places to visit. From Bryndunon, he would follow the old Roman road until it split at Corinium. From there, he would travel north, through the lands of the Welsh, and then east, towards the river Cam.

At that moment, Manachan entered the small hovel where Peredur had been allowed to set up for the night. In his hands he held two cups, each leaving a slivering trail of steam as Manachan carried them in. He handed Peredur one cup and closed his hands around the other, allowing its heat to warm him thoroughly. Peredur could smell the warm wine, which had elements of herbs and spices he could not place. It tasted sweet, and beside the good taste it also warmed him in more ways than one. The slightly alcoholic contents tingled in his throat, but the effect was only slight.

“It’s a Roman custom to drink heated wine, and of all the wonders of The City, this was the one I could miss the least” the priest said, in good humour. “Can I sit?”

Peredur nodded, and pointed out the only other place he could set himself down, a stool in the corner of the hovel.

“I’m sorry we could not supply you with living quarters more suited to your station” Manachan said, but Peredur quickly shook his head.

“Christ was born in a manger and died among murderers; I am humbled by your generosity” he answered, taking another sip from his cup. The warmth fortified him, for the March cold had penetrated every nook and cranny of his being. It was uncharacteristically cold, and patches of snow still dotted the countryside. Children played in the snowy fields, throwing snow balls and sculpting figures out of it. Those who did not have to work huddled by the fire and drank, hoping that the spring sun would soon bring some measure of warmth to the region.

“The road before you is long, my son, and you will not find another place of worship before next Sunday” Manachan said, as he retrieved a small, round piece of bread from his sleeve. “Shall I grant you the Eucharist for the sake of surety?”

Peredur graciously accepted, and with a few Latin phrases he received the body and the blood of Christ. It mattered not that the ceremony was small and personal, and that it did not take place on consecrated ground. The Faith in Christ was personal, humble, and small in its own way. Christ himself administered the Eucharist to his disciples in a barn, so it was not wrong for a priest to do the same. The Eucharist was worth just as much when granted by the Patriarchs in their basilicas as it was in a barn, handed out by a Celtic convert.

“Now, son… Is there any sin you want to confess?”

Peredur was surprised by that question, and it took him a few seconds to answer.

“Father, I am a knight. I don’t think there is much to confess”

Manachan pulled up an eyebrow.

“The most virtuous often have the most to confess”

Peredur found that strange. The most virtuous had the least to confess, for they were living the least sinful lives. Sinful people had loads to confess every day. Peredur could not think of any action that would require him to confess to the priest, and wondered whether Manachan was perhaps doubting his virtuous nature as a knight.

“In any case, I have not done much in the last seven days, besides travel” Peredur retorted, but again Manachan was quick on his response.

“Inaction can be a sin too” he said. Peredur shook his head. Was the priest toying with him? How could inaction be a sin? Yes, laziness was a sin, but one would be hard-pressed to call a road-weary traveller lazy. Was the priest testing his knowledge of the faith?

“I am unsure of that” Peredur replied. Manachan shrugged.

“Well, you wash your hands in innocence, then”

They talked on until dusk, sharing stories and hopes for the future. The next morning, Peredur left Bryndunon on the westerly road towards Corinium. He thanked the priest heartily for his hospitality, especially after he was gifted a vase of the spiced wine they had drunk the day before. A kind exchange later, Peredur set his horse to move, the morning sun warming the back of his neck. The night’s frost still covered the early blades of grass, just uncovered from the winter’s snow or meekly piercing the thin layer of ice where snow was still abound.

A journey later, Peredur arrived at a fork in the road. A stone marker, left by the Romans, made out the two directions. To the south, Isca and Durnovaria, situated on the Channel Coast. To the north, his direction of travel. The Welsh towns of Viroconium and Segontium, now known as Cair Urnarc and Cair yn Arfon respectively. Peredur did not have to think long before pulling his horse northward, the distant Welsh hills rising up from the grassy meadows. A rugged land, where he would have to keep his sword by his side. Hillmen and tribespeople were abound, and even Arthur had had a hard time subjugating the wild land.

Not long had Peredur set his horse northward or a measure of doubt crept on him. It was an unexplainable sensation of purpose, but the southbound road seemed to call to him. He felt a desire to travel down, the road to Isca, and then go… west… to a chapel… It was something he felt deep in his heart. In his head, he could hear the voice of his grandfather speak those ancient words he had spoken so often.

“Beware the lesson of the Fisher King”, advice never to turn down those in need. For a long moment, Peredur stared south, thinking of reasons why he shouldn’t travel there. In the end, there was no escaping the sensation, and he seemed mentally blocked from traveling north.

“Alright then…” Peredur said reluctantly, turning his horse around. He would have to see what God and the world had in store for him. Three days later, Peredur arrived at Beckery Chapel, traveling over the old Roman road to what looked like a place only too well guarded.

[Ubaria]

Cadeyrn

That dream again ...

Cadeyrn's eyes slowly drifted open to let the light of the late winter's morn trickle in and rouse him from his slumber, the momentary lapse of confusion from his post-awakening state soon passed as the brisk march chill rattled through the beaten rafters of the old abandoned roman watchtower which had been his accommodation for the last few days as he scoured the nearby countryside for supplies. The building itself was rather dilapidated, the wooden upper portions had rotted away due to it's abandonment and had at some point collapsed inwardly on itself, however the stone base and partially covered roof provided adequate shelter from the elements, such boons were few and far between and so Cadeyrn had decided to stick around as there was no guarantee that his next sleeping arrangement would be so agreeable.

The young quasi-knight ran a hand through his wispy auburn beard, he had not shaved nor bathed in several weeks and so had the appearance of a haggard traveler rather than a presentable wandering man of respectable virtues, though such was the life of a knight errant he supposed. Not that many people were around in the wealds this time of year, the last person he had seen was a woodsman and he had quickly scarpered away upon seeing the ragged cloaked figure stumbling toward him. Cadeyrn didn't mind particularly, he enjoyed the solitariness and much preferred the merry conversation between himself and the whistling songbirds of the forest than any other man, he felt at home with nature.

Slowly he made his way from the corner of the room where he had been sleeping and toward the doorframe and lent on it, observing the smattering of snow that had built up during the night, about calf deep it had built up around the door, luckily Cadeyrn's footwear had recently been insulated with a wrapping of hare fur, boots built for the winter weather. Whilst observing the winterscape of the nearby woodland his mind began recollecting that strange dream he had that night. It was a recurring dream, about some chapel and those who had gathered there. Everything about the dream felt eerily familiar, as if he had been there and knew it well, even though the faces in his dream were clouded by strange swirling shadows they felt ... like family almost. At first he had shrugged it off as just a strange coincidence but this had been the dozenth time this month almost, perhaps it was a sign from the gods? Or maybe some wicked Fae manipulating his dreams? Somehow he doubted both.

Bending down, Cadeyrn collected some of the fresh snow into his waterskin and plugged the neck before reaching behind his cloak to ensure his trusty Spatha was still there. Indeed it was. An heirloom that had been bestowed upon him by a travelling merchant long ago, the piece had seen a few winters and so was dusted with light rusting and oxidization, yet the cutting edge still held. He had replaced the handle with a fresh wooden carving some time ago, reinforced with a leather-bound grip and some fabric to boot. Light as it was, the blade could still be swung with some force and though he wasn't a master swordsman Cadeyrn could hold his own in a fight. The blade had also served as his hunting and skinning knife, a hare or fox caught in a snare stood no chance.

A slow puff of warm breath escaped his lips as Cadeyrn craned his head to observe the morning sun. He had been travelling west this few days as he heard there was to be a gathering at a local village, a festival to mark the end of the winter solstice, a local tradition no doubt but the local liege lord would be looking for men to compete in tournaments or some such things. By his estimate he was little more than a day and a half away from the supposed area the village was in and hopefully his senses would guide him in the direction he was to go. Cautiously, the man set forth into the snow, leaving behind the crooked remains of his last abode.

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

Yrsa

The last winds of winter blew flurries over the snow over the road. The large stallion carried on with little heed to the cold weather around it. Upon it's back sat a rider, a woman of a different stock than most of the Britons in the area. Her larger stature was only helped by the large black pelt she draped over her head and shoulders, the yellow glass eyes of a wolf staring out of the head. Strapped across her back sat a large axe, made of dark grey metal and engraved with the runes of her father's homeland. In front of her on the road sat a hilltop dominanted by two smaller structures. Certainly not an impressive hill fort by any means, but civilization was always a welcome sight. The woman guided her horse a little faster down the road, keeping an eye out for any guards that might be on the road.

Sure enough, a little ways further, she found a lone guardsman standing by the road. Slowing her horse to a halt in front of him, she raised her hand and called out in strangely accented Brythonic "Ho Stranger! What manner of locale is this, and can one find food, a hearth, and perhaps some gold to be made here?"

[Kyraina]

Rhydain, Half a day ride from Beckery Chapel

Rhydain had the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head, obscuring his face from view and protecting it from the elements. He looked around as he rode his Horse, Named Tyrant, along the old roman road towards Beckery Chapel, His Loyal Dog named Salomon walking beside Tyrant. Rhydain smiled at the dog and turned his attention back to the road. His war longbow laid across his knees, waiting to shot at a moments notice, but nothing moved in the snow covered forest just a half a days ride outside of Beckery Chapel.

He wasn't expecting any danger but you never knew. After some time on the road, Rhydain saw a ragged cloak figure on the road, that had been brought to his attention by Salomon with a low growl.

"Hello Traveler, it's dangerous times to be traveling alone." Rhydain called out as he rode closer and Salomon Tailing him.

---

Maddux, Beckery Chapel

The Man the rest of the Mercenary Company called the Halfbreed because of His dark completion, long light brown Hair, blue eyes, and Woad tattoos up and down his Face, Neck, and Arms, also known aw Madduz, had just inspected the men in the section he was a sergeant of. He had to make a few cirtiques to the men, as some had forgotten or to lazy the oil their spear heads, swords, and daggers. A few others he had gotten on too for not properly maintaining their shields and armor, while the rest either went to sleep from being on watch at night or to go get breakfast and relieve other spearmen from the watch.

Maddux himself pulled on his armor, strapped his belt that his sword and dagger was sheathed to, before strapping on his Shield, grabbing his Spear, and headong back out into the Cold to go report to Judoc and help him watch the road.

As he drew Close he saw a woman ride towards Judoc, so he quickened his step and approached as he waited for Judoc to Answer

[SaintB]

Peredur
“Alright then…” Peredur said reluctantly, turning his horse around. He would have to see what God and the world had in store for him. Three days later, Peredur arrived at Beckery Chapel, traveling over the old Roman road to what looked like a place only too well guarded.

Yrsa
*snip*
Sure enough, a little ways further, she found a lone guardsman standing by the road. Slowing her horse to a halt in front of him, she raised her hand and called out in strangely accented Brythonic "Ho Stranger! What manner of locale is this, and can one find food, a hearth, and perhaps some gold to be made here?"

The Briton stood in the ankle deep snow, shifting from foot too foot to keep them from freezing as he watched the rider approach along the road. He stood about 15 paces from the roadside and though armed did not appear a serious threat - his shield hung from his back by a strap and the tip of his spear was still covered in a leather sheathe, though left open to be easily shaken off with a flick by the wielder. He was holding the weapon with both hands by the pole and leaning against it lazily, but his byrnie and helmet were both properly strapped and fashioned and a veteran fighter would recognize Judoc was prepared for a fight in an instant. "This is Beckery Chapel, and you'll find naught of any of those here on this morning. If you follow the Roman road to where it meets the peasant's track you can turn left and come upon the the village of Glastonbri. You may find food and a hearth there, but unlike to find coin of any sort, especially not gold."

As he spoke to the woman he noticed the half-breed, Maddux, coming over from the tents and a second rider beginning an ascent up the ridge; two riders in such a short time in this backwater was unlikely to be a coincidence - something was up here and he was glad for his fellow mercenary to be coming over, "Best if you just move along." he said to the woman politely, hoping to push her onward before the other rider arrived, just in case.

[Kaledoria]

Niall

The Scott knight entered a small shack that, so the locals had told him, the three people he was searching had taken refuge in. Inside he found two women. The red-headed one was lying on one of the beds but got up as soon as Niall entered. "What..." she started but looking at Nialls sword at his side corrected herself: "Mylord, how may we help you?" She seamed nervous, probably as a result of the fact that her housing had no lock. "Don't worry," Niall answered. "I assume you are Branwenn and Gwenabwy? My name is Niall, I was sent by Dinadan to ... check up on you. See, why you chose to settle here for all places."

Gwenabwy sat back down on the bed. She eyed Niall carefully and answered: "That was fast, we are not even here for ten days. And no, we did not plan to settle here but Bran came down with the flu and just as she was about to get better, I got it, too. This shack stood empty and the locals allowed us to stay here when Ianto promised to help them clear the ditches so they don't flood over when the snow-melt comes some time in the next weeks. But don't worry, I'm mostly through it, too. We should be able to travel again in two days."

Niall decided to wait with his offers until the last of the three would come back. He chatted with the women about how he was Dinadan's nephew but grew up in his mother's clan in the north, about the state of Pendragon castle and ultimately about why the three were leaving. He learned, that they were heading to Searobyrig, two days further east, where there was rumored to be an ancient sacred side and where they expected to find the wiseman, who had served at Sir Brunor's court.
"Two days east?" Niall said, "That is awfully close to the Saxon occupied lands, are you sure, you are save there?"
"The Saxons have their own gods. Quite angry ones but I'd rather serve a tolerant priest of an angry god instead of an angry priest of an oh-so-forgiving one," Gwenabwy said.

Ianto came home and Niall forwarded his uncle's offer: "My uncle invites you two back home, Ianto and Brenwenn. He is okay with you following the old faith and carrying your holy symbols as long as you just pretend to be Christians should priest or other people from other villages come through your farm. As for you, Gwenabwy, as an alternative to putting yourself at risk by running into the Saxons, you can come with me to Arran. Our patron is Cú Chulainn but all the descendants of the Danu are well respected and we could use a good witch there." Gwenabwy exhaled sharply: "It's no witchcraft to know which plants will make you sleep well and which will make you sleep forever, which ones calm your stomach and which ones make you vomit. If I was a witch, couldn't I have just hexed myself healthy again? No, I'm more of a self-taught physician, ..." Niall interrupted her waving his hand in apology: "That is fine, too. I did not mean to insult you. I'm just a simple knight trained to whack bad guys with a sharp metal stick really hart, you seem smart and that is good for me."

Brenwenn had said little until now but came back on a different point of Niall's offer: "We two will go where our cousin goes. We won't come back to Pendragon without her." Niall nodded. He noticed now that Ianto and Brenwenn were about his age and Gwenabwy was several years older. He had not known, they were family. "My uncle was clear on his priorities and the invitation back was only for you two but it is no more then an invitation, you can take it or leave it. Nobody is stopping you from going to Searobyrig if you want but if you want you three can also move to Arran. I'm sure I can personally find some work and housing for you there."

The three discussed the matter. It was obvious they had hoped to see some of the villagers again, that had left the farms around Pendragon Castle before them but they did not actually know for sure, whether or not the others were at Searobyrig. They also did not really know how the Saxons would tread them, if they'd advance any further west but likewise they had heard scary stories of the Scotti and Picts in the north. "Can you give us a night or two, to sleep about this?" Gwenabwy asked. "After lying down for 6 days I'm still to weak to travel anyway." Niall agreed: "Sure don't rush such a decision. I guess I should look around for a place to camp or a roof to rest under for myself, too. But I'll be around."

Niall stepped outside and wondered what to do for the time being. He could talk to the people in a village but he was also kind of curious about this Chapel he had heard about. Was it as awe-inspiring as the monastery at Armagh or more like the small shrine in An t-Eilean Àrd, that consisted only of a single missionary in a small hut with a fine sculpture of his crucified god. He took Acha by the reins and for a while he trotted around more or less aimlessly, seeing where his feet would lead him.

[Ubaria]

Cadeyrn

Cadeyrn hadn't long left the confines of his roost when he saw a figure on horseback slowly cantering toward him down the old Roman Road. The silhouette was difficult to figure out against the backdrop of snow mottled thicket and woodland, it was only apparent that the figure was tailed by a smaller animal, most likely a dog or less likely a wolf. 'Who would be riding these roads at such a time in the morning' the Briton thought to himself, trying to get a measure of the rider from their rapidly shortening distance. Cadeyrn was doubtful it was a command bandit or cuthroat as they really didn't travel far from the towns in the wintertime, could it have been a loan Saxe tribesman, or a simple traveler the same as he? No matter, the pair eventually drew to within communications distance.

"Hello Traveler, it's dangerous times to be traveling alone." He called out in a Britonic vernacular. Cadeyrn's shoulders loosened a little, though still kept wary. The man's horse was laden with various supplies, most notable, a pair of mean looking bows which indicated the man was wealthy and with a trade, or at first glance anyway.

"More dangerous by the day. I'd say the same to you but it seems you are in good company." Cadeyrn responded, nodding toward the canine at his horse's side.

"I go by Cadeyrn ap Leofric. Yourself?"

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Peredur Ap Lohengran Ap Parcival
Knight of Britain

“Dominus vobiscum” Peredur said as the approached the armed guard standing watch on the road.

“I am sir Peredur, son of sir Lohengran” he added, although his knightly demeanour must have been made clear by his appearance. Clean lamellar armour, a helm crested by red horsehair and a shield with the crest of Parcival on it were not symbols of poverty. He lowered himself from his horse and walked towards the group, as not to make a threatening impression. The guard seemed a little on edge, and he would gladly do everything he could to gain his trust. After all, a man guarding a monastery must have been a pious man at least, and a man of God.

Peredur walked through the ankle-deep snow, his red-white mantle flowing behind him in the cold wind of late winter. His feeling still told him that this was the place. Something divine called him to this place, though he had no idea as to why. And others had gathered here to, and the place was indeed well-guarded… Coincidences, too many coincidences.

“May I speak with the abbot, brother?” Peredur asked the guard, looking sideways at the others present to get a feeling of what they were up to.

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

Yrsa

Yrsa watched as another man from the garrison approached the road, as well as she noticed the rider coming down the road behind her. Knowing a trap or even just a bad situation when she saw it, Yrsa nodded at the man's suggestion to keep moving, offered a curt nod and said "Seems it is. Good day to you." Before urging her horse onward to Glastonbri.

[Kyraina]

Rhydain, Less then half a days rode from Beckery Chapel

"I go by Cadeyrn ap Leofric. Yourself?" the ragged figure responded. Rhydain nodded and looked Cadeyrn over.

The cloak was ragged but looked worn. The man's clothes were nicer then the common man's but were those of a decent mercenary or even a minor noble. He noticed the sheathed sword on the man's waist and while the young man didnt look that skillful, he did seem to have a lot of raw potential.

"The Name is Rhydain. I'm a Forestor and scout in service to King Morgan the Thunderbolt. And in good company indeed. My company here is Tyrant the Horse, and The Canine is Named Salomon after my father. He has been a good friend and a good alley in my life as a scout and Forestor. Plus makes traveling easier when you have even animals to travel with." Rhydain replied as he quickly observed his surroundings.

"What has you Traveling these roads alone, and if you would like ill travel with you for a ways."

---

Maddux, Beckery Chapel

Maddux kept walking despite one figure riding off and another riding up and climbing down from his Horse. As Maddux arrived the man that had been on the horse, and in Armor that had been clean, polished, and decorated or court, and the oddest thing of all, was that the man's Shield was decorated with the Crest of Parcival had asked to see the brother Abbot. Maddux couldn't quite believe it.

"Judoc, I don't know if it would be wise to let thw man into Chapel, for all we know he could be a spy or bandit. I Know the man has armor worthy of court and has Sir Parcival's arms on his shield but we aint paid to make assumption but to guard this place. Ill go fetch the Commander and the abbot and discuss it with them. Just something feels off today Judoc, and we have worked together long enough to know I'm not saying to just say stuff."

[SaintB]

The rough looking woman seemed content with Judoc's answer and rode off toward Glastonbri with a curt good day. The man that approached now was equipped in immaculate armor, and lots of it, which made Judoc wonder if he had done much traveling before, even on a horse all that he wore was cumbersome for both himself and his beast and as time dragged on would start to take a toll on his body. It was a reason that most nobles fighting as heavy cavalry kept attendants or squires, and why footmen like himself only armored the vital parts on their anatomy. The immaculate knight dismounted from his horse and approached Judoc, revealing an oval shield with a familiar insignia that he recognized but couldn't quite place, it was certainly of Arthur's Round Table... Judoc himself, and Maddux were both descended from knights as well and it made the man wonder what the chances that three of them would meet at this place on one day.

Maddux did not make common knowledge of the fact he was the son of Palamedes, a man from a land so far away that his home was unheard of beyond Rome. Palamedes and his brother both held seats at the siege perilous, but Palamedes defected along with Lancelot toward the end of Arthur's reign. Maddux, with his dark complexion, was already distrusted by many people and revealing his parentage might make him anathema to many people; Judoc only knew because Maddux confessed that part of his history too him in confidence after many months of acquaintance. Judoc's ancestry was no mystery to the initiated, his shield bore the twin parallel keys of Sir Kay, but it was currently hanging along his back so not visible to the approaching knight.

“I am sir Peredur, son of sir Lohengran," the knight said as he approached, “May I speak with the abbot, brother?”

Before he could give an answer the ever ready Maddux had already arrived and spoke as well, "Judoc, I don't know if it would be wise to let the man into Chapel, for all we know he could be a spy or bandit. I Know the man has armor worthy of court and has Sir Parcival's arms on his shield, but we ain't paid to make assumption, but to guard this place. Ill go fetch the Commander and the abbot and discuss it with them. Just something feels off today Judoc, and we have worked together long enough to know I'm not saying to just say stuff."

Peredur had given a sideways glance toward Maddux when he approached, as if weighing his intentions and Judoc's gaze stayed fixed on him, "Let us not bother Father Larig yet, they may still be at breakfast or morning prayer. But please fetch the captain, tell him that the esteemed Sir Peredur ap Lohengran wishes an audience with Father Larig. He knows the abbot's routine better than us and can better accommodate the request."

Then toward Peredur he offered this, "Maddux is a good man, he could escort you to the camp and let you warm by a fire while he fetches our commander, I'm stationed here as a sentry for now, it would be no trouble for me to also keep tabs on your horse and accouterments in the mean time. Or if you prefer you could wait here, but we cannot let you enter the abbey or camp with your armaments."

[Ubaria]

Cadeyrn

"What has you Traveling these roads alone, and if you would like ill travel with you for a ways."

Cadeyrn paused, internally debating whether to tell this man about his business on the old Roman road, yet the man seemed far from untrustworthy and given his own current appearance, the hedge knight looked far from reputable himself.

"A forester such as yourself must appreciate the allure of the wilderness. Rather than the sedentary lifestyle of being cooped up in the same village for your entire life no? I travel because i want to see more of this world than my father did." He stepped back Tyrant and looked up and down the snow sprinkled road.

"As for this particular road. I'm headed to a village some distance westwards for the beginning of the spring solstice. Some celebration, possible silver to be had and fame to be earned, plus it's been a few dark months without a good warm meal either. As for your company ... " Cadeyrn paused, staring toward the dog, the horse, and it's master. "Why not." He beamed, opening his arms welcomingly.

[Anowa]

Ser Geldwine the Arbitrator, Son of Gingalain; Son of Gawain, Prince of Powys
Siv, Attainer of the Arbitrator, The Unknown Maiden

Slight clinks of glass could barely resonate across the dense snow that had blanketed the hamlet. The sound of the smith hammering away at a personal project, or the hundreds of swords needed for the levy overshadowing the dull impacts coming from the saddlebags of the massive draft horse striding down the roman road.

Atop the horse sat a man in mail, leather, and a well crafted tabard revealed the colors and coat of arms of the bloodline of Ser Gawain, the fine salt and pepper spotted fur tagged to his collar had an indication of wealth to it given it's condition. An odd looking skullcap lay danging from his belt. The man was scarred to a degree, perhaps not as much as the legendary warriors of Roman folklore, but enough to prove that he was more than a posh commander or faux knight. The shield on his back and sword at his side made it clear to onlookers that the man likely had the means to cut any muggers down.

The figure riding next to him was much more enigmatic. Their horse was obviously lighter, not nearly as heavy set as it's compatriot. It's rider was similar so, though beset in a much more concealing garb. Lamellar armor glinted in the winter sunlight, the helmet of the rider was a spangenhelm, a mail aventail hung from it's collar and eye guard, the face of the rider not wholly visible. Though a woman sat beneath the armor, the rather concealing shape and padding of the gambeson kept that from view. The only indication of identity, were a shield with various streaks of dark and light blues plastered onto it, and a mace, where an observant onlooker could see fragments of bone wedged into the deepest recesses of it's flanges. For the uneducated, it would be easy to simply see Siv as a marauding Saxon, were it not for the knight of such blood beside her.

The duo paused, upon laying eyes upon the veritable line leading to the Beckery Chapel. Geldwine had found it odd in the first place to have reoccuring dreams about the location, moreso now that there were multiple people arriving, seemingly of high renown if the spit and polish of his armor was anything to go by.

"*This is suspect*" came Siv, in the foreign tongue of hers.

"*It is... If I were a clever man, I would say to leave and not come back.*" replied Geldwine, in the same language, switching back to his own native tongue, "Unfortunately for you. I am not a clever man."

As he said this, he swung off his horse, handing his trusted steed off to his charge, pausing, he grabbed a single package from his saddle bags, putting it on a pouch at his belt, making his way towards the guard. Siv then proceeded to wander with the two equines off the road a sight, leaving room for others to pass if need be, but remaining within sight of her mentor.

As Geldwine approached, he observed a few things, firstly, that the shield of the knight was that of Ser Lohengrin, Knight of the Swans. That alone gave Geldwine mental notice enough to get the gears turning. Secondly, the overly brown tinted complexion of one of the guards gave indication that he spent entirely too much time in the sun, or his heritage was not of these isles, Geldwine figured an Ishmaelite, or a Palestinian. Either he was a long way from home, or his parents were. Geldwine approached, now figuring that, something very improbable was afoot, or that this was a deliberate plan by someone. Pausing for a moment, he turned in a direction. Saxon lands, they were close, battle were being fought at this moment, and blacksmith was hammering away at something still.

Geldwine furrowed his brow as he continued his approach to the guard, gears in his head finally stopping, having settled on a resolution to this quandry. "Brother guard, if I may ask, besides myself and Ser Lohengran's descendant," a pause in his address as he turned to the knight, "My apologies, Ser, I know not your name." he returned to the guard, "Have there been any other individuals of note appearing at this Chapel today. I fear that something is afoot here."

[Kaledoria]

Niall Mac Ewan, the Scott

Outside of Glastonbri, Niall sat down on a tree stump and decided to have some late breakfast. He cut two slices from his bread and topped it with cheese and crushed hazelnuts.

As he started eating, he saw a women coming down the road from the chapel. Her tough clothes suggested a traveler and her strong build (for a woman) seamed like she could defend herself against the average brigand. An interesting person, possibly. "Hello fellow traveler," he greeted her but then he saw the battleaxe and his impression changed. That was definitely a weapon fit for war. And it appeared to be Saxon (or some other Germanic culture, Niall would not know) of origin. The young Knight realized that both his spear and shield were on his horse, that he had bound to a tree, two rods (~20 feet) away. At least his sword was at his side and his armor showed that he was nobody to be robbed. Besides - what would a single Saxon lady be doing two days west of her lands? She was clearly no scout and for the lack of Saxon fences probably no bandit either so that left one clear option as the most likely occupation of such a woman, this armed around here. A mercenary. "Nice tuagh, I mean ... battle-axe, is there paid work for something like it around here?"

[Kyraina]

Maddux The Half Breed, Beckery Chapel

Maddux saw the two new riders coming down the road and immediately turned towards the chapel and yelled in a voice that was use to giving commands in battle. "RUNNER! GET THE CAPTAIN!"

As Maddux Turned back around to face the new arrivals the Mercenary camp kicked into action. 4 such heavily armored visitors in one day in such a short span was unheard of, as much unheard of a mercenary company protecting a backwoods chapel.

The two riders stopped a good distance from the chapel, then one dismounted and walked the rest of the way to the chapel.

"What Visitors have shown up today, weather of not or not is not of ypur concerned. The only concerned it is, belongs to the Father, God, and the Captain. Now what is your business here?" Maddux replied to the new arrival.

---

Rhydain The Forestor, on the road to Beckery Chapel

Rhydain smiled at the hedge knight and nodded. He shouldered the longbow he had out and stuck a hand put to shake Cadeyrn's

"Itll be good to have some human Company, even a lonely Forestor needs to have people to talk too. Let Salomon get your scent, just incase you know?" Rhydain said as he gestured for the massive dog to approach to smell Caderyn.

"I always enjoy the woods, so does my wife. As a Forestor we live in a cabin on the woods, though mu wife is a lady of the court. We bringing our kids up in both the life of the court and The woods. Anyway im on my way Beckery Chapel via Glastonbri, to worn the monks there of increasing Saxons raids against churches, abbeys, chapels, and monasterys."

Rhydain said as he decided to look around and dismounted.

"Well lets find a place to stow my horse and ill hunt us up some food as you can have a warm meal on a cold day."

"

[Ubaria]

Caydern

"Itll be good to have some human Company, even a lonely Forestor needs to have people to talk too. Let Salomon get your scent, just incase you know?"

Caydern knelt down beside the dog and slowly outstretched his curled hand, allowing the canine to familiarize itself with his scent. Once Salomon seemed content with his presence, he stepped back and re-joined the Forester on the road.

"I always enjoy the woods, so does my wife. As a Forestor we live in a cabin on the woods, though mu wife is a lady of the court. We bringing our kids up in both the life of the court and The woods. Anyway im on my way Beckery Chapel via Glastonbri, to worn the monks there of increasing Saxons raids against churches, abbeys, chapels, and monasterys."

Caydern's faced turned from a cordial smile to a rather sour frown at the mention of Saxons, but rather intriguingly the mention of the chapel hung more on his mind than the Saxon raiders. The place sounded somewhat familiar, though he couldn't place where, or whom, he had heard it from.

"Well lets find a place to stow my horse and ill hunt us up some food as you can have a warm meal on a cold day."

Caydern slowly nodded, following Rhydain as he walked his horse down the road.

"Saxons. Murdering bastards if you ask me, vicious sons of curs. Might be dangerous a ways up to Glastonbri, i'd say you could use an extra sword to go along with those bows of yours no?"

[SaintB]

Beckery Chapel, March 25th, Glastonbri, Dumnonia

The assembly of armed strangers outside the chapel continued to grow with the arrival of a third man and a second woman, each carrying weapons and bedecked in armor; if Judoc had hackles they would be rising by now, something was definitely amiss. Reaching back with his left hand Judoc gripped the handle of his shield and brought it forward from where it had previously hung lazily revealing the crude version of Sir Kay's insignia as he instinctively stepped back to make distance between he and them, "What is this," he demanded of the gathering crowd of people with knightly trappings, "What is happening?!"

As Judoc's fighting instincts threatened to take over Maddux yelled with his booming sergeant's voice for a runner to summon the Captain.
______________

Eachann was the mercenary commander of the makeshift garrison hired to protect Beckery Chapel, a mission handed down from King Constantine himself though he had not told the two dozen mercenaries nor the knights he hired for the job about where it came from and even he did not know the why of it. It had been a long morning for Eachann, the company had only been together for two days and it was straining his abilities as a leader to make the mercs a coherent unit, set up a proper latrine, and arrange drill and sentry shifts for each man. He had just sat for some breakfast of gruel when a runner came to his tent with news, "Sir, You've been called for by the South watch, there seems to be some sort of commotion by the roman road and there is a clutch of armed men by Judoc and Maddux."

Heaving a sigh, the mercenary captain left his quarters again to deal with whatever nonsense his junior officer was involved in, but as he crested the hill by the chapel and looked down he saw that the man spoke true. There was a pair of armed men, each with horses but now dismounted and, there was also a woman nearby, also armed and still mounted; they were within a few paces of Judoc and Maddox with the former beginning to look quite tense. Judoc was a man he knew from past jobs, a good fighter, strong, and smart too, but he had a tendency to let his instincts overrule his senses like his famous grandfather was legendary for. Eachann marched down the hill toward them all and shouted, "Stand back, everyone. Judoc, shield down! Maddux, what is going on here?"

[Anowa]

"What is happening?!"

Geldwine took a few steps back as the guard took a more aggressive stance. Behind him he hear the slight shift of mail. His right hand, still at his side, flashed three fingers, a sign to Siv that this situation was still in control. Though as he recognized the sigils on the man's shield his eyes widened, then narrowed. His suspicions were all but confirmed at this point, something, likely a fae or sorcerer had influenced him to come here. Judging by the collection of two other descendants of the round table's knights, it may or may not have influenced them. His gaze once again moved to the general location of the front against the Saxons.

Whatever reason this collection of individuals was supposed to be, Geldwine didn't think it was for a trap anymore, at the very least it didn't feel like a trap, and he trusted his gut. However, the fact that he could've simply had a fever dream of an old man guiding him through a forest, to this very chapel didn't elude him. So now, all he had to do was wait for some other sign that his theory was right. His eyes then went to the road, winding into the distance.

"Stand back, everyone. Judoc, shield down! Maddux, what is going on here?"

Geldwine simply hummed as he kept looking down the road in either direction. He wouldn't be doing anyone any favours if he tried butting in to explain. Let the guards say their piece, and then, if addressed, explain what Geldwine thought what the situation was. if they believed him, good, if not, he'd simply move into the town and observe from there.

[United Formosa]

on the road to Beckery Chapel

''Os! Os wait!'', her voice pierced the thick and snowy air; it was followed by the rapid crunches of foot hitting snow. ''Would you slow down for a second? Can you even tell me where we're going?''. Osweald turned to face his sister. Even in the sunlight dark shadows carved sharp shadows in his face. His normal fair complexion was red and agitated with lack of sleep. Days of sleepless nights finally manifested themselves in anger.
''We will know it when we see it'', he growled exasperated.
''But-'', Astrid started but was quickly cut off.
''The norns call to me in my dreams smárfugl (little bird)'', he tried to calm himself, but he felt as if he was being driven mad. ''Fate weaves threads through my dreams. I can feel the roots of the world tree pushing me towards something.''

To Astrid this sounded like the same superstitious nonsense Osweald had obsessed over since childhood, but there was something in his eyes; something she had never seen before. A bitter, intense determination like an blazing fire that would only cease when it had consumed everything possible.
They continued walking abreast in silence. Osweald feeling guilty for his outburst, and Astrid wanting to be supportive but afraid. They continued their argument through brief glances. After a few hours Osweald finally relented for enough time to boil some salted fish. Astrid sat a few meters away, trying not to make eye contact.
When the fish was finished cooking he pretended to eat his portion even though he knew that Astrid knew they only had enough food for one of them. He served her the meal and sat down. She ate without saying much until he interrupted the silence with a loud sigh.

''I know it is difficult to understand. Our situation seems hopeless, but I feel it.'', he slapped his chest over his heart a few time, '' right in here. It burns Astrid''.
''Maybe you're dying'', she grinned slightly for the first time today.
He smiled back, ''its quite possible. Maybe it is one of the norns of ill fate calling me to my death''.
Astrid made sour face and rolled her eyes, ''I just don't understand why these signs of yours always have to be dreams. If the gods want something from you this badly why can't they come down from on high and ask you in person. A few details might not hurt either''.

Osweald racked his brain for something smart to say but was interrupted by the heavy dull thud of horse steps. They peered over the small hill separating their campsite from the main road to see a knight in immaculate armor. He was so equipped that he appeared to be lost from some huge battlefield far away. He road off down the road out of sight.
''That. Thats a sign. We are going there''
''A sign of what Os, that we aren’t the only ones out here''?
''That was very clearly a destiny thing''.
''Ok, lets see another''.

They continued to rest for a few more hours. During that time many different people from high knights to mercenaries for some reason travelled through this road all seemingly going to the same place. After each one passed Osweald would stop what he was doing and loudly announce ''Destiny'', until Astrid caved in and with renewed purpose set out in the direction of all the commotion.