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Let’s build some Pendragon characters! (And send them on adventures.)

Round 8

You slump to the floor, your vision clouding. You await another grim blow.

But then, outside, you hear something.

The sound of horses.

In the maelstrom of combat Sol has followed his bodyguarding instincts. Released from the grip of Hospitality he has slightly unceremoniously hauled Rowenna onto her Palfrey and started to mount a rouncy himself.

Sir Idres screams in despair, with Feld blocking the way he will never catch them.

(Sir Idres has failed in his task. He loses his inspiration and suffers the effects of shock.)

2d6: 6 + 2 = 8

4d6: 4 + 2 + 5 + 4 = 15

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Ignore this d20: 15

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Something breaks inside Sir Idres, he looks paler, weaker.

Even as Felds latest strike misses him the sword clatters from his hand. (He was rolling against Sword -7 at this point.)

You cannot help but close your eyes, if only for a moment…

Tell me Dylan, what do you dream of?

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Dylan dreams of fields and open spaces. He’s running through them at harvest time, an earthy smell in the air. He approaches a manor house, quite familiar. He seems to float up through an open window, a woman cradling a baby in a chair is in the room, a tear on her cheek. An overwhelming sense of loss strikes. Unsure how he knows, but someone has just left the room. He rushes to the window and looks out. A man is walking the path from the manor to the village, his back to Dylan, whistling a half remembered tune. He is familiar. Dylan should know him, but something is blocking his memory. Dylan reaches out of the window towards the man, words forming to call out to him, tears streaming down his own cheeks.
But then the world seems to swirl and he’s falling out the window. Falling. Falling. Now in to a great chasm. Dylan’s wounds begin to bleed profusely. Wounds? Where did these come from? Then blackness.


(Abrupt Jump Cut.)

You are awoken by the sound of water being poured into a bowl. You try to turn your head, but your muscles cry out in pain.

Looking up you see the face of a priest, as he sponges your brow.

“Ah, you have returned to us. I know it would not be long.”

At this point Feld enters, he smiles.

“Dylan, stay were you are, It is Sunday afternoon, a time for rest. We do not want you relapsing again.”

(It is approximately 25 hours since you collapsed. Thanks to first aid, and a successful chirgeuire roll you are currently on 11HP)

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“Feld. It’s good to see you.”
Dylan groans from the effort.
“And it’s good to be seen - I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t end up under Sir Idres’ sword.”
Dylan tries to rise slightly.
“But what happened? Where am I? Where is the Lady Rowena?”

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“We are at the church, or more accurately the priests home, he is more skilled in the healing arts than I.” He winces as he sits down, obviously feeling his own wounds.

“The Lady has returned home, for now at least I hear there was much relief. I gather her father had to be held down for a number of hours before he finally relented from his desire to ride here and string up Sir Idres.”

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“And what of Sir Idres?”
“And Sir Joel? Has anyone sent word to him about what has gone on?”

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The Priest seeks to lay you back down.

"Sir Idres is in the manor house, young man. Sir Yerward, his former master has been summoned to watch over him until he can stand trail for his breach of hospitality. Although truth be told, he just stares out of the window. Physically his wounds heal, but he is lost, for now at least.

Feld shakes his head, talking over you to the priest. “It is worse than I feared, father. I am sure Dylan would have remembered the visit of Sir Yerward, this morning. The mans words to shake him from his disheartened melancholy were so powerful…”

He looks at you. “Are you present? Have your senses returned?”

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“Although I don’t recall this Sir Yerward you speak of, I do feel myself again.”
“Apart from feeling more sore than our worst day of practicing with the Quintain with Sir Joel.”
Dylan tries to chuckle but it turns into a wince.
“I’m not sure I could manage a race, at the moment, but I think I could move…slowly, if needed.”

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The old priest gives a nod, and relents. You are allowed to rise.

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(Am I able to move about without doing more damage to myself? )
“Feld, I feel like we need to go speak to the Lady Rowenna and her father. And a I think we should seek to get word to Sir Joel.”
Turning to the priest, “Sir, are you able to write a message and see it delivered to Cholderton?”


Yes you will not be aggravated.

The priest nods.

“It will not be fast, but it can be done. What is the message?”

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Message for Sir Joel: ‘The Lady Rowenna had an incident while riding to Sarum and has safely returned home to Sir Massen’s manor. We are proceeding directly to speak with her and Sir Madden to ensure her safe transport to Sarum.’
Dylan nods to the priest.
“Thank you”
(Assuming there is enough time in the day to make it to Sir Massen’s manor)
“Feld, could you help me ready the horses - let’s make for Sir Massen’s manor.”
(As far as the laws of hospitality go, does Dylan feel it would be necessary to seek Sir Yerward’s permission to leave?)

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(Your hospitality was offered by Sir Idres, consider it discharged.)

The Saddle of your courser is sore on your injuries but you make good time. How do you introduce yourself?

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When we arrive at Sir Massen’s we will politely ask the steward to send word to Sir Massen - the squires from Cholderton/Sir Joel would like to speak with him regarding the recent events with the Lady Rowenna.

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As soon as you open your mouth to speak you are interrupted by a whistle.

A hooded figure beckons you to the stables…

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Dylan gives Feld a nod and they head over to the stables.


Stepping into the dark stables, Aisling smiles at you, before stepping to one side, to reveal Sol. For the first time since you met him, he isn’t fingering a blade.

“Salisbury. Learned nothing from last time I see? Our lord is still ill, and the last few days have caused him much aggravation.”

He lowers his voice.

“I must say he was impressed by your valour when I told him of your spirited defence.”

He waves his arms around like a madman.

“And whatever this was from your young colleague. A knight of Silchester is always a fearsome opponent.”

He grins. “Needless to say you are not welcome in the great hall, but rest assured, a month from today, The Lady Rowenna, under escort of her father will ride to Salisbury to confirm the marriage.”

He presses a small, silvered broach into your hand.

“And the lady of the house asks you accept this as a token of her gratitude to you, feel free to redeem it at a future occasion.”

He bows only slightly sarcastically. “Unless there is anything else, this fine young squire will escort you all the way back to Clatford. I gather the roads can be quite dangerous. Especially the shagging foxes.”


Dylan takes the broach, with a chuckle.
“My thanks, Sol. And please pass on my best regards to Sir Massen. I look forward to passing on my respects at the wedding.”
With a smile and a friendly wink to Aisling, Dylan continues. “And perhaps in a months time you would favour me with a dance. But I warn you I might need your help in that skill as much as I need to continue practicing my sword if I am to face Silchester’s finest again.”
“Shall we make for home?”
With a nod to Feld and Aisling, Dylan stands ready to depart.