The Perilous Forest

Wolstan is not so keen to just turn the brute loose, injured or no. His sword is still drawn and the tip of it circles in the air near the beast-man's face as the other knights interrogate him. Then, he lowers his blade and stalks into the brush -- to see where the man came from, or if there are more like him still in hiding.

Sir Gareth seeing what Wolstan is up to takes his place by brandishing his sword near the creature's face.

"Well? Who are you? What are you about? Are there more of you skulking in the woods?"

Wolstan finds a small hollow, partly ambush place and part burrow. The man clearly sleeps here and ambushes passersby. His belongings are meager, no more than bones, but there are a few bottles and a larder (food pouch). The pouch is cleverly made, but crude. This isn't the handiwork of British or Saxons, but something else.

Gareth convinces the peasant to pee, his ripe smelly urine splashing as terror loosens his bladder uncontrollably. He says nothing but groans and moans in mortal anguish.

"Egad, man! Sir Gareth backs up hastily, wrinkling his nose as he goes. Looking at the others he shakes his head and suddenly feels sorry for the pathetic brute.

Sheathing his sword and keeping his distance from the stench he decides on a different tactic. I am sorry we have frightened you but you frightened us. May we speak as one friend to another? Tell us what troubles you so. Look, I have put away my sword. We will not harm you if you make no move to harm us. Perhaps we can even help you?" Again Sir Gareth looks to the others, but this time it is to entreat them to do the same.

From the brush, Sir Wolstan calls out, unaware of the man suddenly urinating, and of Heath's hilariously hasty retreat. "I think the primitive fool was alone... but I don't know that we can leave him. He'll frighten and injure travelers less stalwart than we."

Emerging from the side of the trail, the big man frowns at what he sees, but decides to not call further attention to it. "We should bind the simpleton, then later collect him and take him back to the Earl."

"That might be the right thing to do indeed, sir Wolstan. But let's haste, we lost enough time with this poor lad already!" abounds Sir Wilfred.

Sir Gareth shrugs his shoulders. He has little investment in the man after all. "Then let's make haste with it."

With some effort, but no real difficulty, you bind the troll-dressed peasant to a tree. He whimpers, wanting to get away, but does not fight overly hard, fearing your swords (and your obvious willingness to use them).

With the ambusher dealt with, Maid Maude and Fenwick (each with mixed reactions, Maude clearly applauding the valour, while Fenwick wonders what use keeping him alive is) have held your horses in check and are ready to proceed with you.

"I do hope he's okay. Perhaps he is bewitched by some curse?" She doesn't sound like she believes that, only wondering what could drive someone to such lunacy.

Gregor is somewhat unsettled with the idea.

"My fellow knights are we about to leave this brute of a man bound to a tree to suffer thirst and hunger and be pecked at by vultures on the grounds he pissed himself? He attacked us so he deserves to be brought to justice or get run through by our blades in his resistance. But to leave him tied to a tree, seems a bit primitive on our part. Can we even predict when we may be back to deliver the wretch to the Earl?"

"That's a lot of effort and time lost for this lad. Let's bind his foot to a tree and be done with it!" answers Sir Wilfred, eager to be on his way.

"My fellow knights. We are wasting precious time on this. Why not draw straws and come to a decision?" Sir Gareth looks around for something that will do as a straw and picks up four different-sized twigs. "Shall we? he asks, as he arranges them in a closed fist. "Who shall draw? The knight with the longest twig decides on the outcome of this dilemma."

Holding out his fist, he waits for a response.

Gregor concedes, not wishing to cause the other knights to pry into his mind and motives and perhaps uncover any clues of his true low-bred origin. The idea does still unsettle him and the activity of leaving a human being tied to a tree is not the approach he imagined knights of King Arthur would take. But he thinks…who are the real knights after all, not he. He will certainly concede to the plan of the experienced Sir Wolston and the others.

"There is no need, Sir Gareth. My sentiment is in the minority. We should stick to Sir Wolston's plan"

Wolstan is already horsed as he voices his own opinion.

"The man will live, or he won't. That's God's decision, not ours. We'll return this way -- we are not barbarians -- and we will see what the holy trinity has fated for the fool. Come, time, and light, is wasting."

Gregor nods to Sir Wolston and then retrieves his horse from Fenwick and Maude quickly thanking them for attending to the horses during the ordeal. He mounts and falls in behind Sir Wolston.

"Very well then, let's be off." Gareth mounts his horse who paws the ground anxious to be away.

With the 'troll' secured, you ride off.

Several hours later...

The forest grows darker, the road narrower until you ride single file. The trail winds up and down hillsides, through tight ravines and around strewn boulders. A sense of being watched grows.

Still, you're no mean courtiers in danger of being waylaid by peasants dressed as trolls, and so when you ride into the possible ambush, you're not caught flat footed.

A man steps onto the path. His clothing is simple, perhaps primitive, and you recognize from accounts that this might be one of the Picts that so vexes the Earl. He holds a shortbow and grunts a question at you in a somewhat musical but unknown language.

From the trees around you, you hear the creak of other bows being drawn. The moment is poised on a razors edge.

Gregor speaks quietly to his companions, out of the ear shot of any men in the woods or the one ahead on the road, "I sense we are out numbered. Perhaps our best chance is to inquire about Veringvox. This could possibly be the man before us."

Sir Wilfred nods at his companion, not saying a word.

Taking Sir Wilfred’s nod as an invitation to proceed and also hoping to regain the confidence of his fellow knights after his former outburst Gregor calls out to the man standing on the road,

"Our Company consists of four knights of King Arthur of the Britons and two we delivered either from the law of the south or its lawlessness. We are not quite sure yet. We Journey to the North in the quest for truth, and we seek the one who leads the northmen named Veringvox in the hope he can aid us our quest in the name of King Arthur."

A knight tempered by the battlefield, and by the upheaval Arthur had finally quelled, Sir Wolstan is wary of their predicament, and silently wonders if an immediate charge is a better option than parleying at the moment. But Sir Gregor has made his move, so now their play is to see what comes in response.

His hand on his sword's pommel, the stout warrior lowers his visor, prepares to wield his shield and turns to try and mark the numbers surrounding them.

"He might not know the English tongue," he says quietly to the others. "Be ready to ride out of this ambush."