It's been Four and a half years since the fall of King Arthur, and near six since Lancelot's betrayal. Most of the knights lay dead wounded or corrupted by curses unforgivable, and what little pockets of resistance that remain simply are candles waiting to be blown out. It is at this time many young heroes, each with their own desires and reasons, have flocked to the epicenter of the dark clouds staining Britannia's sky, the once-emerald fields now a burned and worn brown ash and mud, The trees long since petrified and all life seems to scatter at the sight of steel and leather.

As the foreign knights approached, all they saw from the caravans of soldiers and supplies was what remained of the near shining fortress that was Camelot, now half dirt mound half ash, it seems as though the once great kingdom tore itself apart in grief and defeat without the once and future king to guide them. whether you came on the west or eastern road, your view was the same; A broken down and scarred gate, held by soldiers who looked just as broken as the stones around them. All that was once strong and lively had lost all value, save but the few that remained more stubborn than Arthur's so-called legacy. One such person was Sir Gawain. In the middle of the training grounds, fighting six to one, was an average looking man with sandy blonde hair and a common look to him. He stood his ground fearlessly, even though he was only armed with a simple quarter staff and the training soldiers were allowed training swords and shields.

" Come on then, is this all you have to offer Camelot?! Your families, homes, friends and people are here in this city, and you cant even scratch me!? What will you do when the black banners and their men tear down that gatehouse?! Put your heart into it! See me as one of their twisted soldiers- As if I had just slain your wife or friend, Come on!" his call almost shook the training ground- his bellow like the beat of a drum, and almost in response, the men fighting grew more intense. A perfect reminder, The knights of the round table weren't just knights, and it wasn't just the king who ruled. It took every knight, and every man on the table to make Camelot great, and Gawain was one of the best.

The Training picked up into a rhythm after that as the caravans passed it into barracks and stable quarters. It is here the stories of the 2nd round table begins, and the stories of the new knights of the round table, the rivalry between Pendragon and Du lac, and the revelation of the traitor in their midst as began here, but lets not get ahead of ourselves.



Despite the massively different country sides you came from, the mountainous and hilly western Britannia home to the Welsh, or the low rolling plains in the east that is home to the Saxon, the land you know and love is green and lush, bright and alive, if no less dangerous. This land? It was dead, or maybe even still dying. From the grass, to the people. The once fabled "Golden Kingdom of King Arthur" is now just a big patch of blood, dirt and muck, that even the most trained of warhorse refuses to become comfortable with. Nothing can thrive here, Not even insects. The air itself seems heavy with the promise of violence and decay. Even the sky is black, and clouded like deadly smoke, as if it too sought the death of all life.

It was a few weeks after the news of the stronghold of King Arthur having fallen that you were all shipped out,and most of you were in the caravans that had seen scant remains of the knights of Camelot, a very sad sight to behold compared to the one silver and gold armor that paraded on bright white horses, heralding banners and lances with a shield displaying a proud gold dragon coat of arms. Now it is bleak men in faded armor, with faded leather and mottled horses. Where you stand is your choice form here on out, but there is more than plenty to do. In this section of the large, if slightly ruinous, city is the military district. A large complex of fields, barracks, ranges, and the tracks. Currently you are either in the Welsh envoy, or the Saxon envoy respectively. Both large barracks come with a stable, and many rooms for knights. outside through the large oak and stone halls is the training yard, were many racks and dummies stand for practice and weapons handling, a smithy for repairs, a small chapel, or for the welsh a small circle, for prayers and offerings, and lastly a kitchen. You were not given any orders yet, and Sir Gawain seemed a bit busy on your entrance.



Both Lady Pendragon, and perhaps slightly misled, noble Du Lac had been in Camelot since the fall. Both had intended to confront Sir Gawain and reveal the truth and ask for aid, however since the nightly attacks started there had been little time to talk and convince others. It has been hard the past few months, fending off what seemed like both man and monster from the gates of Camelot. Having seen both of the impersonators in close combat, these two have more than enough to worry about- "How are we supposed to fight two being that fight with the skill and ferocity of entitled Round Table Knights?!" The Answer was simple, and it didn't take a phantom to tell them.

They had a very simple first goal before them. By day gather strength and support, and by Night fend off the gathering waves of enemies. Simple, but far more difficult than most realize. Despite of this, these shining examples of skill and leadership also remained as torches in the dark for the men of Camelot, even under false names. They, along with Sir Gawain, are all that's kept the knights and soldier of Camelot fighting. they were in the upper-reaches of the barracks, sharing one with Sir Gawain's own men. they had ample room and small squads of soldiers themselves. Just what could they be up to?


The Black Banner has many agents, and many means by which to influence the other factions, but none so devious as Camelots Traitor. Both mighty and Vain this traitor fits right in with some of the strongest still left in Camelot, and is not easily found. Regardless, orders are orders, and lately they have been very simple. Stay hidden, Find the heirs, discover which is the true heir, and which is the pretender, and kill what remains of Pendragon. You have tools remaining at your disposal, now all you need to to id find and kill the Pendragon child. Surely they cannot be too old- likely just a lad or lass in the streets, or perhaps already guarded by knights- they could only be about 5 years old- sheer child's play for the person who poisoned the king. Or perhaps not.

Sadly, the traitors information is shaky at best, and while they know the Du Lac child was aged with magic, they know nothing of the poor Pendragon heir who shared a similar fate. Though, the traitor like can deduce the Du Lac Heir has no idea they were raised with speed via Magic. There was no alternative. They simply wouldn't be old enough... Of course this makes erasing a misled heir easier. Then again, who knows just how much the Pendragon heir has to protect them? Merlin did go missing upon Arthur's death, Perhaps he, once again, has hidden a Pendragon heir among knights much like he had done with Arthur himself when he was younger. no matter the cause or outcome, The Traitors loyalty to Camelot is not to be questioned, all of their actions had been done for the sake of a more stable, less corrupt kingdom, one with true virtue and values, not led by liars and sneaks. Perhaps this was not the most Honorable method, but disloyal and dishonest bastards do not deserve a honorable death. Who knows what the Traitor might do next?


Who knows who made or trained the Changelings, and why they would return to the world of man form the fringes of the Fae Lands, but one things for certain. There was quite the few, and Fae iron left most of these abominations useless and broken in the dirt and mud. They were a welcome addition, and they arrived before the Welsh and Saxon knights, and had seen the condition of the crumbling kingdom.



Never did the forest advise aid to the free men of Britannia, but when nature calls and whispers there were two who answered the call. The Noble spirit of Chivalry, valor, and Strength, also known as The Green Knight, and a magical priest and healer from the verges of Bedegraine, a Druid by the name of Traherne Derwen, or as the Welsh Know him, The Iron Oak. They heard the pain someone had put Britannia in, and knew of the virtues King Arthur once sought after. Reacting to the plea of Britannia herself, they came down form the north to bolster the ranks of Camelot, in hopes they might yet save the land from the coming tides of darkness.

They were welcome with open arms by most... Even Sir Gawain did not flinch at the sight of an old foe, and set aside his malice for the old faith to welcome both- though he did not linger despite his better efforts to be hospitable. It was no secret Gawain did not like the Green Knight, though he never spoke of the tension he felt for the being. Most just assumed it was because the Green Knight was a reminder that not every beast of the old world was so easily slain. Gawain was content to let the stories lay, and never bring up the truth. He was not Honest sir Galahad, nor Noble sir Percival, what use does a knight of Honest, other than the steel of his blade and the strength of his sword arm?

He did not mind the Druid as much as the green knight, however, the druid was not without his faults. Men and women who hide behind 'shields of faith' are those unsure of how it will end. Gawain was sure he knew how it would end, and was sure how all would end. It was not based on some plan based on a gods design, or some random circumstance. All of this Magic and faith nonsense was a poison, but then again so was mead and ale. Like any man, he allows people to drink their poison and enjoy it while they can. It will only make life more miserable in the end. He was sure life for the druid here would be no different, and it was of no secret either of how much Gawain thought little of men of the faiths. He did however have to admit, while the Green knight was strong, the druid looked rather intimidating for a simple mage. Large and robust, and a near mountain of a man. Perhaps there was hope for him yet?


Not a lot of people like Gawain's squire, being more brash and arrogant than the slayer of beasts he certainly has the weaponry and strength to uphold the legacy of his current master. However, he's been given his own charge and task, but who's to say he can survive his trials? Regardless, much like the Rest of Gawain's men, he was likely in the yard with Gawain, training. He will have seen the many caravans finally arriving, if a bit lacking on manpower.



It has been a rough decade. The death of the king, the loss of so many knights, and especially the loss of the Queen, who's whereabouts are as of yet unknown, and now the division of the lands into nearly 8 different factions as bedegraine threatens to swallow it all.. Its too much to handle for the common folk. It's a weight like thousands of bags of grain weighing you down. They was dark to most, to the men and women of Camelot, there is no light, and what small glimmers of hope are easily put outs, such as they had seen with King Leodegrance.

Those who haven't lost hope are divided and are more interested in fighting each other in the streets over who was right, The King or the Queen. Those that arent so self absorbed in trying to gain rank and station are admirably helping Gawain try to fight back the hordes of monsters outside threatening to tear it all down. Gawain is right about one thing; These nobles need a reminder that the common folk are more important than pompous prissy dressed up cowards hiding behind hired thugs, but slaughtering them or letting them be slaughtered isn't the way to see justice done, and in the end those little fights mean nothing if Everyone dies. Even then, however, what does anything matter if the attacks never end. . . ?

---

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Lanowen paced the courtyard, overseeing her soldiers' practice. She did not directly take part, except to demonstrate; they could benefit more from her advice than she could from battling them herself. "Don't parry so hard, Ergas," she told him. "You'll only tire yourself out, and you'll be fine either way, whether you make them miss by an inch or a meter." Her advice was good and true, and many soldiers were proud to serve her.

This was hardly the full story, though. Lanowen was tired, they all were. The night raids took the opportunity to sleep from them, and the day was needed to prepare for the next. Even when the opportunity arose, it was difficult. It's impossible to rest easily after something like that, the screams and the clash of sword on sword and the feeling of utter hopelessness as lives are cut short all around you. Lanowen doubted there was a single man, woman, or child in the city who remembered what it was like to sleep without nightmares.

Another of her men had died last night, though "man" was perhaps the wrong word. He, Tretin, swore he was old enough, but Lanowen doubted he was even seventeen years old. They'd been so desperate for recruits, it didn't matter, not to them, anyway. It certainly seemed to matter now.

She knew she shouldn't do this. She was a Pendragon, the last heir of a once-great house. Upon her rided the sake of countless people. If she was supposed to be among the greatest of all mankind, how could anyone expect to succeed while she wallowed in her pessimism? It would not do. She looked to Gawain, the last true Round Table knight. She could never best him in combat, surely no one could. Perhaps he could not win the war alone, but he was an icon, an example, an ideal of courage, honour, and every other virtue you could ask of a person. If anything could win the war, it was this: the best qualities of mankind on display for those not gifted by blood or magical charm to follow, and share in their strengths. This, surely, was what Lanowen must do.

It was then that a commotion began to arise nearby. Two soldiers arguing over something. Lanowen left her soldiers to continue what they were doing, and hopefully defuse the argument before it got violent. It was then that she saw the dark-haired knight arriving, presumably with the same intent. These were not her soldiers, perhaps they were his. She stood to one side and watched, to see what he would do.

---

The Lady Dare strode out into the courtyard, clad in a well-fitting black leather doublet baring her family's sigil in blue, her sword on her hip, and flanked by two of her household guard. The courtyard was a scene of training. Practice swords clashed against each other, men grunted and Nobles and Knights alike watched and called out advice or jeers. Venus scanned the crowd and spotted a few faces from her men. However she wasn't here for training, or even to inspect her guard. She had a matter to discuss between a few of the Nobles. The Lady gestured to her guards that they could be at ease and do as they pleased. She hadn't been here for all that long compared to some of the others, so she had yet to learn the Nobles by face. What she had learned was that there were two Nobles in Camelot at this moment aside from Venus herself; A Lady of whom Venus did not know much about, and a Du Lac who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Perhaps he was a recently legitimised bastard. Either way she needed to find them.

Lady Dare gracefully crossed the practice grounds, hearing a small commotion and seeing a well-groomed woman observing. Silently, she took a place at the other woman's side and watched two soldiers squabble for a moment. Then, putting on her most respectful tone she began to inquire, "Excuse me my lady, you don't appear to be a common Knight. I'm Lady Venus Dare and I would much like to speak with you in private as soon as you are free." Venus rested her hand on the ornate handle of her sword and idly watched an inky-haired knight (noble perhaps?) attempt to break up the argument. Tensions were high it seemed. She could hardly blame them. The Black Banners had stepped up night raids and deprived much of the garrison of sleep. If one were to observe Venus however, she seemed hardly bothered by the dire state of affairs. She wore her typical easy smirk on her porcelain skin and her hair in a long braid adorned with cuffs of silver and bronze along its length. Some might call it disrespectful or in bad taste considering the situation, but Venus would disagree. There was never an excuse for looking badly.

'If the enemy has scared you into not taking care of yourself, they have already won' is what her Father would tell her. He was a veteran Knight and nothing shook him. He would tell her of battles where before dawn you could hear the enemies' horns and the drums of their march and yet he would still rise every morning like he always did and eat and shave. 'Never go to battle on an empty stomach, Venus' he would repeat morning after morning during breakfast before they began their training sessions. It was ingrained into her at this point. Some might call her vain but she didn't care. People would find a way to think poorly of anything you did no matter how pious or noble it might seem. No use worrying about what they thought.

Venus put her hand to her chin and leaned slightly closer to the other woman, "Who is that man?" she asked, gesturing to the man mediating the dispute.

The Green Knight

---

There had only been disappointment since the Green Knights arrival to Camelot. He was aware of the difficulties that the knights of Britannia had been facing, but he had still been expecting some proud knights with life in them still. Instead he was greeted with worn faces from knights that seemed to have lost their will to fight. There only seemed to be a handful of knights left that seemed willing to hold the leaderless country together with only one of the legendary knights left from the Round Table.

The large man had been watching from the edge of the training grounds with his mount by his side carrying all of his equipment. The knight watched as men sparred with each other while others just watched and only a few gave instruction. This Camelot was a sad excuse for a kingdom compared to the golden city that he had visited nearly a decade ago and that was how he was going to help fix the problem. The Green Knight threw his long cloak onto his mount before grabbing his shield and battle ax and striding out onto the training grounds. "You are to soft on these men Gawain. If they cannot hold their ground on this training field how can any of them all themselves knights and soldiers of Camelot."

Lord Hautdesert hit his steel shield with the shaft on his battle ax so that the sound resounded across the field. "Prove your worthiness as defenders of Camelot. Face me in combat and show me that you are worthy to call yourselves knights of Britannia." The knight made himself look imposing as he looked around with a large ax in one hand daring any to step forth.

Traherne Derwen was quite the sight with his large frame wild red hair and mountainous form upon his light colored pony. He did not like the sight that had unfolded in front of him. The land looked dead...and if not dead miserable. His face did not show any of this displeasure but rather his face showed nothing of what he was thinking. He slowly paused next to a nearby tree and removed his glove to place his bare hand upon its withered bark. As his eyes shut it was clear that he seemed to be checking the health of the tree itself. Granted, it was entirely too difficult to tell the results.

Once Traherne was done checking the tree he moved to follow behind the green knight. Once the man stopped Traherne stopped and watched what was unfolding. "I am not sure that is the best way to raise morale" His words were not loud and accented by his welsh nature. He dis mounted Sunstone and stood beside his steed, his tall self adorned in padded cloth armor of blues and greens. Icy blue eyes were now focused on what was about to happen in front of him. If he had to, he would step in. After all, they had just arrived this course of action was not the best way to make an impression.

---

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Apollo had been training nearby to sir Gawain. Though his training was one against one and rather strange. Where his opponent was armed with a blunted sword in his armor, Apollo seemed unarmed. Blood red armor shined in the minimum light and he seemed rather nonthreatening, until the spikes on the gauntlets were more visible. Those paired with Red Marble sheathed at his side made him a lot more threatening. His opponent continually swiped at him and he kept dodging until he heard the arrival of the newcomers then he stepped into punching range and there was a loud thud that resounded as spiked gauntlet met armored chest. The opponent stumbled back as the air left his lungs and wheezes out his finishing of the training with Apollo.

Apollo meanwhile was focused on making his way to the green individual and the one that trained him. As he walked he pulled off his helmet to allow one the newcomer to see what he looked like and two to get a better look at now two new individuals. As he got closer he heard what the green knight said and now looked entirely too eager. "Is that so? Well!" He put his helmet back upon his head and balled up his fists making the spikes that stood on them look rather sharp. "I will take you up on that" He sounded entirely too eager and the stance he took was entirely too cocky, but this was the blood knight. If he did not do something like this in response then he was probably ill at best.

---

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Dorian was rather unimpressed with the current state of the land. It was depressing at best and a rather wild haired welsh man just touched a tree for far too long in the distance from what he could see from his location near the gate. He quickly found himself located nearby the green knight after he had passed, but better able to view the rather interesting fighting style of the one clad in red after all he would much rather be watching that then someone touching a tree. He leaned forward in the saddle of his horse he had been riding before looking over to see the green knight issue a challenge to any of the knights there. Then the knight he had been watching seemed all too eager to accept.

Dorian shook his head and dismounted before making his way closer. Arms crossed and a brow raised as he mentally weighed the chances of who would win. After all, when something like this happens what else is one to do but mentally think about taking bets. He leaned forward to see the dented armor of the one who had gone up against the red armored knight and then straightened and looked at the rather large green knight. Both clearly had their brains elsewhere, but spike gauntlets against axe and shield...not the best odds there. He shook his head and glanced around to see the commotion on the other end and while that looked just as interesting, it was not a fight between a rather cocky individual and a towering mass of green. He glanced at the wild haired red head near him and quickly figured out that the welsh man was just as focused on the events unfolding in front of him as he was going to be now...no hope for conversation there, but no need.

After claiming a knights room and dumping what little extra provisions he had, Arwyn set out to explore. This was Camelot, City of Fables and the Greatest Knights, his steps were swift and full of the optimistic energy of youth as he made his way across the Courtyard.

A clash of metal on metal rang out, distinctly louder than the background clanking of training men.
"Prove your worthiness as defenders of Camelot. Face me in combat and show me that you are worthy to call yourselves knights of Britannia."

Arwyn's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, fixing on the Green Knight's companion. He was not sure from this distance, but as he approached, his certainty grew, the unnatural height, burning locks, the scar.. Traherne Derwen. The infamous Druid was focusing on the unfolding drama in front of him, seemingly tense, ready to intervene. Arwyns hand fell to his sword pommel. Standing close, he couldn't stop a shiver run down his spine, the druid towered over him, hatred like bile filled him up as he spat his words.
"I'm not suprised to find you in the company of abomination, Druid." His eyes flicked to the Green Knight for a moment before resettling on Traherne, glaring "You won't intervene."
In a swift and precise move he drew his sword an inch from the Scabbard, baring blade to the days light.

Drills were hard. She hated them. The same motions repeated over and over until they reached the peaks of oblivion – the same rough, tiring movents dared her and her compatriots to push themselves to the brink. It required that they not peer over the edge, but rather dance on the air. All this to master the tiniest degree of difference in the placement of their feet, the angle of their blades, or the duration of breath until the raids that night. It was grueling but required lest they plummet into the proverbial canyon below and lose their lives. Dame Isolde hated drills. That much had never changed since she arrived in Camelot.

"Come on then, is this all you have to offer Camelot?! Your families, homes, friends and people are here in this city, and you cant even scratch me!? What will you do when the black banners and their men tear down that gatehouse?! Put your heart into it! See me as one of their twisted soldiers- As if I had just slain your wife or friend, Come on!"

"You are too soft on these men Gawain. If they cannot hold their ground on this training field how can any of them all themselves knights and soldiers of Camelot." The Silverwind took a step back as the sound of shaft against metal rang out across the field. She shifted on her feet, turning her hazel eyes toward skyward. "Prove your worthiness as defenders of Camelot. Face me in combat and show me that you are worthy to call yourselves knights of Britannia." She cared not for men of his ilk – measuring each other's genitalia in order to prove they could make this conditioning better than the other. Her perseverance proved itself in her training with Gawain day in and out with little sleep – his challenge suited her well, this man's seemed, to her, excessive. Thankfully, another knight stepped forward to accept the man's challenge.

All for the best, she thought bitterly, allowing herself to stretch and appreciate the feel of the air for a little. She had little desire to play into this man's game. She was here for one reason: to return Camelot to its former glory so she could, once again, return to her travels. Training as it was would see that – tiring herself out against a man who thought himself better would do nothing. She took a deep breath. The rest, however slight, would surely help.

---

Arryn had been staying in Camelot for a few months or so, she hasn't been counting. Though most assemblies were the same in terms of content, and it was normal for the culture of Camelot; there was no way of distinguishing the current state of Camelot than what was currently happening of that moment. Was it time to enter the fray? Not yet. As she took a step closer a booming voice exclaimed.

"Prove your worthiness as defenders of Camelot. Face me in combat and show me that you are worthy to call yourselves knights of Britannia."

"These knights must really fear this one to partake in this type of Training." Stated Arryn, she then moved a bit closer, lessening the gap between her and the other knights. Is this what they consider fun in Camelot? Whatever it was, she won't allow anyone to fall. She ran her fingers on the little sun crest by her left shoulder and slowly marched her way towards the man who asked to prove these men's worthiness.

Arryn stood under the sun for awhile, letting her shield be blessed by the sun before she would do anything, it is common for her to do such a thing before a battle. From where she was stood, she had could see the man enough behind all the other men, examining him from afar. It was then she figured that he was no ordinary man, he was a druid. It was at that moment her eagerness grew, like a child who hadn't played in awhile. Though it is a stretch comparing the Bright Dawn to a child, she was more of an elderly sister type of person who wishes to protect those in danger.

It is time

She drew her shield and raised it slightly above her head, feeling the warmth of the sun on it's base as she readied herself to join the fray.

Elisabeth had been with the wounded ever since the last night's attack had ended. Many were mostly fine now, and some were even making their way out to the training field as they decided to push themselves back into the fray. She supposed that it was good they hadn't lost the will to fight when they got hurt, but it still worried her that they also didn't seem very courageous, not hoping for anything more than 'to survive another day'. They were motivated by fear and hurt, where they should have been trying to draw on their bravery, loyalty, and hope for power to get through these horrible battles.

Currently she was kneeling at the side of a rather young soldier, finishing up tying a bandage over a wound on his arm. "You're a bit lucky, you know? The cut wasn't so deep you needed stitches."

"Aye ma'am, but I still nearly bled out." He began to stand as soon as the bandage was secure, wincing slightly as he tried to move the arm to stretch. She 'Tsk'ed at him as she too stood, dusting off her skirt and adjusting the strap of her quiver's belt over her chainmail before reaching out to him and putting the arm at his side.

"Don't move around a whole bunch yet, it needs to heal some before you go swing a sword around again." He huffed at her words, but didn't say anything yet. "And, you're overreacting a bit. It wasn't that much blood, really."

"How was that not a lot of blood to lose?! I felt like a Waterfall!"

"I have seen so much worse." Her voice was calm as she met the soldier's gaze. The moment lasted just a second, and then it was over. She smiled brightly as she spoke again. "So, if you're going to run out there and try to train, like I know you want to, just take it easy. Alright?" After a second he nodded to her and then ran off. "Come back if you turn back into a waterfall!" She laughed quietly to herself as she turned to look back at the rest of them in the room with her. Most of the ones that hadn't left to train were only still there because they'd fallen asleep, while others were simply so wounded that they couldn't walk themselves out into the mess of swords and shields. None of them needed her right now though, so She decided to go check on the one who had left.

As Elisabeth weaved her way through the crowd, she pulled someone aside every few steps or so, asking each one how they felt and if they wanted her to help them with anything at all. Suddenly, a loud crashing sound rang out over the training grounds, and her attention was pulled to one of the newcomers, just as he decided it was a good idea to challenge the entire camp to a fight. "Oh dear..." She moved towards the scene, and got there just in time to see an all-too-familiar Knight step forward and accept the foreigner's challenge. Apollo Solais, the Blood Knight, and apparently the one person dumb enough to believe he is invincible.

"What a way to go..." She sighed as she spoke, not quite as quietly as she'd meant to, "I give it ten seconds until he's on the ground. Five if the idiot's lucky." She crossed her arms, shooting a very pointed look at Apollo before continuing, a little bit louder. "Maybe all that fancy red armor has blinded him to the fact that he, too, can bleed."

---

"Again!" The word rang out across the camp, for days, weaks. Many of these young men found it to be a source of pain, or anger. There was a thud as sand shot up from under a fallen recruit, who was begrudgingly starting to get up. In front of him was a towering older knight, a thick black patch covering his right eye. A number of others were watching the drill, which was a simple disarming tactic. The older gentlean would allow himself to be disarmed by anyone that was actually doing it right.

As the boy stood up to have another go, Gideon raised has hand, listening carefully. A challenge of some kind? "Practice with eachother." He says rather bluntly as he heads towards the commotion, where a small group was gathering for this. It appeared as though the ancient green knight issued it, Gideon had seen him ince, very long ago now. However, the thick skulled blood knight was starting to step forward, and Gideon himself moved to interrupt.

He stepped rather openly into the challenge area, coming up beside the blood knight and sending out his left hand to smack the boy in the back of the head, much like an elder brother would to a foolish younger ones. He'd broken up more tavern brawls in a month and fought more people in them than half of those here had ever met, and this in fighting wasn't going to happen if he had a say.

"Get back to your training you damned brat." Gideon says to the blood knight, frowning with that fatherly disposition as he looks around. "Are you daft? Trying to fight now? Right now? We have much bigger things to worry about, and you!" He looks to the green knight, gazing directly into where he believed the eyes should be. This man was around longer than anyone he knew could remember, so Gideon chose to believe the story about him being a magic entity.

"You're going to step out here, swinging around challenges? You think someones ability to hit a daft dult like you measures their ability to serve their kingdom? You're a magic man yea? If they didn't give you a damned cock, stop trying to compensate for one and go be useful somewhere instead of trying to swing your axe around to pretend that a single person here should respect ya, your opinion on who is worthy is rat's ass without our king."

He turns back, looking to the blood knight, of which he expected might not be happy about the little slap. Gideon's accent seems to grow a bit thicker as he scolds them, though at no point does he serm enraged. "And you ya damn clod, don't go rushing into any duel you can. We lost much of our home, don't throw our honour with it. Nobody, and I mean nobody, tells you whether you are good enough, and stepping up to try and prove it just because some cunt yells some words around either means you don't have your confidence, or your skull is too thick and focused on the fight to care."

"Anyone steps up to fight this man is worth about as much as the dirt they're standing on." He concludes, beginning his trek slowly back towards the training group. "You want to be worthy, you'll be a savior or someone who died as one. Not sparring around to play a game of 'I have the biggest fackin wank.' Ya hear? Go do something."

Where other knights were pushing themselves in training or perform some other important (or sometimes unimportant) duties, Sir De Vigny had retreated into a relatively dark and quiet room that he had claimed for his own in order to lay down for a restless nap. Some might have judged him poorly for doing so but if the last few months of nightly assaults had taught him anything, it was the value of rest. Where other knights and lords only had to worry about the physical strain of battle, Fortune's additional duties and oaths as a healer and a doctor meant that he to wage a different breed of war long after the abominations in the dark had been pushed back for another day.

He had learned the hard way long ago that if you pushed yourself for to long without rest, all that he would end up doing was be a risk to those in need of medical care; In his darker moments he couldn't help but ponder how many lives had been lost needlessly because he had made the wrong call when it came to treatments, mistook a patient who was treatable to be too far gone to be worth spending their increasingly limited supplies on to try and save a dead man. Such self judgements often made his rest... uncomfortable, but required all the same. Besides, he could trust the injured to the care of Lady Briar for an hour or so.

As it increasingly became clear that he wouldn't be getting much more in the way of rest at this time, Fortune sighed as he forced himself to get back on his sore, aching feet and get dressed. Favoring the cloth of a doctor rather then the plate of a knight, he still ensured that his sword was sheathed at his side as he walked down towards the training grounds to see what kind of injuries had been sustained so far and to try and set some steps in motion to get some of his nightmares under control.

Blinking and shielding his eyes with his hand as he stepped out into sunlight, he waited for a moment for his vision to adjust before he paid attention to the... situation that was developing between some knights that he hadn't seen before and the red wearing trouble maker that he had been forced to treat the sparing partner of on more then one occasion. As Gideon stepped in to stop the challenge before it had began properly, Fortune nervously rubbed the ring on his right hand with his thumb in order to steel himself for what he was going to do next.

At Gideon's statement to 'go and do something', Fortune seized his chance to step forward and loudly call out in order to get the attention of those gathered "If anyone needs something to do, I've got a task that needs to be done. We're running low on healing herbs, medical regents and even basic linens and cloths for bandages and we need to resupply. Since I know that most of you couldn't tell nightshade from an apple tree, I want to get two parties organized; One being lead by myself and a few others who can recognize what items we need to seeking out herbs and regents while a second group goes out to salvage cloth and linen from abandoned holdings and houses."

Taking a deep breath, Fortune knew in his heart that he was going to have to sell the latter group a bit. "Before you argue, I know. I am aware that going through abandoned homes and holdings for cloth and linen is not a task filled with glory or honor but it needs to be done. If the owners have fled for their lives and safety then when this war is over and peace restored to these lands I know for a fact that many of you will help them resettle however you can. If the owners are dead... then they no longer need such mortal items and they can be used to help keep the living from joining them without guilt."

Months. Months of siege, of watching men's hearts dwindle and falter. Not that it was over much new to Hexe Hallelven-Lorrens- the daughter of the bluest of blood, yet still a bastard to her core. Leaning against the bunched withers of her chestnut mare, the woman breathed in the scent of horse, straw, and manure that was too common in the stable. The mare didn't have a name. Her instructors had drilled her to never name a thing, enforcing it by making her melt down the sword she had once so proudly and fondly called 'Magic Splitter'. A child's dream ended a child's life, they had said. Her brown eyes studied the hollow faces on the training field as she agreed fully with her masters-at-arms. People were desperate, despairing, and if it got them a bit of spite she would slaughter the battle steed that had been so carefully trained and had saved her life several times over.

She gave the mare a pat, relieved that the day that would happen would not be today. Thus far she had held back on the 'grounds. Playing the peasant warrior. The wandering hedge knight. Hexe supposed this was true enough. Surreal Mirrors was such a person, she was easy to laugh and smile. To jocky with her comrades and fight as fiercely as any man. Striding onto the field she watched as Gwain knocked his puppies to the side and admonished them for their lack. She didn't spare them a thought- they would die soon enough if they weren't strong enough. Watching as people moved about the field she gave a detesting snort at Apollo as he challenged the Green Knight. "Bets anyone?" She muttered just loud enough anyone who was interested could hear and possibly accept, knowing stopping this was unlikely. Men had a stubborn streak that made her often think they were related to mules. Perhaps if her luck was good and her wits still intact she could nab herself a few pointers with the bow. A shiver ran up her spine slightly at the thought. A delightful lick of thrill. Her instructors had hated her use of the bow- granting her enough to feed herself upon the road but no more.

---

Davrem would wait for the two conversing to finish before so much as breathing. He did not enjoy traveling this way, his usual method of transportation did not involve strange magics and instantly whisking from one place to the next. He would beat his armor lightly as he looked down at himself after Morgan’s leave. Slowly the shadows would fade from him, as though he were beating dust from his leathers after a long days ride. Standing before the party was yet another man, although this man was not as tall as most knights present.

Davrem was hardly a Sir, in fact he looked to be nothing like a knight. On his side was a long handled small headed hammer that looked only just heavy enough to be useful as a weapon. On his arm was a decent sized round shield that seemed to be plastered with crudely made paints that formed a strange orange symbol. On his left hip hung a large dagger, likely used for hunting. If it were not for the well made buckles and knee guards, one could easily mistake him for a barbarian.

As the shadows faded completely, his figure could be easily seen in full color. His armour? Well, he did not wear much for armor. Where his shield could not cover he had studded leather with iron rings and several small scavenged plates to give guard for his other arm. His shield was well made, however it’s age shown greatly as it had seen many a good fight- and looked ready to see a great many more thanks to its owner’s care. He wore a red cloth around his waist leaving only his shield arm bare. His long beard shown the life of a man who spent little time around others. His hair was longer than his beard, however he had enough sense to tie it in a ponytail so that it would not get in the way during a fight.

Davrem let out a grunt before moving his hand to shoo away the feathers. “Magic. Hrrn.” He would look around, as though he had only just arrived. Having well heard what Morgan had said, he quickly shot out a gruff “Names Davrem. Don’t gotta last ‘n.”. He looked around, having no idea what had been going on only moments before. He looked very comfortable despite having just appeared through shadows, however he still had a light black swirl in his ponytail that he had missed.

---

Lanowen tilted her head slightly, so that Venus was visible out of the corner of her eye, when the other knight spoke to her. Not a common knight? Was it so obvious? She didn't show it, but this worried her somewhat. She decided, as usual, that hiding her identity would be best, for now, at least. Both the late king and her father had been killed by assassins, when rightly they should have died in battle for just cause, sword in hand. She would not suffer the same fate, and doing so meant hiding her talents. For that reason, she replied "Have you been talking to my soldiers? They are far too generous in their opinion of me; truly, I am little besides a knight, and perhaps a hard worker."

Lanowen observed Venus for a moment before continuing. She was surprisingly well-groomed, how she had found the time to be so, Lanowen was unsure. Perhaps she needed to reconsider her priorities, perhaps not; they had not met before, so Lanowen did not know how much of a help Lady Dare was. Certainly, she must have been at least somewhat capable in order to have lived this long. "Still, Lady Dare, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Lanowen Heptaltac. As for the man over there," she continued, "I do not know him, though... he does seem to have a certain aura about him. How quaint."

Lanowen had her suspicions about him, but she kept them quiet for the time being. She had heard herself described before, and she saw a few shards of these in him. Perhaps she was wrong, more than anything she just hoped that she wouldn't be recognised.

"However," she said, turning at last to face Venus fully, "your other request, I can fulfill. You want to speak in private? I can avoid being missed for a few minutes, at least, with all this going on." Lanowen gestured towards Gawain and The Green Knight alongside the last remark. All that drama should provide a few minutes, at least. Before checking they weren't being watched, she turned towards a nearby, narrow passageway, looking behind her to make sure Venus was following. In there, they should be out of sight, and out of earshot as long as they kept their voices down.

---

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Lady Heptaltac. I hope you can forgive my sudden appearance." Venus accompanied her reply with a stiff, yet still graceful half-bow. It was important to show proper respect to knights, even one who was technically below her status (although with the quality of her equipment, her family could easily be richer and more powerful than her own, though she did not recognise the name.) Lady Dare patiently waited for Lanowen to finish her look-see of Venus and respond to her small talk. Such pleasantries were vital if one desired to navigate the rough waters of the landed gentry. At long last- all of a minute or two-- the other woman turned and indicated she could spare a few minutes to hear Venus out.

Lady Venus Dare tailed Lady Lanowen into the narrow causeway and checked to make sure no one was in the vicinity (mostly out of habit) before she turned back to Lanowen and began to speak in a hushed tone. "I have reason to believe there is a traitor in our midst, perhaps amongst the nobles or knights, and I am trying to assemble a few leal knights to help me root out this dissent." She paused a moment before continuing, "Your men spoke highly of you, and of your service in battle, so I have some reason to trust you. But I will need your help finding a third member of our little inquisition."

Venus peered over her shoulder again for safety's sake before turning back. Her guards were watching and jeering at the crowd that had started to form in the training ground, and there didn't appear to anyone else around. Still, she felt slightly uneasy. About what, she could not say. The dark haired woman rested her hand on her sword and leaned against the wall. She made a mental note to commandeer a room in the castle next time so they would not be forced to meet in an alley like common footpads.