Ser Giles de Cerneau, Knight of the Duke's Household and one of the most famous knights in Brittony, was having a damnable time trying to start a fire.

It had rained for nearly three days straight, a ghastly torrent of water that seemed unending; indeed, by the latter half of the third day Ser Giles was all but certain that the second Genesis flood was upon them, and he and his party were most unfortunately without an ark. Thankfully, the downpour had abated by the present day's morning, but the area remained drenched and horribly muddy — in many cases, the rivers and streams his small party had needed to cross had flooded, rendering the fords known to them useless. The detours they had to take in these cases had set them back days. Ser Giles had expected to be in Poitou by now, but as best as he could tell, they had barely made it into Anjou. With their horses exhausted, he had been forced to call camp for the day just north of the banks of the Loire river.

And now he was in charge of lighting their cooking fires, except he had been entirely unable to find a single damnable piece of dry kindling, and for God's sake why wouldn't the spark catch—!

He sighed and massaged his temples in an effort to cool his temper. The poor weather and hard travelling had gotten to him, he had to admit. When he had first taken charge of this quest, he had been unable to quell his excitement for a moment in the days leading up to the beginning of their journey. After all, it had seemed like a situation plucked straight from a romantic fairy tale, and he had always loved playing the part of knight-in-shining-armour. His Lord's betrothed, a princess in need of saving from a jealous King? He had positively burned with glory-lust. Yes, he had soured a bit at the odd set of companions the Duke had seen fit to provide him with, but his enthusiasm was not truly diminished until the terrible trek from Brest to their present camp.

Ser Giles sighed again, and pushed such thoughts from his mind. A poor start to a journey, true, but he needn't make it a portentous one. He turned his attentions back to the task at hand — namely, creating a fire. He took up his flint and steel and shaved sparks onto a charred cloth until it finally caught an ember. He almost shouted in relief, before he realized he hadn't built a nest of bark and tow to catch the ember. He had to start again.

I am a fool.

He could feel his companions' eyes on him, certain that they were judging him. What sort of leader, a famed man-at-arms no less, couldn't start a simple fire?

Ser Giles scowled, reached for a handful of damp tow and birchbark, and built a small bird's nest out of them. He leaned over the cloth again, precisely striking the flint with the steel until it sparked, lighting the char—

He dropped it into the tow and bark and gently blew—

The fire caught. He dropped twigs into the blaze until it grew steady, then built a cabin of wood split from his rondel dagger. He was absurdly proud of his little fire, and thought that if he drowned crossing the Loire tomorrow then at least he would have started a damned cooking fire before he died.

Ser Giles rose from his crouched position, groaning a bit at his stiff knees, and turned to his companions.

"Time to cook!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Some time later, when they all sat on logs and rocks around the fire and ate their stew in silence, Ser Giles tapped on his bowl and cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose it's about time we all made our introductions. I think the recent weather has dispelled any illusions at this being a quick journey, yes?" He smiled, a hint of self-deprecation in it, and continued. "I'm sure you all know me of course, but I am Ser Giles de Cerneau, and I have been charged with leading this little expedition in its endeavor to conduct my Lord's betrothed, the Princess of Savoy, safely to Brest." He takes another spoonful of stew, before gesturing to the person to his left. "And you are?"

The bald man's eyes were closed, hands clasped above his knees where he sat. He was mouthing quietly to himself, not imposing his prayer over the meal upon his companions. He did not doubt their faith- otherwise he'd invoke Inquisition- but he knew that, often times, prayer was the farthest thing from traveller's minds. Especially with weather as dreary and dreadful as this. Hugo for his part asked for blessed weather in the days to come- his horse had much trouble travelling through the mud, and he'd even dismissed his valet due to the horridness.

He pulled his hands apart, his prayers complete, and lifted a sparse loaf of bread to his lips and bit into it with a single strong bite, pulling the bread away from his face as he chewed. His oaths required him to abstain from meat for all but three meals of the week, and on the beginnings of a journey Hugo preferred to keep to bread. Once his mouth was clear, he finally spoke;

"Ser Hugo Le Guen, Master Templar of the Bretons, master commander of the Commanderie of the Isle of Belle-ile. At the lord's service, and yours for the moment."

His eyes scanned over the group as he held his meagre meal in his hands. The women made him a smidge uncomfortable- his oaths forbade even coming into contact with women- but here they were, chosen by the Good Duke for their services. He wouldn't let his sensibilities come between him and a quest, however, and they were welcome companions so long as they kept the faith and kept to the job.

"I am a survivor of the Crusade for Sussex, where we were repelled by the pagans of England. I lead the vanguard in the crusade, and was both the first and last out of the combat. I take my vows seriously, I take my duties seriously, and I take this quest seriously." He said simply, taking the time to wash his throat with a sip of water. "But I will say this; I will put my faith in each and every one of you, and I expect and implore you to put your faith in me. Trust and co-operation will ensure our success."

He took another bite of his loaf of bread, chewing slowly and deliberately. After another few seconds of chewing he swallowed, drank another sip of water.

"Gloria ad Deus." He concluded in Latin. The man, in his white mantle and bearing his multitude of weapons, left the air to another of the company.

Holding a hand out, the blonde youth poured a small amount of her water into the palm before setting the water-skin aside. Rubbing both of her slender hands together, she ensured they were both clean before she even thought about her meal. Once they were purified to a satisfactory level, she joined the holy man in his moment of prayer and began to eat.

Though she did not have such qualms over meat, she ate quietly and made little visible movement while chewing. Hearing the introductions, the girl noted just what capacity of folk she had found herself in the company of before she swallowed the piece of deer she had partaken of.

"My lady has given me the alias Concordia for this mission. She informed me it is the name of an old Roman Goddess that presides over marriage. I suppose she found it fitting for a task like this. I am very familiar with negotiations and the workings of merchants."

Slowly reaching up, she pulled her hood down slightly, hoping to mask her discomfort in such conditions. Under scrutiny, it was painfully obvious to even a child that she was not used to being in the woods like this. Frequently shifting a bit on the log in a vane attempt to find comfort, and the shuddering from her rain-soaked attire.

Sitting on logs, with no wine, no spice, no music. Nothing! How did people live like this?!

Finally, Concordia had enough. Getting up from the log, she walked over to her belongings and produced a wooden flute as she spoke, with a tinge of pride in her voice, "I am also trained in music!"

With that, she brought the instrument up to her lips and began to play a soft, gentle tune for her companions.

Alfred's eyes widened a little in surprise at the Knight's tale of crusade and conquest - that being, crusade against Sussex, and the conquest of his attempt. It was impressive that he had survived - even Alfred Grimm would have thought twice about confronting druids on their home territory. Not quite impossible, but more than daunting. His talk of pagans was concerning in its tone, however. Alfred resolved to try and keep a lid on his own views, for now.

Then, he suppressed a chuckle - a practice he had become adept at during his time at court - at the sight of Concordia. A spy, apparently, but also a spy with no taste for the wilderness, and no love of the darkness in the heart of the woods. He trusted that she would prove useful - but he trusted equally that when she did, it would probably not be at foraging for food, lighting fires, or stalking prey in the forest.

"I am Alfred Grimm, and I serve as advisor in all things arcane to our mutual liege lord, Ser Giles. I come from England, where I was originally trained as a Mage and had originally practiced as a magician. I am also familiar with the pagans you speak of, Ser Hugo - druids, mostly. Their connection to the natural world is remarkable, and it makes them fearsome opponents on their own land. Your crusade was brave, and your survival very impressive."

For a moment, he paused, stretching and turning away from the now empty bowl on the ground by his feet. He had been stretching often over the course of their journey, more to feel the rainwater on his skin than anything else. He was no Druid, but magic was as natural as anything, and most mages draw great enjoyment from the environment. Alfred was no exception.

"I follow the Hermetic tradition of sorcery, and am also capable of arcane study, ritual magic, summoning, and some degree of alchemy." He drew a hand up in front of him, closed his fingers into a fist, and then gently spread them again to reveal the warm glow of flames in the palm of his hand. "Perhaps most importantly, I am quite adept at counterspelling. Should we encounter other mages whose goals counter ours," the flames went out, their bodies turning green as their presence on the Annwn plane was dispersed, "I should be able to handle them." He smiled broadly.

Tristan looked around the circle. Ser Giles and Magus Grimm, he knew, but the others, this mismatched team of individuals - he had very little knowledge of.

The two mercenaries - mage and soldier both with their own skill sets that would be invaluable on this quest of the Duke’s. The girl, Concordia - by far the youngest of their group, though admittedly seconded by himself - he couldn't get a gauge on her. Expected from a spy. The Templar was no doubt the most experienced of the group, if only for his title. He had seen multiple battles, travelled great distances - but then again, he had always travelled with his brothers-in-arms, a luxury they did not have here. Everyone was a stranger here.

He had eaten silently, but only spared a moment for his own prayer. If God wanted him to be thankful, He could stand to have let the rain not rain so heavily! But no matter... the food was poor fare anyway, nothing like he was used to. None of this was like what he was used to. Their ultimate goal, yes, that was familiar; a woman, instead of documents or secrets, needed to be retrieved. It’d be easy enough to manage. But everything in between would be difficult.

When Grimm finished his introduction, Tristan felt eyes turn to him. He wasn’t sure whose, or even if it was anyone at all.

“Tristan Veneti, of House Veneti. I serve as my brother’s representative in court, while he attends to affairs at home. The Duke saw fit to command me to join you all on this mission, and who would I be to refuse? I’m not among the most experienced of travellers, nor of men, but I can serve this venture in my own ways, you can be sure of that.”

He met Ser Giles’ gaze, with the shine of a smile in his eyes, but not from his mouth.

“I put myself in your care.”

Aurélie ate her stew with the fervor of a starving animal; Quiet, suspicious of the others and arguably taking as much as she could. Who knew how long they'd go before another meal? If Ser Giles intended to continue command over future firepits, they may never eat again. What manner of leader can't start a simple fire? Not that she envied the attempt in these conditions, but she wasn't about to step in unless it was life or death, or these stiff nobles started exercising their right to boss her around.

She paused in her quest for a full belly and stared at the knight as he spoke, weighing his words against the stormcloud impression he'd held up to this point. Nothing is ever as quick, painless or easy as it is imagined in the tales. She smirked to herself, pondering what they'd write of this when it was said and done. In the company of knights and nobility, she doubted she would make much of a character for any fledgling troubadour.

Any aspiration to mirth drained from her as the templar - Ser Hugo - spoke up. His stiff devotion to playing the part he's chosen put her off before they even left Brest, and his tale of bravery in England did not aid matters. Aurélie stiffened in turn. Templars are dangerous. It doesn't matter what you believe, do or say. If a templar thinks you wicked, they will not stop until you are dead. What few stories she'd heard, observed and what she gathered from Ser Hugos' words led her to one simple conclusion; Watch what you say and do. Men devoted to faith - and worse, men of honour - had notoriously foreign views on how the natural world should operate.

It wasn't long until the next voice sounded off, and Aurélie got the first real look at the only other woman around. Just a girl, though invariably exactly as she'd come to know the wives and daughters of nobility and the rich; Pretty, delicate, unpleasantly dramatic. Still, it made perfect sense to bring a negotiator to a quest like this, and given enough grace, she'd be sure to soothe any unpleasantness. So long as she didn't break into pieces along the way. Aurélie watched the girl take to her instrument, falling into a momentary lapse as she listens and merely ponders her own situation. Knights and nobles. Saving a-.. what was it? Princess? Why did she get dragged into this?

The warm flare of green shocks her enough to send her back into the present, and to catch the last of the Magus introduction. He earns himself a stiff sneer for his theatrics, albeit warily so. She isn't surprised there's one of them along, but she doesn't have to be pleased either. Another one to watch out for.

So it is that the next member of their assembly is a welcome relief. The man known as Tristan Veneti appears to be the counterpart of the young Concordia: A noble fop with no skills of note outside of their regal courts. He even admits to having no experiences. Just another man to protect on the road. Doubtful he'll even have a mind to look her way.

Chomping down on a particularly hard-fought bit of stew at the bottom of her bowl, she ponders her predicament. Why is she here? Amid nobles, knights, and mages? Shifting on her comfortable log seat, she puts her bowl aside and comes to rest an elbow on the hilt of her arming sword, leaning back to regard the group.

I am here because I am expendable. Without livery or loyalty.

It is only now she realizes her perhaps overt shuffling has drawn attention in the ebb of Tristan's introductions, and she glances down towards the dirt quickly. Nothing she can say will measure against them, so nothing is what they should get. "I," She clears her throat to rid herself of that awkward hesitation. "Aurélie. I'm a fighter."

Aliester had kept himself a bit further back from the group, close enough to listen, far enough away to not be cramped. More importantly far enough away to be able to take in the whole group with a single glaring stare, and far enough away from the fire to keep some semblance of night vision. Not that it mattered much with the rain coming down hard as it was. It blacked out the sky, blared out the noise of great wilderness. If it was just himself, he would have been happy to just enjoy the rain. But bow he had to keep his head on straight.

Dark eyes had watched their leader fumble with flames, to be fair in these conditions starting a fire the hard way was nearly impossible. He had spells for this, but this also wasn't quite yet the time to show that off. In the coming days he would have to take a certain amount of charge over their general survival. This was his feild of experience, and untill the Princess was recaptured that we be his main concern, after that he would take up his post as a body guard. No one in this group had the same level of defensive priority as himself, at least no one showed it yet.

Hugo. Trust? Never. Cooperation would be possible at best. Holy men, and men like Aliester never mixed. He just hoped he didn't have to kill him for some stupid religious beliefs.

Concordia. A buetiful name, a buetiful woman. And one who had no idea what she was doing here. A spy, a dipomat. Nessissary, if troublesome. But long as she could take care of herself and adapt it would all play out fine. Probably.

Alfred. A mage? How interesting. And one gifted in a similar line of Hedgemagery. Maybe they could trade stories, spells, and knowledge after. It had been some time since he had been in contact with another of the craft.

Tristian. A noble. Useless, most likely. At best he would be sending back reports on how badly they all were doing, and beg for a better spot back after this affair was through if he lived. Chance was he'd die first. But who knew, maybe he had a sword arm?

Aurélie. A fighter. The other sword for hire, and a commoner. Aliester already liked her. She ate to fill her belly, kept her mouth shut, and her eyes and ears open. Good girl. The group needed another level and suspicious head. Nobles forgot what it was like to live on the bottom, and how the world saw them. Then again, who was he to say? He was both.

And so his time in the light had finally come around. He took his time finishing the meal, waiting for the party to go round. Casting his lots and Cotes on his companions, only fair they now get to do the same.

"I'm Aliester Greyson. Of house Greyson. A English and French born mut. I severed as part of the Free Company 'Pluie Noire'. A now disbanded company. I bring the knowledge of wilderness survival, and private defense. Once we recapture our Ward, I'll be taking her under my personal protection. During that time she will be my main concern, so please, don't count on my support. If trouble raises it's head I'll fight only much as required to sercure her exit."

He took a long sigh, and then a quick swig from a flask on his hip. It would be best to just come out with now.

"I am also a self taught Mage. My specializations are defensive magics, survivalist magics, and like Alfred Counter Spelling. I also have a knack for Dispelling preworked magics as well.

For this reason I'll take responsibility of starting the fires from now on. As well as preparing meals, and verifing clean water if need be."

And there is was, the Aliester charm. For what it wasn't worth.

Ser Giles clasped his hands together as the introductions finished. "Well, we certainly have a diverse group here, eh?" He said, half to himself. A Grandmaster of the Knights Templar, a court mage, two mercenary-looking types, a nobleman and a noblewoman's lady. Perhaps not the flower of Brittonian knighthood he had wanted, but he could see the strengths of such a party. He stifled a yawn and stood.

"Well, we'd best retire for the evening. Another long day awaits us tomorrow — we must cross the Loire in the morning, and I hope to make the village of Brevis by midday. The mayor there is supposedly sympathetic to our cause, and may restock our provisions." Ser Giles said, and with that turned and strode into the night, leaving his new companions to sort themselves out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The morning brought with it a beautiful day, with clear skies and bright sunlight. Ser Giles, despite his early retirement, had slept poorly; thus he confronted the idyllic scenery with a sour mood. He struggled to maintain a cheerful front, but everything from his horse to the fit of his armor seemed to bother him.

The Loire river was unsurprisingly flooded, but not so much that they were unable to find a passable ford a short trip further downstream. They were still forced to dismount in order to lead their unwilling mounts across, and it was a slow, unpleasant journey across the river. The water was freezing, and upon arriving at the opposite bank, Ser Giles found that he had not secured his bedroll properly and that it was soaked through. Needless to say, his mood did not improve at the revelation.

It was not long before they were riding through deep forest, and the eastern road was a double cart track with the trees sometimes arched right over the road. However, the old forest was open, the great boles of the trunks sixty feet apart or more with little enough underbrush that they could ride two or three wide. The road was damp but firm, except in the deeper ruts where puddles of stagnant rainwater and mud still lingered. The native flora seemed washed-out from the heavy rainfall of the past few days, though hints of its true vibrant nature peeked out in places. The woods were so deep that it was difficult to gauge the passage of time, and Ser Giles had little idea how far they’d traveled on the narrow track.

Ser Giles gradually grew more tense; his shoulders became hunched, his eyes narrowed. The forest, surely once a peaceful and soothing sight, now appeared all at once menacing. The sharp angles of shadows seemed to reveal a malevolent aspect to the dense trees and vegetation, and Ser Giles grew concerned, his imagination placing a brigand in every shadow, a monster in every bush. Phantasmal creatures seemed to dart in and out of his vision, and twice he shouted certain they were under attack, only for it to be revealed that there was nothing there at all. Still, the visions persisted, and several times he swore he heard voices. This is all wrong, Ser Giles thought. Have I been bewitched?

Eventually it grew too much. With a cry he drew his longsword and slammed his visor down. "Gods damn it, show yourselves!" He roared, turning wildly in his seat.

The forest was quiet, and still.

Ser Giles felt a fool. He cursed, and went to sheathe his sword before belatedly noticing that he was very much alone. He turned and looked around him, and saw nothing and no one. His companions were gone. Ser Giles swallowed hard. How did he become separated?

"Alfred? Hugo?" He called out.

Instead of their voices, inhuman roars answered, and his spine went cold. Trolls.

Alfred cursed in Welsh, the thread of ice snaking up his spine quelled only by the heat of his anger at having been deceived so easily - the Annwn, magic, the paranormal, it was his domain, his area of expertise, it was what he did for crying out loud! But then here he was, one moment having been watching Ser Giles grow more frustrated by the second, the next contemplating the effect of emotion on the ebb and flow of mana, and then alone in the cold of the woods. He had known something was wrong, but somehow he'd not had the initiative to act upon that knowledge, nor had he seen more specifically the nature of the wrongness.

He drew his sword. Nothing that affects the perception of an entire party like this could possibly have anything good in mind, so it was best to be ready for it.

In the distance, he quite possibly heard shouting - from which direction was hard to tell, who, as well. It sounded like a man. Alfred may have heard his own name being called, it was hard to be sure - the forest was a woolen blanket over his senses. What wasn't so hard to hear, however, was the sounds the followed - the unmistakable roaring of trolls. Instantly, the thread of ice won the battle, and Alfred felt chills dominate his nerves as he reflexively reached into a pocket and brought out a pair of iron cubes - reagents, a temporary source of power and augmentative factor for certain spells. Finite in nature - at least when they were as processed as these were - and limited in their ability to truly help, but when you're dealing with trolls you need just about everything you can get.

The cold iron in one hand, the grip of his sword in the other, he scanned the woods around himself looking for threats, or friends, or figures, or anything else obvious.

And then he closed his eyes, and felt the embrace of the Annwn rise about himself - sight, but not as most know it. What would he see of the woods when looking like this?

Tristan awoke, cold and sore, but made no complaints. This was something he'd have to get used to, without any doubt. The bed chambers and banquets that he was accustomed to were already far behind, and there was no backing out, either. If he wanted to keep his head, at least. Not that he would ever seriously consider it. The Duke, from what Tristan knew of him, was a good man.

He was shaken from his thoughts as the rest of his party mounted their horses and got ready to set off. He did the same.

---

Most of the morning's journey was spent putting landmarks of their journey to mind. A stone shaped like a wolf here, a tree that twisted at an impossible angle there; it was mostly just to pass the time, given he wasn't in the mood for conversation. He was mostly thinking. His eye fell on the back of Aurélie - she thought him a burden, no doubt. Did any of them even know who he was? What his reasons for being here were? Or did they just think he was some simpering nobleman, full of ego?

Well, they weren't wrong. He had no experience with this kind of work. He was confident he could pull his weight but had nothing to back his words up. In the end, it came down to-

What was that?

Tristan made his horse come to a halt. He focused on the trees, on the canopy, on everything... he couldn't hear anything.

He couldn't hear anything.

He turned on his horse to report it to his companions - but they were gone. Where had they gotten to?! They were just here!

"Hello?! Ser Giles?! Anyone?!"

A twig snapped, and his heart jumped out of his chest. He looked back to the forest. Not even ten paces away, he saw a large, scarred brown bear. His eyes locked with its own. They weren't a normal bear's eyes. And a normal bear wouldn't be standing so completely still near a human. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Being as careful as he could to not look away, he subtly reached for his crossbow and started pulling back the string. But as he fit a bolt to the flight groove, he saw something else in the corner of his eye. His head snapped to face the second bear - and he knew he'd made a mistake. The first bear let out a roar, and his horse spooked. Twisted in the saddle as he was, Tristan was unable to maintain his seating. He tumbled to the ground, and though he got back to his feet quickly enough, the mare was long gone.

He turned to face the bears. Though solitary creatures, these two seemed to have no issue sharing a meal as they snarled and grunted, slowly making their way towards him. Looking between them, Tristan realised that his situation was dire. His sword was still tied to his horse, as was his quiver of bolts. Leaving him with just the crossbow and a singular bolt.

"Damn it all to Hell." he murmured.

He could take down one, but the other would surely get him in the seconds that it took for him to reload the bolt. And that was if he landed a killing shot at all. His options were limited. And he hated that he'd gotten into this situation. But there was nothing for it.

He twisted on his heels and ran.

Hugo rose that morning from his light slumber and immediately found a suitably dry position to begin his morning prayer. The gentle man did not seem to sleep easy, nor well, but he complained none and stirred little when it was not his turn to keep watch. His longsword was never far from hand- but then again neither were the wide array of daggers on his person. His words were quiet, quick- but not rushed- and he seemed focused on concluding the prayer before engaging in any other activity.

His silent process of preparing himself seemed mostly focused on his mount, a considerable warhorse which carried the bulk of his equipment. He cared for the creature gingerly, making sure everything from its hooves to its saddle blanket and strappings were in order, before ever mounting it. Finally the man was prepared- likely holding the rest of the party up with his slow, determined, pacing- and permitted the company to advance along their path.

"...Glora ad Deus...Thanks you for the pleasant weather." Hugo said softly as he cast his eyes heavenward when they began to travel. He felt as if his prayer the previous night had been answered, and did not want the Lord to think he hadn't noticed.

Concordia stared down at the various belts and buckles that made up her mount's saddle. She saw the others removing their's from the horses they rode, but she had no idea how to even begin, so she instead just did what she could and loosened it a little. Tightening it up, it would be apparent to a trained eye that she had made it far too loose.

As she climbed up, the saddle would give slightly and shift to the side, though the young girl seemed to be oblivious to this. Riding with both legs kept on one side, the striking shortness of her dress would be on display as her ankles, part of her calves, and the stockings that covered them would be visible to any.

After pulling her hood up, the blonde girl got her horse moving to meet up with the rest. For a time, her thoughts resided upon their leader and his troubled status with their journey's beginning. Then, as she heard Hugo's soft words from behind, the girl slowed her horse's pace so that she could ride alongside the holy man.

Speaking in a gentle tone, Concordia tried to keep her voice low to avoid giving her intentions away to the others, "Excuse me...I think you are just the one for me to speak with. I am worried about our leader, but I know not what one should do to raise the spirits of men-at-arms."

Hugo's eyes shifted before the rest of his face. His eyes cut at her and her words, and perhaps something she unused to happened: Hugo's eyes did not wander, nor appraise. Men's eyes typically travelled someone's body- studied them, appraised the, judged them. But not Hugo's. He met her gaze and didn't so much as glance at her queer clothing or risque presentation.

"...I am no typical man at arms, my upbringing and vows have brought me away from much that such people would enjoy."

the rest of his face turned now, giving her a proper and respectful amount of attention. Not his full attention, but a respectful amount. He still had it split with focusing on his surroundings and their travelling path, but someone speaking to him deserved to at least be presented with his face for discussion.

"However, if I had to hazard a guess my lady, I'm sure more of your music would do wonders for his state of mind. Or perhaps even just speaking with him- it is to my understanding that ordinary knights are quite fond of young courtiers of the fairer sex."

That last statement was presented with a modicum of apprehension, as if the idea was one Hugo didn't like.

The girl watched her senior as intently as she did during her lessons in the comfort of her home. She seemed focused almost entirely on him, and found a similar focus in return. Used to holding attention for much different reasons, she found his apparent genuine interest in her question to be extraordinarily refreshing.

"I suppose conversation could work, but I know little of sword or strategy. Perhaps..."

A warm smile formed that seemed to light up Concordia's youthful expression as inspiration struck her. With a nod, she brushed some of her long, blonde hair out of her face as she spoke with an excited energy about her.

"We can talk about our homelands! I would love to tell him all about Naples! I bet a few tales would warm him up! I appreciate the inspiration you have given!"

As the shifted a bit in her excitement, her saddle would slide a bit along with her, though she would remain on.

"Your saddle is improperly secured." Hugo said simply, his words slicing through her excitement as if he wasn't particularly aware of it. "It'd be regrettable if you fell and injured yourself. That'd delay the quest. shall I fix it for you?" He asked as his attention returned briefly to focusing on the road ahead of them.

"We could stop for a moment then catch back up with the others once we fjord the river." he offered.

Her words about naples sat in his mind but didn't warrant much interest in himself, the De Anjou's were the current lords of those lands- which included Avignon, the seat of the papacy in Prevence- but beyond that his interest didn't extend further.

Concordia's excitement was instantly tempered by his words as she responded, "Oh...Yeah. Please do. It's difficult to get it just right. I'm get worried that I'll do it too tightly and hurt her."

With that, she brought the horse to a stop before holding on to the horse and carefully climbing down. Stepping aside for Hugo, she let the experienced soldier take over with properly securing the saddle.

Hugo dismounted his war horse and waved the party onward as he did so, letting them know that everything was alright and they'd catch up shortly as he moved to Concordia's horse and began to adjust the straps swiftly. He tightened them, ran his hand over the horse's hide, and once they were properly secured he pat the horse on its mane and stroked it a few times.

"Do not be afraid of harming the beast. It will let you know if the tightness is too much." He then took ahold of the reigns and gestured for Concordia to re-mount the creature.

The blonde girl watched closely as Hugo tightened the saddle, trying to learn from the quick adjustments he made. Responding to his advise with a nod, she'd climb back onto the horse and settle into the side-saddle position that she was used to.

"You would think that they'd teach you these things when learning to ride. But...Well...Someone else always took care of it. The men did not find it fit for ladies to trouble themselves with such things."

"It is not fit for ladies to trouble themselves with such things." Hugo said easily, moving back to his own horse as he spoke. He mounted the warhorse in easy fashion, settling back into his saddle and giving his horse the slightest of urgings to move forward.

"A woman's place is not on the campaign trail, and she should not ride unaccompanied. It is no wonder you have not learned these skills yourself." Hugo said wiith the mildest of shrugs. "But for a quest such as this you should not be made to hinder the rest of us. Watch me closely as I prepare my horse in the future and learn to do it yourself."

"I will learn, I promise you that. All I require is instruction, and my ambitions will see me through."

The young girl's words seemed to be genuine. Her serious tone and firm assurance that simply deflected the comments of what her station should be.

Looking ahead once more, she gripped the reigns and spurred her horse on, intent on trying to catch back up with the others.

And so the two rode along, Hugo guiding Concordia along in a swift manner. They made up the lost ground on the rest of the party quite readily, recapturing their position at the rear of the party around the same time as the fjording of the river. Hugo, once more, took the time to ensure his mount's proper care upon reaching the far side, then dutifully showed Concordia the same steps he took so that she might be able to check her horse after such crossings in the future.

And then the party was on its way once again.

As they encroached upon the forest, Hugo slowed his horse and weighed the wood with a heavy gaze. He seemed uncomfortable, visibly, but even he could not place the cause of his discomfort. He disregarded it after a few moments, and urged his horse back into place in the party marching order.

"Concordia, move ahead of me. Wood such as this can house dangers, and with you ahead of me I may better defend us should harm befall us."

Paying very close attention to Hugo's guidance, Concordia nodded as she committed the steps shown to memory by running herself through the process several times while travelling. As her temporary mentor seemed to slow, she would do the same to try and keep a solid pace with him. After all, he was the closest one with sharp weapons and experience.

Glancing over towards him, the girl would pick up on the discomfort he was feeling and begin to look around. Apparently oblivious to the danger her companion was picking up on, she was deeply confused by the command he issued.

Regardless, though, she would oblige and push ahead some as she began to ask, "What's wro-" before cutting herself off as she looked back ahead.

She could feel her throat tense up, choking her as she put forth a single question.

"...Where are the others?"

Hugo's eyes widened just a moment, before he shut them and let out a slow exhale.

"This wood is bewitched. Foul magic is at play, though I am not able to discern its nature. Stay within sight of me."

He opened his eyes and brandished the lance he carried, lifting it up and resting it into a proper 'locked' position on his arm as he shifted his other hand to grip the reigns in a single handed grip. He maintained a silence for several moments before a sudden shift seemed to come over him- in his mind, the chants of a saxon warband were echoing through the wood and reaching his ears.

"...Impossible, they couldn't be here..." He said calmly, the shock fading from his features. "...My lady, the men who come will enslave you if they catch you. I will protect you."

Concordia gripped the reigns of her horse tightly, shifting her gaze left and right as she tried to look for the people Hugo spoke of. The darkness of this place put her on edge, and she found only slight comfort in having the Templar with her. Though in the company of one such as him, she could not shake the apprehension that gripped her heart.

What if he failed? What if there were too many? What would she do? She couldn't fight, she hadn't even held a sword before in her entire life. This was not like the courts she knew, where she could command power and control a situation. She felt helpless, only able to place faith in the strength of her guardian.

Speaking calmly, masking her own doubts, the youthful blonde responded, "...I understand. I have faith that your strength and skill shall see us through this."

Hugo nodded to the woman and spurred his horse forward into a trot, passing her as he cut a new path through the wood. those damnable chants, their thick tongues, those words he recognized deep within himself, understood as his native tongue- the horrendous things they meant for the woman he was with...all of these things bit down into Hugo's mind, where his steel-like faith and resolve was tested against it. In short order, his faith won out and the irrational fear he began to feel died.

He set his lance and launched into a gallop as two saxon warriors entered the path in front of him, where he drove his lance down into one's chest and released it to avoid breaking the weapon. He then pulled his horse to a halt and gave it a shrill whistle, which caused it to launch a devastating kick against the secondary warrior.

To Hugo's surprise, the second warrior rose back up a few seconds after the kick and Hugo rapidly dismounted, a dagger finding its way into his hand, as he launched himself at the figure and drove the blade into his chest, under his arm, then into the side of his knee in rapid succession in a brutal barrage to bring the soldier down.

Hugo's assault would normally have brought a man to death or incapacitation, but Hugo was suddenly struck by the saxon soldier and sent reeling into a nearby tree, where he rose up onto all fours upon hitting the gorund and lifted his eyes to gaze at the soldier who struck him with such might.

"...Deus vult." he spat, rising to his feet as the soldier approached, dagger still in hand.

Concordia spurred her horse onwards as Hugo charged up ahead, trying to remain close to her protector. However, her horse was not bred for war and quickly started falling behind. She could do little more than watch her guiding light slip away into the darkness.

The best thing you could hope to rule is some mayor's household.

"Wh-"

You're nothing, and you know it. That's why you dress like that. Fashion. Hah! You just want attention, because you know you have nothing more.

"Stop...That's not...Hugo!"

Yes. Run back to the arms of your teacher. You're so proud, but you always run back to those willing to waste their time on you.

Concordia gripped the reigns of her horse tightly and forced it to accelerate, pushing the beast's limits. Distant figures began to form through the treelines as she rushed straight ahead.

"Bite your tongue and choke!"

The girl's words loudly rung out as her normally pleasant expression was twisted into malice and frustration. Desire overtook all reason, and a need to release her fury weighed heavier than safety. As she rode by the warriors, the blonde girl kicked with what might she could muster, sending her heel straight to the saxon's head.

Hell hath no fury.

The soldier reeled from the blow, granting Hugo the time he needed to reach to his hip and draw the longsword he carried. As the blade emerged from its sheathe, a light shone from its blade that seemed to chase a darkness that, perhaps, the two hadn't fully realized was there away. The blade was drawn, Hugo's hand high on the hilt to accomodate him opting to carry a dagger in his offhand, and a sunlight most assuredly emanated from the blade. The 'Saxon' Concordia had kicked shimmered- and soon shadows were blasted away from its body, revealing its disgusting true self: A troll.

"..." Hugo's eyes weighed the troll, severe as he realized the bewitchment. In a blur of movement the Templar whirled the longsword forward and slashed it viciously across the beast's body, and when he whirled and struck with his dagger this time he struck it home into the creature's knee and toppled it to the ground.

Standing over it he unceremoniously drove the blazing longsword straight into its neck and looked up at Concordia.

"Many thanks, my lady. It seems this wood had clouded my mind. Forgive me my lapse in judgement. Let's see if we can't find our companions, yes?"

Looking back after passing the two in her furious assault, Concordia witnessed the true nature of what her shoe had just struck be revealed. Seeing Hugo quickly dispatch of it with his righteous blade, she promptly reached down and dusted off the foot she used to kick the troll, feeling disgusted that she had even touched such a beast.

Hearing Hugo speak, however, brought her attention back into focus and she gave an affirming nod.

"Fortunately, it was only those two. Anything more and I might have to become the leader here. Ah, regardless, he sooner we can rejoin them, the better."

Hugo nodded to her and sheathed his sword. He moved to retrieve his lance and remount his warhorse. Once mounted, he reached to his hip and cleared the scabbard of his longsword, allowing the blazing light of the blade to shine around him and keep the bewitchment from tainting him again. He nudged his horse and set it to a trot.

"I agree. Let's see if we can't find them. I have concerns over the other's ability to...discern that spell."