It is not merely the donkey you must contend with, Constance. You have perhaps grown used to the gradual and cold-blooded pace of Apricot. Perhaps you have come to see him as an aspect of the hills, peaceful and eternal. This is the same mistake a younger Robena made in the land of Anatolia where she was asked to choose one horse from amidst six while being too naïve to perceive the gleam of gluttony in equine eyes.

Apricot spins, craning his neck back, body-blocking the donkey from getting any closer to the carrot. He twists his neck backwards that he might assault his rider and steal the carrot of this innocent traveller. As he is not quite flexible enough to reach he starts to spin in circles in the manner of a dog chasing its own tail. While this began as greedy reaching, you have the undeniable impression that this horse is aware enough of his bargaining position to continue to spin around and around until his demands are met. No innocent victim is he; this is a bandit who knows full well that he commits theft, kidnapping and blackmail, and his heart is unmoved.

"I apologize, lady, for I cannot intervene," said Robena with false remorse. "If I were to assist you feeding the donkey, I would make an enemy of my horse. If I were to assist Apricot in his criminal grasping then I would be breaking my knightly vows. This matter falls to you to adjudicate."

"Run, as quietly as you can," Nin whispered to the beast, then slid off its neck and back on the ground. She'd stopped it from trampling her and Tristan in its panic and rage, at least. Whether she could eventually tame it completely, and whether to attempt it ... that'd have to be seen. With the arrival of the hunting party, it seemed the wisest thing to take a step back and learn more before making that decision.

Tristan has been acting within his right to slay who he must for the protection of all. He has nothing to fear from the hunters, and no idea what Nin is doing or why.

He climbs down to approach the hunters, showing his bow but keeping his arrows in his quiver. The bow shows his purpose - but keeping the arrows sheathed shows he means no threat.

Of course he's no threat. They're here to deal with more than he can muster.

”Robena!” That is the most scandalized, the most impassioned, you have sounded in quite some time. How dare she betray you like this? Blackguard, scoundrel! The only fortune remaining to you is that this wicked horse has blocked the donkey, which means you can push its head aside and snatch up the carrot triumphantly! What a prize!

In response, the horse begins to turn faster, and you shriek and half-collapse on his neck, barely holding the carrot out of reach. Out of a mixture of pique and uncharacteristic vengeance, you throw the carrot, with all your might and valor, at Robena.

Ah, thought Robena. The soothsayer was right. This was how she was doomed to die: beneath the trampling hooves of her own horse.

(It had been less of a prediction, to be fair, and more of an angry 'That bloody horse will be the death of you'. It had been given when Robena had returned from a three day expedition to recover Apricot who, upon feeling a pang of homesickness, had broken the stable restraints and walked back north, only to be waylaid by a cunningly placed apple orchard.)

Well, such were the wages of sin. This was the justice of the Almighty made manifest in this world. Now she had to confront the vice of gluttony directly and take a stand for the righteous.

A coil of rope is in her hand as she dives to the side. Instincts honed from many long hours of observing this horse's manner and habits let her predict the skitter and turn and cast the lasso about his neck. As she applies her strength against the colossal bulk of her sinful mount and his unwilling passenger. He bucks! Oh, Constance, you will be hard pressed to stay on the back of this horse as he struggles against his master. The struggle is great, the stuff of songs, the strength of giants in opposition - heaven and hell wage war, and poor mankind is caught between them!

But Apricot slows in the end. Although he was blinded by greed, in his heart he knows better - and he knows better than to truly throw Constance. He slows down to a stomping stand-still, facing the determination in Robena's eyes, snorts miserably, and then feigns losing interest and lowers his head to eat the road-side grass. Robena then offers the prize to its rightful owner who bites it gratefully, and then comes across to help a shaking Constance down from Apricot's back. Her arms are strong and her biceps shine with sweat from her exertions against her horse, and she lifts the girl effortlessly.

[Undertake great labour: 14. I do it, and make it look easy.]

"As I am a knight who fights for justice," she said to the merchant, holding Constance in her arms, "I shall rescue your cat."

Nin and Tristan

The Questing Beast runs. Through some combination of luck, fate, and connection, it lets Nin go and sprints away, its claws digging into the moist earth and raising another, higher hill behind it. Nin, you're left simply standing in the clearing as the knights pull up and whistle for their dogs before they set upon you. Tristan, you are presented to them first, at the base of your tree and it is to you that King Pellinore turn her horse towards.

You have been around many a horse and its rider, but that does not make one any less of an imposing sight. King Pellinore is a tall woman and her mail and tabard are well-made and sturdy. Her horse is itself a tall black stallion, and so you find yourself looking up at a woman whose armored lower legs are comfortably at your head height.

"In the name of High King Uther Pendragon" she speaks down formally to you, "I beseech your aid. We heard clearly the braying of the great Questing Beast, whose death is destined to be at the hands of my house. Tell us where it went and, if you have the means, you are welcome to join our great hunt and share in the glory of our victory when we have defeated the villain. Hinder us, and you will swiftly face the King's justice."

Tristan, though you may not realize it at first glance, this too is something unnatural and you can sense it with Pellinore so near to you. But it is hidden from you, something about the enchantment here is subtle and obscured, you cannot see past the gleaming mail and the bright heraldry on this high horse.
[Your right to roll weird when you encounter something unnatural is being denied.]

Robena and Constance

There is a moment where it all seems as though it might go wrong. Constance will be thrown from Apricot and trampled under an overeager donkey, while Robena meets her fated end at last. But it is only for the briefest instant. Apricot comes under control, Constance loses no more than what remained of her dignity, and the mule with its carrot is content not to move another muscle.

The traveler gives you a small clap. "Bravo, you truly are as strong as they say, and nobler even than I had expected. If you find her, my little Catherine is white with a black patch on her back. We all just call her Cath, so she'll answer to that. The box ought to just be near the remains of my fire unless the cat or the ghosts moved it. I'd prefer not to ride back the way I came, but if returning to me would inconvenience you, I'll happily make my way along with my good master until the castle is in sight, though I'll go no closer than that no matter what comes of it."

Is this arrangement agreeable?

"I believe my friend is tracking it," he says, and it's as good an explanation as any. "I have failed in tracking my friend. You have my bow and my assistance, as best as I am able." He shifts. "Is there any in your party who would lend me their horse? You'll find few with my skill with bow and horse, and I fear for my friend's safety."

He hadn't had experience with knightly combat, or wearing full plate, but he was light, nimble and accurate. He had long resigned himself to never matching even Robena's weakest mounted charges - he liked horses too much to risk hurting them like that.

Nin pokes her head out, somewhat ruffled and probably covered from head to toe in dirt. "No need worrying for me," she said, eyeing the party of King Pellinore. "As for tracking a beast of such destruction, I doubt you need much help with that, but I would gladly join you and hear more about this hunt of yours, and the beast itself."

Tristan throws his hands up in excitement, his entire body shouting "NIN!!!" for him, big happy smiles, and does not even for a second consider being embarrassed for doing this.

He doesn't care about impressing the knights. He just cares Nin's okay.

Oh, Constance. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s asking, what it means. After all, you were very distracted with the antics of this wicked horse. But after stammering out a request for him to repeat himself, and receiving the reply that Catherine is the cat, see... well, you know what it’s like to care dearly for a cat.

“I have a way with cats,” you say, proudly but without arrogance. It’s simple truth. “If Cath can be found, I promise I will bring her back to you. I can’t say for certain that she can be, but I will give all that I can.” And here, you look to Robena, and you will brook no dispute. You are going to go save a cat, and that’s the end of it.

"As the lady declares," said Robena, "so shall it be."

Then, without once putting Constance back on the ground, Robena steps into her stirrup and with the trained skill of a knight who knows how to leap into the saddle while carrying sword and shield both. She lifts Constance up alongside with her into the saddle in a heroic motion and, still cradling the lady in her arms, touches her heels to Apricot's flanks. "Haste!" she cried. "A cat awaits!"

And they gallop away towards the sunset.

Nin and Tristan

King Pellinore watches your display of affection with a cold but tolerant remove. She does not interrupt, but instead gestures to one of her men who brings up a spare horse. "We only have the one, I'm afraid, one of my squires navigated poorly and was thrown from his horse. We left him to recover at a nearby town north of the forest before we entered properly. You'll have to ride together. The beast is surprisingly slippery, but you've confirmed it was just here, so haste is the name of the hunt, hurry if you don't wish to be left behind."

With that she spurs her own horse forward without even waiting for you to mount, though a few of her knights are more courteus. Left to her own devices, it's difficult to say if she'll find the beast or not and where both of them will go. Honor would compel you to stay with the party of your rescuers, but cunning suggests that you may wish to ride ahead and try to head off both King and Beast to keep the both in the forest. For if they do battle near anyone else, it will be fatally unpleasant for them.

Robena

You ride with determination and Apricot, despite any protestations, knows her rider and gallops as you direct (with perhaps a few unnecessary bumps for Constance as the horse picks up speed). You're at the old castle in no time, and you dismount to avoid creating a commotion and scaring off the cat or attracting whatever dark things the traveler may have referenced.

As you approach quietly on foot, you can see that the castle is empty and rather battered. The moat is old and dry, the bridge lowered and the front gate long since rusted off its hinges and lying halfway into the pit next to the bridge. Inside, the entryway to the courtyard is uncovered and exposed to the elements save for a few mossy beams, and the inner keep, though solid, has no doors left to it, likely having been broken into by brigands or animals long ago. The courtyard itself is strewn with stones and loose debris: old bags and leather that has been covered with fungus until it's barely distinguishable from the dirt, and loose soft wood mixed with the stones. Once, this might have been a mighty practice field, but no longer, the work of the nature and time has been thorough indeed.

You may recall, from your youth, that this castle once belonged to the Brythy family, who were known for their forest hunts and their independent streak. They had only a single daughter, and she was slain by the forces of King Uther Pendragon during the early conquest, for the Brythys had opposed his unity and been part of one of the armies that fought him on the field. Without an heir, the family had faded away and the retainers had abandoned the keep, though it had not been like this when you left. You had heard stories that it was haunted, and the family consorted with ghosts. Perhaps that has kept most travelers at bay and made for the trouble here.

Constance is foolishly creeping ahead of you, which may be unsafe.

Constance

You see much of what Robena does, but your eyes see more still. The moat here was once fed by a river that flowed from the forest. Though it is dry and faded, you can see what once was and it respects your right to the old blood. You can feel the resentment from the place. Angry ghosts live here and they would treat with you. Their essence compels you ahead of Robena as you approach, and so you are the first to see the extraordinarily plump white cat, black spot easily visible on her back, perched atop a short broken stone pillar in the courtyard. She is paying the whole thing no mind as she basks in a late-afternoon sunbeam and stares straight at you with her two-colored eyes yellow and blue eyes. The lockbox is not visible, but may be nearby.

Both Cath and the spirits beg your attention, and the wrong move may set off one or the other. What do you do?

Constance, you are no shrinking violet; these circumstances, rather, give you energy and purpose. On the one hand, a cat who must be coaxed close (likely with some morsel from your rations), and on the other hand, the unquiet spirits of those who did not receive justice. As you reach out to Robena, quietly requesting said morsel, you are aware, almost violently so, of your surroundings, and the passions that have not faded from them. Walk with grace, daughter of giants.

[Constance has rolled an 8 on sizing up the situation. Which problem must be addressed first to avoid disaster?]

English castles are so calming. She has seen the Theodosian Walls, she has seen the walls of Jerusalem, she has seen the hill forts of the Anatolian Themes. Fortifications built by empires, designed by eastern architects and maintained in heightened states of readiness. She has seen grander defensive works, to be sure, but they never felt like castles. A castle is a home, a place of residence and filled with personal touches and family traditions. Castles are lived in, not simply maintained by a revolving arsenal of soldiers. This castle may have ghosts? All castles should have ghosts.

Nevertheless, her experience in wandering the lands of the Balkans has informed her that a great many castles do, in fact, have ghosts. So her axe is hefted over her shoulder with one hand and her crucifix is held in the other - not many hands left for acquiring lost cats. Thus she relies on Constance.

"Ho there, lady Cath," she said, rearranging her gear in her hands so she could provide Constance with a treat. "You must be a huntress beyond compare, or have a truly devoted human. Come hither that we might return you to your slave."

Tristan takes a run for the horse and mounts it at a leap. He offers his hand down to Nen after him.

It is better to ride then think, than to think then ride.

Nin grumbles and grouches at the surprise affection but takes the offered hand and mounts the horse quickly and without another word. She's not going to be left behind. She would've liked to ask a few questions of King Pellinore, but that'll have to be done from horseback, then.

Tristan's taken the reins by virtue of being the first one up, but he's also the one with the bow. Now's not the time to switch, though. "How good are you at the reins? Don't take them yet - there's something strange about the King, but my eyes deceive me. What do you make of them?"

Nin and Tristan

Interestingly, after the initial flurry, the knights set a more sedate pace. They must have only charged into the gallop when they caught wind that the beast was within striking range, and it may perhaps be reassuring that they care for their horses and do not ride them to death, especially in the uneven terrain and soft soil that the forest presents. King Pellinore herself has ridden ahead for the moment and without her presence, all her knights settle in their saddles in a way that looks entirely more human than anything you've seen in quite a while. A few even begin to chat with each other quietly, and for the first time since you've been under the canopy, you can hear distant birdsong. A sign, perhaps of the resilience of the place, or the limited influence of the Questing Beast and its hunters?

You are free to speak with each other, but when there is a lull, one of the King's knights will ride up to you and remove his helmet, showing a young man's thin and beardless face with wide eyes and long brown hair flowing over both ears. "My name's Mort, and I hope you'll forgive my lady her haste. Her family is bound to hunt and defeat the beast, you see. Might I ask what liege you serve and what errand carries you so far into these dark woods?"

Constance and Robena

The answer to Constance's question was ambiguous for a moment, but Robena has decided the issue for you. Cath has been addressed directly and perked up her head. It is of the utmost imperative that you make her an offering immediately or she will take you for a danger and retreat. Amid the rubble and ruin, it could be quite the task to find her, especially if she retreats within the stone keep itself, which would be dark as the abyss and half again as cramped.

The ghosts, in comparison, can wait, though rest assured that when you have Cath eating out of your hand, they will demand their due attention. Robena, though you lack Constance's sensitivity, you too can begin to feel them in the form of a cold chill as they draw near. What methods have you learned for calming resentful spirits in your travels?

Constance, it's barely any effort for you to cross the courtyard, for dirty and rough as it is, the old stones pay you their respect and do not stand in your way. Tell us how you each entreat the haughty cat and how she came to be in your arms?

Ghosts are the worst, scariest monsters one could possibly fight and it wasn't particularly close.

A vampire was a thing entirely of the physical. Dead flesh given false life, yes, but though they would drink your blood and animate your desiccated husk in their service, they generally had no truck with one's immortal soul. The fae, as wild and terrible as they were, have usually been around for thousands of years and so people usually have a fair idea of how to manage their tempers and slake their thirsts. Century Wolves and hippopotami and manticores were mere beasts despite all their magic powers. An Azmych might tie a road into knots and crack the skulls of travellers lead astray, or the Karakoncolos would lash you for your sins, or the the cross-road deviless would... even all of these devils at least interacted with knowable patterns of virtue, vice and the divine.

But a ghost? No law bound a ghost other than the madness of man. A ghost might seek vengeance or eternal cruelty. A ghost might be bound by forgetfulness or grief. A ghost might possess a doll or tempt maidens down a well. A ghost might arise in the fields under the radiant sun or flow through the blood of its children like a toxin. A ghost might teleport, or it might whisper, or it might curse crops, or it might howl with the wind, or it might transform the world into a waking nightmare, or it might crush the unwary under fallen rooftops, or it might imprison its victim forever inside a painting. Only a fool would not be afraid of no ghost.

There are methods, true, but these are less about finding commonality amongst ghosts, who are as varied as the mad, and more about finding aspects of the natural world that interact with them. Dogs, for instance, can see ghosts - and this trait explained a great deal of the behaviour and eccentricities of dogs. A well trained hound was invaluable in exorcism work. There was also the exorcism itself, the recital of which was one of the greatest strengths of the priests of Bloodless Xristos. There were those who possessed close personal connections to the ghosts in question and could divine the methods and messages amidst the madness. There were northern mystics who knew warding runes, and Persian clergy with their sacred fires.

Robena possessed none of these. Her method for dealing with ghosts has historically been absolute terror, blind fumbling, and outrageous luck. This strategy has met with far more success than its components merited, and tales of its success have been further punched-up by Yomdaeler who bragged that even the immortal dead would know her legend. Alas.

[My right to be known by reputation extends to even the dead. Alas, a two.]

Put thoughts of the unquiet dead from your mind a moment, Constance. A cat knows if your attention is divided, and they will not stand for it. Cath will wander into the keep if you avert your eyes for a moment, just to teach you a lesson.

But you know better. You offer a direct look, then slowly blink and look away: I feel safe with you, you say. You crouch low, hand extended for Cath’s inspection, open and inviting. And when the cat comes over and puts one furry face in your palm, holding you in place with one claw, you scoop and lift before Cath can scamper away.

There’s a tricky moment where you worry you might drop the dear, a moment where you struggle to lift all four of her paws off the ground. How heavy is this cat? But you are a daughter of giants, and you will not be denied in this. That last paw rises, and now you have the darling in your arms, held close, fingers offering placating scritches through the fur.

“Hush,” you say, as she finishes the treat and begins to wiggle the wiggle of escape. “You need to stay with your Auntie Constance, Cath. Now be a dear.” You shift your weight, cup Cath close to your shoulder, and raise your chin to survey the restless dead. Approach, shades! They are permitted. Just don’t ask for you to do anything with your hands. You are already beginning to sweat, holding this strangely heavy cat.