Rinan snorts through his horseshoe shaped moustache and mutters “He’s food for the Ravens now. But a brave or mad old bastard! I cannot tell which! I’ll help you carry his corpse. I have a soft spot for loud mouthed fools!”

Balavan raises one brow at Arielle and almost grins. 'Please, lead on.'

Arielle gave Balavan an embarrassed shrug, then marched over to the dead man.

Running her eyes over the group she grimaced and made a beeline for Oswald.

" Pardon me, yer Lordship.  Perhaps with your...uh...noble bearing....and..uh...commanding presence, you might be best to be clearing a path for us what are carrying the old bugge....fellow.  Make it easier for everyone, you catch my drift."

If he aquiesced she took his place at the shoulder, wiry arms gripping tightly.

"Thank you, sir." the tall woman replies in a quieter voice than she used a moment ago, then adds "Whoever he was and said in life, that's no reason for him to be left lying dead in the gutter."

She looks to the other man and says "My thanks to you as well sir." before turning back to Oswald and realizing that the task he has taken on may be a bit more than his body is capable of, no matter how willing his spirit.

Fortunately for the now taken aback at her own forwardness Lay-Sister, help in the form of Arielle is already on her way.



The tall woman nods in quick agreement with this suggestion, trying not to bite her lip in sheer nervousness as she looks from Arielle to Oswald.

The big fella approaching, with whiskers a walrus would be proud of seems an unlikely angel by appearance, but any help is better than none, so she smiles at him as he moves towards the group around the body.

"Oh, er, yes." Oswald replies, sheepishly - though clearly glad of the opportunity not to embarrass himself. "I'm not a Lord, Ma'am, but I'm Sir Brenton's squire." He waves across in the direction of his Master.

He duly lets Arielle take the shoulders and moves to the front. As the makeshift procession set off, he duly hollers in front of them: "Stand aside, please! We are bringing  the dead for burial!"

For all that his arm is weak, Oswald's voice, at least, is strong - a lifetime of compensating for his poor strength through sheer bravado. And he remembers what Sir Brenton taught him of annoucing the Knight's presence... the importance of sounding confident above all...

Dursturmnreplies to Oswald telling him he knows not the old man or what he refers to but he would like to bury him as he seems a brave but foolish man. If others help he will move the man to a place to prepare for burial.

Running a scowl over the crowd as if daring anyone not to heed the squire's call, Balavan steps in just behind Arielle to help she and the others lift.

'See my face,' he mutters to Arielle, hoisting the corpse so her burden eases to almost nothing. 'This is my trusting you face.'   He says no more as they head off, and doesn't yet bother to greet any of the strangers beyond a stoic nod.

Oswald leads the group, of largely new acquaintances, through a throng all heading in the other direction. Following the Cardinal and the relic to the tourney field and the awaiting King.
Oswald leads the way, commanding the crowd:
"Stand aside, please! We are bringing  the dead for burial!"

Dursturm, Rinan, Balavan, Benton, Arielle and Alfrida all follow.
The old dead monk is very slight and needs barely two sturdy folk to carry him.

The crowd seems blind to a group carrying a dead man away from the festival. As you approach the bridge that is Hesards Ford,you see  a tall clean shaven slim man, sitting on a white horse. He wears a dark green tabard over chain, with no insignia that you can see.

The horse stops on the bridge.
“You man, where you taking the monk?”

His voice is calm, firm and carries, while not load.

Oswald looks up at the man, and replies evenly: "To the nearest Church, sir. We could not in good faith leave a dead man by the side of the road without a proper burial."

He tries not to let his fears show. Is this man friend or foe? Internally, he prays to Gatanedes for guidance... and protection.

In reply to Oswald Godloefson (msg # 49):

The rider smiles at Oswald, not a friendly smile.

“Ha, best of luck with that lad, you will find no church to take him. Bartelemy has been defrocked. Heresy. Now, clever fellows have no truck with heretics. Not with the Cardinal around. So you are heretics or just not that clever.
Now move aside if you please, there’s a sword to be won.”

Looking in the direction of Sir Benton, Dursturm and the other warriors, he calls out, laughing,
“Gents, the field of battle lies behind you, please tell me you are not fleeing already? Why I trust I have the pleasure of your company in the lists.”

In reply to GM (msg # 50):

Arielle stayed quiet and tucked herself as low as possible, this man was much more like most of the men-at-arms she had witnessed in the past.  Which meant any eyeroll or muttered comment would likely get her...and Balavan...killed.

So she silently seethed and kept her eyes lowered.

Alfrida says nothing, and keeps her eyes nervously on the horse after an apparently confused glance at the man astride their back's advice.

Her confusion is genuine, as is her nervousness that the price of knowledge may yet be higher than she had anticipated.

"Thank you for the warning, Sir. Oswald nods, thinking better of trying to do anything but acquiesce. "You have saved us a wasted journey. Still," He turns to the others. "Still, heretic or no, we cannot leave a body lying around in the way of the honest folk."

"Aye, milord." Alfrida says in a diffident tone, but with fear in her voice as she offers "Begging your pardon, sir, 'tis an unhealthy thing to give the scavenger beasts a taste for manflesh, let alone a heretic's flesh."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:19, Thu 23 Dec 2021.

Arielle looked concerned, recalling peasant tales of folk buried outside holy ground coming back from the grave......though in truth she wasn't sure what exactly 'holy ground' was or what difference it made...there had been no chapel in her tiny settlement and the mendicants that past through had all been more interested in drinking or getting their end away than answering a childs questions.

“Agree even heretics should be buried and not left lying around. Can we find a plot of land for heathen to bury him or shall we try to see if the church is willing to bury him? Dursturm asks his new friends.

'I only stopped because that mouth had its horse in the way,' Balavan shrugs a shoulder, causing the corpse to lean and settle. 'Everyone wanted to do the right thing before, let's keep doing that.'
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 11:42, Fri 24 Dec 2021.

“Aye he speaks the right of it. Let’s get this brave fool buried and see about some food and drink. Lugging dead bodies around gives a man a thirst!”

"Yes, I certainly agree! A good drink after the labour. Lead on guys!' Dursturm says.

"Need a burial place, and words said over him." Alfrida says quietly, then looks to Balavan as she offers an opinion of "Highway is King's road and King's land, not Church's land."

She adds in careful thought "Ground would be easier to dig a bit further back from the road. Need a shovel. Stables might be best bet to borrow one."

The tall woman looks less confident as she looks to Durstrum and asks him "Would they welcome a stranger in their burial grounds?"

In reply to Alfrida (msg # 60):

'Makes sense,' Balavan nods to Alfrida. As a forester he ponders the legalities. 'Makes good sense.'

As they move he is looking for signs of digging tool, preferably where an owner might be about so as to obtain said digging tool lawfully.

As the green tabarded warrior rides on toward the tourney, you stand at the bridge. Behind you are thousands of revellers from far and wide, enjoying the opening ceremony of the largest tourney in all Albion, for many’s a long year. Before you is the stone and wooden bridge over the mighty Hern River, cascading below the bridge.

To your right you smell the ditch and latrines. Over the river to your right lies Jewelspider Wood. Across the bridge is the small hamlet of Hesards Ford.



The immense noise of revelry is only broken by the peal of what sounds like a church bell, coming from the direction of the tourney field.

The warriors amongst you would know that to tonight is acts as a deadline for those wanting to enter competition on the first day tomorrow. You will need to find the tent of lists in order to enter competition.

In reply to GM (msg # 62):

" In the woods then? I wouldn't mind being laid to rest in the green myself."

In reply to Arielle Wood (msg # 63):

'Plenty of miles left on you 'afore you're bones,' Balavan muses to Arielle, eyeing the ditch and latrines direction as they veer for the woods.

'If anyone sees a shovel or two...' He lets the words trail off.

The tall woman looks embarrassed at Arielle's remark, as her own gaze turns back at the mounted knight in the green tabbard on the road for a second look.

"Odd. Gentle born manners in that mouth, yet no charge to be seen but a green field." she says, wondering at the heraldry, or rather, the lack of it.

"Worth a look." Alfrida says, following the musing look of the forester with one of her own, and then follows her nose, paying careful attention to where she steps.

It strikes her that despite the sheer number of people nearby, few among them would be paying attention to one small group, even one carrying a body.

So one person looking about latrines for a shovel, or someone with one who might agree to briefly loan it for a penny is unlikely to be noted either.