The burial of the heretic

A spade is easily found at the latrine trenches and tents. While they are busy with folk relieving bladder and bowels following celebration, nonone bats as much as an eyelid as a stranger takes a spade from a heap of earth.

You head over the bridge encountering small groups of festival goers coming in the opposite direction. You are met with cheers and helloes but no one acknowledges that you are carrying a dead monk. That might have something to do with the fact that The Walrus and Balavan lok like people you’d rather not mess with.

It is only when you enter Jewelspider Wood that you appreciate the size of the festival. The edge of the vast forest is at a raised elevation compared with Hesards Ford. Stretched out before over three large fields to the south east is that festival of the Kings Tourney. It is only by standing apart that the wall of noise and the spectacle of pure revelry and debauchery can be appreciated.
The nearest field is the one where you have come from - that is full of tents with folk selling all kinds of refreshments, booze and food. There are entertainers, tricksters, mummers and games of chance. Wild women and men compete for the attention of punters.
The middle field houses the knights and lower nobles, there is a medical tent, tents for those needing confession, benediction and the last rites. The final field is the tourney field with a covered stand at the end for the high nobles - beyond which are the large tents of the nobility and royalty. None of you have ever witnessed such a grand event, no one in Albion has. People will speak of this tourney for generations to come.

The monk, Brother Bartelemy, has two possessions on his person. A set of stone prayer beads and small prayer book of the True Faith.
Inside the cover there is an inscription written in the Classic script.

“To my dear friend, Bart. The truth is not always the faith, Go with God. Gerard of Erinchester.”

The monk is buried in the rich moist soil of the forest and you begin to make your way back. Tonight is one of celebration, starting with a high mass and blessing (conducted by the Cardinal). Following that a night of carousing and fun awaits before the warriors and athletes pit themselves in competition from early morn.

Arielle took pains to sweep the path behind them to obscure their footprints as they left the greenwood.   She did not want old smelly priests following her....dead or alive.

" So where to now Balavan?"

“Digging ditches isn’t warrior’s work except on the battlefield but I suppose the old bastard deserved some burial for his bravery.

Shame monks are so poor though -except in their churches.

Now who’s ready for a little bit of fun before we all go to meet our god or gods eh?” Rinan finishes with a lascivious wink at the group.

Balavan presses a few florins to Arielle's hand, 'Beer, my shout as agreed.'



Balavan frowns as he eyes the Mercanian axe-man and the rest of the group. 'My round for all who are thirsty. You did a kindness, one and all, right or wrong, gravedigging is thirsty work.'

He gives Arielle a couple more florins in case the fair has bumped up prices, and tells her quietly. 'I'll return the shovel and catch you up; we've taken hands for pettier thefts.'

With that he makes haste to take back the shovel and catch back up with the group.

By the time you finish burying Brother Bartelemy and make it back over the bridge tonthe tourney fields, the time is approaching late afternoon. A Spring sun sets over the field. A variety of open sided tents sell refreshments. Each taverner differs, ranging from a basic stall selling cheap liquor to peasants and the undiscerning. Closer to the fighting field the tents are more salubrious, hosting knights, nobles, high born ladies and high ranking clerics.

A herald in the Kings colours of the lion rampant parades up and down the lanes ‘teeen tents proclaiming
“LISTS, LISTS. Come one, come all. Noble, freeman, knave or peasant. Try your luck in games of skill, sword, foot and horse. Lists make your way and sign your mark.
Great purses and greater fame to be won in the lists. Let’s be having you lads and lords, sign for the lists and make your name and fortune. Nothing like a champion lads, to steal a kiss from a noble lady or lowly slut. Sign at THE LISTS.”

Arielle headed off and purchased enough ale for everyone carrying it back awkwardly.

She pressed a tankard into Balavan and Alfridas hands, " Thinking of entering Balavan?"

" Would they take me, do you think?"

'Their loss if they didn't take you,' Balavan's eyes are genuine.

'I'd gladly watch those entering any and all events.' He tips his cup and nods to all gathered. 'To your good fortune and victory.'

Alfida's eyes widen at the sight of so many people in one place. This is no small farmer's fair, but a veritable city sprung up overnight. The plan that seemed so simple back in the abbey library now seems foolish and ill conceived, a child's fancy without substance.

Pride and curiosity wars with despair and outright fear in her, then caution postpones any decision to slip away from this errant madness until the ill fated Bartelmey is properly buried.

She tries, not particularly successfully, it must be said, to not think about the knight in green, and his scornful words that seem to be more helpful than their scorn would indicate.



Alfrida looks over the prayer beads and book, and ponders if it worth the risk to steal from the dead, even if destroying a book is akin to a sin as well. She also ponders who Gerard is, and where Erinchester might be.

So many questions, and yet the one that burns like a peat fire in the back of her mind is a more complicated one involving the nature of heresy and piety, sadly one beyond her to fully answer.

She shrugs, and leaves such matter to the Pancreator to sort out and simply says "Go with God, Bartelmey." over the forest grave, then hurries away, curiosity winning this time around.



Alfrida stops still, aghast at the risk she has apparently taken so casually, but after a few moments of the ground stubbornly refusing to swallow her up and save her from dying of embarrassment, looks from her feet to the forester and meekly says "Found it in a pile of fresh dug earth. Fourth row back from the road, third hole from the bridge."

She then lapses into silence, deeming it wiser than anything else she might say at this moment, other than "Thank you." for the offer of a drink for digging.





Alfida pauses, mid-way to taking a sip from the tankard she's been handed to offer in agreement "Herald didn't say anything about women entering the lists, but he didn't say anything about them not entering either."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:39, Sat 08 Jan 2022.

In reply to Alfrida (msg # 73):

'You looked worried at my words back there, sister,' Balavan says to Alfrida. 'No need to be troubled, if I noticed your eyes true. The shovel was commandeered by law if necessary, I'd have vouched for us. Not an issue unless it didn't make its way back.'

Stern, to Arielle: 'If you do enlist, never forget you served as Forester's Scout better than any lad or man I've had sworn on. Our lord knew it before his time ended, rest him. Any event not requiring you to be knighted aught to let you in. You know I'd always argue for you as a hand of the king's law too, if push came to shove.'

"That's good to know." Alfrida says quietly, looking slightly less nervous as she adds in a more confident tone "Whoever owns it doubtless has plenty of work to do, so they'll be looking for it soon enough." with a glance at the teeming mass of humanity all about them.

Arielle beamed at Balavan, drained her tankard dry and ran across towards the stewards to sign up.

A slightly too childish skip in her step betraying her age despite her best efforts.

After burying the priest, Durturm follows his friends and gets a drink. Hearing his companions talk about joining the list, he is also interested.

"Besides Arielle, anyone else wants to join? I am also interested in gaining some experience," Dursturm says.

Wiping the ale from his moustache with the back of one meaty hand Rinan lumbers to his feet.

“Well now, I don’t like to work up a sweat for nothing. Although these soft Albish lads won’t be hard work. My purse could use fattening and glory does seem to win the wenches.  So let’s have at it then.”

Rinan wanders over to the stewards muttering about a man needing meat and mead before a good fight….
This message was last edited by the player at 01:42, Sun 09 Jan 2022.

“Yes the money too!” Dursturm says to his friend before approaching the stewards to sign up for the event.

Alfrida considers her chances as she says "I'm not much good at fighting, but I suppose that 'games of skill' may not always need a warrior's skills." then finishes her ale.

'Aye you speak the right of it,' Balavan replies to Alfrida.

He finishes his drink and tails Arielle at a more leisurely pace, keeping her in sight as best he can.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:33, Mon 10 Jan 2022.

A few rounds of drinks and merriment see’s much of the evening pass into night. The fine Spring day has turned to a clear night. The mass of people, fire pits and braziers turns what would be a chilly evening into a fine toasty night.
Singers, entertainers, chancers and rogues abound. Knights, fine ladies, free men and peasants all abandoned to joyous merrymaking. After having your fill, you gradually move toward the Listing Tent, where those seeking fame and fortune in the lists are signing their name or making their mark. Being late at night, there are but a few souls coming to add their names to the list. You look to be the stragglers of what is a small queue.

A big man, clean shaven with salt and pepper shoulder length hair, sits behind a desk on a raised dais in front of an impressive open tent. Two large fire braziers stand either side of the desk illuminating the desk.

“For the lists, we’ll ye’d wanna be hurrying on. Tis close to the top o’de night. and Infancy some fun before the night is out.
He wears a tabard bearing the kings sigil of the Lion Rampant, over a fine spun cloth trouser and good strong tan boots. A simple short sword splits the grass by the seat he has risen from.

“Well friends, whose game? I have spaces left in archery, single combat and jousting. The mass team melee is closed. Tell my men, what have you?”
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:34, Thu 27 Jan 2022.

Alfrida parts with coin of her own for bread and cheese, but shares it around. Even the smallest of the band gets a sliver of cheese and rye bread, not much for a man to chew on, but a fair sized portion for a small ferret.

It is difficult for her not to gawp like a child in wonder at all the sights of the gathered assembly about her, as she looks to each new novelty in some delight as well as confusion.

When the Lists tent is reached however, she listens carefully to what the lion chested man says.



Alfrida glumly considers her lack of bow or arrows, required for the one event she might stand a chance in, but shrugs off the regret and finds a spot nearby to stand out of the way of those who have better skills.

“Anyone wants to sign up for archery and single combat with me?” Dursturm asks

“I like to see my opponent afore I spilt him from crown to crotch!” Rinan boasts, giving his brutal long handled axe a reassuring pat.

“Just the single combat for Rinan the Walrus!”

With much bravado and bluster he proceeds to draw a grinning skull with a distinctive horseshoe shaped moustache.

In reply to Rinan The Walrus (msg # 85):

The man behind the table soams his hamd diwn, a big smile on his chiselled fave.
“Ha, good man Rinan Walrus, I like a man who backs himself. The crowd will want blood and laughter in each measure. Good luck my man, and my your blade be as sharp as your tongue and your moves as swift as your wit.

Looking at Dursturm,
“You big man, whats your name and whats your claim?”

Looking at the last of the crew, “Well now, who else ‘fore I close the list . . .”

In reply to GM (msg # 86):

'Combat,' Balavan taps his chest. 'Mark me Balavan Forester.'

"Dursturm! Archery and combat!" Dursturm cries.

In reply to Dursturm (msg # 88):

“Dursturm is it, the storm? Your parents Kurlish then? Well, lets be hoping tis you bringing thunder.

Balavan, forester. Cant say Ive seen you around. Mmmm, the Kings Forests, or one of these other rogues He says with a wink.

“All right good people, if thats all then the lists be closed. For theres a flagon of cider with my name on it, and Im feeling frisky He says winking at Arielle and Alfrida.

In reply to GM (msg # 89):

Arielle raised an eyebrow, " Before you close them. Put me down for single combat........can I use a crossbow in the archery contest?"