Legends: When Thomas Met Redmane Lord Thomas invites his friends to Hawksmoor to tell them a story from the past.

It has been several Months since the return of many of Mirari's legendary heroes, the defeat of the Destroyer, and the changing of the Rules that govern Mirari. Even with the removal of the greatest evil Mirari had known, much still had to be done. The land had suffered during those long and seemingly endless cold months. But the fae were up to the challenge. In an uncharacteristic show of unity, they had all banded together and rebuilt their great lands. In fact, this uncharacteristic outpouring of unity has led to a surge of new recruits to the Golden Hawks.

Lord Thomas has taken a marked interest in training them; though when he has been unable to do so he has entrusted their training to Lady Hannah of November. Whether it's his attempt to keep the young lady from losing herself to the wiles of the Knight of April, or that he has simply finally decided on a successor is still an unanswered question, though. When Hannah actually asked him on this point, Thomas flashed his usual grin and commented, "You're a Golden Hawk, that's up to you to figure out" Well, at least the Lord Explorer's humor has remained unchanged.

It's evening in Spring and the leaves of the forest that Hawksmoor calls home have regained their emerald foliage. Lord Thomas has called in several of the more inquisitive Golden Hawks recruits into the library of the old fortress. Not only were they summoned, but Lady Hannah, Lady Rachel, Sir Lefallon, Minstrel Sam, and Knight Redmane of House May were called.

The archives of Hawksmoor
Located deep within the heart of the fortress, to shelter the archives from attack, is a dusty-smelling room with many shelves heaped with map cases and books. There is a skylight overhead to bring natural light in, and braziers which can be lit to give more light to individual reading tables. What there does not appear to be is any particular organization to how maps and journals are stored in the archives, perhaps because few Explorers have also desired to be charged with the title of "Librarian."

Of course, Lord Thomas isn't present when everyone arrives. This has left the group to 'entertain' themselves for a bit. As the evening grows on, the new recruits have gotten antsy. But, as some start towards the door, it flies open. The heavy oaken panels hit the walls with a bang. Through the now open passage steps Lord Thomas.

"Ah, great, everyone is still here! I would have been here sooner but a small matter of some Gnolls encroaching on the western border of the forest was brought to my attention. But, no worries, I've handled it. It was just a small group and it turns out they were lost," Thomas explains as he saunters into the room. After a dramatic wave of his hands, he continues, "So, I put them on the right path and sent them on their way. Of course, they believed I was an elder Gnoll at the time, but that isn't why all of you are here."

He heads to the bookcases and runs his fingers along the spines of some very old tomes. He nods, then taps one with his finger and slips it out. As he opens it, he says, "Many of you have asked more about the origins of Knight Redmane and our relationship," he says, "Well, I thought I would clear that mystery up tonight."

The Lord Explorer slips a page from the old book and turns to face those gathered. Grinning like the proverbial feline who caught the mouse, he says, "And as such tales involving Knights tend to start, it involves a Princess. Princess Alexandra, the daughter of the King and Queen of Year Thirty-Six, in fact. That date is important; can anyone tell me why?"

Sir Lefallon looks blank. He's still very young in appearance, despite the passage of time. Far from seeming the glorious blonde knight, he's small and mousey looking with brown hair.

Lady Rachel looks at Tom as he announces his plan, quirking an eyebrow. She's sitting at one of the tables, her hands folded over a map. She glances from the Explorer to Redmane at Tom's announcement and smiles a little.

Minstrel Sam, an aged version of Sir Lefallon, with long-swept ears that had sprung up at Tom's entrance, sets down the lute with which he had been entertaining some of the bored-looking Hawks, and cogitates. Noisily. "Was it the year when Tom fought the Loathsome Ice Trolls? Or when he stole the Golden Phoenix from Storm Keep? Or... Hmm." He ransacks his disorganized memories.

Redmane grins from where she leans back against a stack of books. "Isn't that when I first arrived in Mirari?" she asks.

"I figured you would remember the date. Today is the anniversary of the Tourney in which you made your appearance, in fact," Thomas comments. His fingers play over the old piece of paper in his hand. "And it was also the beginning of the torment you would put me through," he adds, flashing Redmane a grin. "Your dramatic appearance ruined my plans of not going to that Tournament."

Sir Lefallon perks up at the word 'tournament'. "This sounds interesting," he says with a grin.

"Note this evening well," Rachel asides softly to the young Forhoove recruit near her. "If ever you hear a tale that makes you doubt Lord Thomas's bravery, do not attempt to refute it with tales of his prowess against trolls or his trickery of gnolls or the wraiths that he has faced down. But remember this: he wanted to tell us this story with Redmane present.

Sir Lefallon grins at Lady Rachel's observation. "He is quite the fearless lad - why, he might be corrected!"

Rachel gives Lefallon a grave look. "And most men would sooner brave a thousand bloody wounds than face that."

"The wounds hurt less," Sir Lefallon says back mock-seriously.

"Dramatic entrance? Moi?" Redmane asks innocently. "Aren't you the one who prefers grand entrances, Tom?"

Hannah looks over from a nearby table, where she has been cleaning her rapier as something to do while Tom made his way to the library. "The fact that you're not interested in the jousting tournament doesn't surprise me, Thomas," she quips.

"Nor me: Thomas hates it when the Houses compete with one another," the Lady Knight notes.

"Says the masked Black Knight," Thomas retorts to Redmane’s feigned innocence. "Now, I mentioned a princess. Well, her fascination with Knights and other such silliness had often gotten her into trouble. And her getting into trouble tended to get me into trouble. And Hannah is correct; I never quite understood why people riding around on the backs of animals poking each other with sticks somehow equates to being heroic."

"Tournament, tournament, tournament," Minstrel Sam says to himself. "Let's see, was it the one where you were going to compete in the tournament, but the judges disbarred you for not having proper jousting equipment? The nerve of them, wanting you to ride with a proper saddle and armor!"

"Thomas would more likely be in the archery competition, trying to shoot an apple off of his own head," Redmane suggests.

Minstrel Sam laughs. "I wouldn't put that entirely past him, but I think I missed that event, Lady Redmane, if he did."

Rachel gets a thoughtful look on her face. Her fingers trace against the paper before her, as if working out the vectors needed for such a stunt.

Hannah smiles broadly at the others' teasing, and then comments lightly, "Nothing wrong with Knights in principle, Thomas. There are even a few worth getting to know better." As she says this, however, her hand wanders from the blade of her sword to the collar of her shirt, then quickly back again.

"I'm sure there is something in this tale of yours that you didn't want Ahearn to hear, Thomas," Redmane says, with one eyebrow arched. "It's going to be embarrassing, isn't it?"

Thomas pulls out a chair and falls into it heavily. He leans back and props his feet up on the table. Holding up the bit of paper, he says, "Ahem! Now, I was just minding my own business and seeing to some new recruits at the Mews when this letter arrived. I just new there was trouble coming when I saw the royal seal upon the wax." He taps the paper a few times for dramatic effect, clears his throat loudly, and then reads:

My dear Lord Explorer,

It has been near a Month since you rescued me from that unfortunate incident that we both promised to never speak of again. Your prowess in rescuing me then has stuck in my memory, and recent events require me to call upon your services once more. The Spring Tournament is well underway and glory flows to and from the Houses hourly. But that is not the concern. A mysterious knight that does not announce which House he serves has entered the tournament. Not only that, but this Knight has been readily defeating each House in turn. Why, at this rate he will become the champion. And you know that means he will stand before the Royal court to be rewarded. I need not say how dangerous that could be, should this knight wish us ill. Therefore, I beseech you to meet with me on the Tourney grounds to discuss the matter further and devise a plan.

Ever in your debt, Princess Alexandra.

"Unfortunate incident that you both promised never to speak of again..." Minstrel Sam puts his fingers to his forehead, obviously trying to recall it. "Oh dear, that was rather a mess, wasn't it!"

Brows furrowed in thought, Redmane asks, "Isn't she the one I ended up rescuing from a dragon eventually?"

Sir Lefallon looks curious.

"Yes, and you can't speak of it again either," Thomas warns and wags his finger. To Redmane, Thomas nods, adding, "The same. She had ... issues with getting into trouble. Listen to her final comment in the letter: P.S. Don't force me to have your own second-in-command bring you there. You know I'll do it again if I must!"

"Can I sing about it?" Sam asks with a wicked grin.

"No," Thomas says dryly.

Minstrel Sam looks long-suffering. "Oh, the sacrifices I must make."

Rachel remarks, "The letter doesn't say anything about Minstrel Sam not speaking of it."

"Ah, I can tell already that Thomas and this princess must have gotten along famously," Redmane notes while rolling her eyes.

"Quite. She was almost as much of a pain in the butt as you were," Thomas comments to Redmane.

Hannah laughs at the princess' postscript. "D'you mean that your second-in-command can actually make you do something, Thomas? Hmmm, that might just make the job more appealing..."

"There were rather a lot of stories about the two of you," Rachel says, looking sidelong at Tom, and then Sam.

"The Royalty were always intent on making my life difficult. I still suspect they granted me a title in order to annoy me," Thomas grumbles quietly. Speaking up again, he says, "Now, may I continue...? This story is about Redmane, not me."

The red-haired knight nods, and says, "Please continue, Thomas. I'm curious myself."

Rachel waves a hand for Thomas to continue, leaning forward to rest her chin against her hand and watch him.

Minstrel Sam grins and pretends to make a note of it. "In this Year did the Lord Explorer Thomas tell a story about someone else."

"It's a good thing I'm a patient soul," Thomas mutters and glares at Sam for a brief moment. Clearing his throat again, he says, "So ... I had to go. A later note mentioned that I should meet Alexandra near one of the tourney tents so that we could observe the jousting field and let me witness this Knight firsthand, then decide on a means of resolving if he was a threat..."

The spot where Princess Alexandra requested Lord Thomas to meet her lies near one of the more out-of-the-way food vendors’ stalls, but for all that, it still has a good view of the jousting field. As Thomas makes his way there, he notes the crowd of people around it with concern at first, but then realizes it's not a bad spot for a meeting where you wish to go unnoticed. As the customers are more focused on their meals and the tourney, they are paying little attention to the brown-cloaked figure standing behind the stall, tapping its foot in impatience.

"I thought last time we had agreed you would not be looking for more trouble, your Highness," comes a whisper from behind Alexandra. Sliding around to get a better look of the tournament grounds, Lord Thomas comes into view. The Lord Explorer, a young adult in appearance with the trademarked pale skin and black hair common to those born of a late-Autumn/early-Winter House, shifts his cloak back a bit. As common for him, he's dressed in travel-worn clothing, marred by stains and bits of patchwork repairs. His eyes focus ahead on the jousting field.

"Get your pig-on-a-stick here," calls one enterprising vendor, holding up some of his ware for the crowd to see. What he's selling appear to be sausages on sticks, but a length of bread dough has been wrapped around them and then fried up crisp in a mold, so they look like tiny little pigs, indeed. "Buy two, get one free!"

The cloaked figure turns its head towards Thomas just enough so that he can see past the hood to the face inside. Shrouded within the folds of fine fabric is a young teenaged girl, brown-haired and grey-eyed. She doesn't even start at Thomas' sudden appearance, but merely shrugs and answers in her own whisper, "I promised never to speak of the cause of our first meeting, not to ignore what needs be done, Lord Thomas." She puts some emphasis on his title, smiling slightly.

Thomas' brow arches slightly at the emphasis as he glances to the woman next to him. "What must be done is not the duty of the Princess," he notes, "But such is an argument for a later time. Where is this knight that concerns you?"

Another vendor, this one a young golden vixen with flowing blonde hair, calls out, "Ices! Tasty shaved ice, fresh from the mountains! Taste the Spring in every bite!" She offers free samples, holding out a small wooden spoon with a morsel of blueberry-flavored ice to the lips of passersby, winking flirtatiously. Her father is doing brisk business, handing out cups of ice to the intrigued customers in return for small coins.

"So you say," the Princess retorts, then points to the left end of the field. "The Black Knight is yonder. The one with his helm always on, and his visor always closed, do you see?"

Not an elderly man with wisps of fraying gray-and-brown hair, or a young boy with a bowl-cut of brown, but a young man with a stylish haircut doffs his hat to the ice vendor vixen. "My throat is parched, mistress, and I must beg your mercy; let me quench my mortal thirst with your ice as your beauty quenches the thirst of my eyes!" He bows with a grin, and palms coins to her father and takes the ice without losing eye contact.

The vixen blushes and smiles to the court-mannered minstrel, and there is conversation that Tom and the Princess can't quite make out. Her father raises an eyebrow.

The figure pointed to is hard to miss. Everything about the Black Knight seems primitive, from the bulky lacquered bronze armor to the oversized horse that looks like it should be pulling a beer wagon instead of carrying someone into battle. The only things that appear normal are the shield and lance he carries - but those are provided by the Tourney itself.

"You cannot be serious. That is the great concern? That? It looks like some farmer decided to make some armor and join the tournament," Thomas says, a rare tone of surprise sounding in his voice. "Which, quite honestly, would be funny if he wins. Maybe it won't be so bad to be here today." He waves to the princess to follow. "Come on; let me see if I can catch the sounds of this knight's voice. Perhaps I can place his homeland."

The vixen shoos the minstrel. "Off with ye, your pretty words are distracting me from my customers," she says with a laugh. He takes his ices with a laugh of his own - he's bought three cups, red, purple, and orange in appearance - and walks off. Or at least, he starts to, until he catches sight of someone he'd never expected to see at the tournament. "Hey, hullo there!" He quickens his step in their direction to see if it really is Tom.

Alexandra nods and falls into step beside Thomas, whispering to him as she does. "I thought just the same, but you have not yet seen him fight! He has been sweeping the field with amazing skill, for all his untrained appearance. As many here did, I believed he would be stopped by Knight Charles of May near the middle of the tourney, but he even broke through that worthy's defenses! I tell you, this is a man to be watched."

"And has caught the fancy of the Princess, perhaps?" Thomas inquires as the pair slips around the various tents, trying to draw closer. Out of the corner of his eye he finally spots Sam approaching. Raising his hand to indicate stopping, the Lord Explorer then halts. "But that will have to wait until we make sure that the ever-curious minstrel doesn't alert the knight of our approach..."

Alexandra darts a quick glance at the oncoming minstrel, then pulls the hood of her cloak even more closely about her face.

The minstrel's lute thumps rhythmically on his back as he walks quickly to catch up. "Aha! There's no mistaking that put-upon look, the one that says, 'Sam, what are you doing here?'" he says with a grin and offers Tom a choice of ice. "One for your friend as well? I'm here for the musical tournament at the castle, of course, but I'm looking around for some fresh inspiration."

Thomas selects the red 'ice'. "I'm here on business," he whispers, "So keep your voice low. Some concerns have been raised about the unknown entrant and I'm here to make sure that this knight means no harm to the court. Otherwise, well, I would be far from here. My friend here was the one who sent word to me."

Alexandra nods gravely to the minstrel, and then selects the purple ice with murmured thanks.

Minstrel Sam raises an eyebrow at the cloaked figure. "I see," he says lowering his voice to match. "There has been quite the hubbub over the Black Knight. They say that no one has ever seen his face and he doesn't even have a squire who might have helped him put on his armor. And no one has an idea where he might have come from."

"Have you heard his voice? Given the places I've been, perhaps I can place his origin by his accent," Thomas notes quietly, then takes a quick sip from the 'ice'. "As for a squire ... with armor like that, it's evident this person could not afford to keep a squire properly fed and clothed. But then, I am not known for dressing in finery either. Do either of you know which tent is his?"

"I can lead you to it, since I have sought it out already myself," Alexandra says softly.

"It's a deep and hollow voice," Sam answers to the first question. "There's an odd accent, but I can't place it, and I've met people from any number of places, so it's truly out of place."

"Mm, I would like to hear it," Thomas muses as he watches the odd knight in the distance. "And once that knight is called to joust, you shall lead us to the tent so that I may try to determine just who this person may be. As long as he's jousting, I should be free to examine his belongings," he adds as he looks to the cloaked Alexandra. Thomas resumes walking between the tents, trying to draw closer to the mystery knight.

"Mm, well, why don't we simply ask him where he's from?" asks Minstrel Sam.

"Because that gives him an opportunity to lie to us. Also, it informs him that he's being watched," Thomas points out.

The strange knight is checking the bindings on the wooden saddle of his mount in the 'Recess' beyond the lists. Up close, the armor looks even odder, with the oversized helmet resembling a Nautilus whose tentacles form the face guard with the gaps between them allowing for vision. The shell-motif is repeated elsewhere, with pauldrons, knee and elbow guards formed into the shape of clamshells, while other pieces of plate are engraved with piscine and squid-like forms. A few attendants stand nearby, holding tourney-lances for the knight to choose from.

The minstrel grins. "But you want to hear his voice, don't you? Let him lie to me if he likes, and then I'll retire to the stands to watch the tournament."

Alexandra eats a little of her purple-colored ice as she follows after Thomas, just to have something to do with her hands. She also shivers a little, but whether from the ice or her fearful thoughts isn’t clear.

"Feel free to ask then. I'll just lurk nearby to listen," Thomas relents to the Minstrel.

The minstrel bows to the others, and then moves ahead to approach the knight from a different direction. As a diversion, he makes no attempt to hide his arrival. "Hello! Good day, Knight Redmane," he calls. "Might I trouble you for a few questions? I know you fight soon, but it won't take long!"

"Well, at least it will be easier to sneak now," Thomas mutters as Sam heads off to greet the knight. For now, he just lurks in the shadows of one of the nearby tents to listen.

Alexandra is close at Thomas' elbow, keeping silent so she can also hear the conversation.

The monstrous helm turns to look at Sam. The Nautilus has two bulging green eyes made of some sort of gemstone, and seems to glare at the minstrel. "I am not seeking a squire," the knight rumbles. The accent has a roll to it, and something of a lilt... and is utterly foreign.

"Oh, no, no, I'm not a squire, I'm a minstrel," Sam assures, but the dire look of the helm's eyes do make his voice quaver a bit. "I'll be playing before the King tonight!" (And so will many other minstrels) "I'd planned to write you into my latest song, but it occurred to me I was missing a few little details. For instance: your accent. It sounds of one from far away! Could you tell me a little about where you come from?"

For now, Thomas is content to be quiet and just listen to the exchange. He doesn't recognize anything ... yet.

Grabbing the pommel of the heavy saddle, the knight lifts himself up with little effort instead of using the crane and pulley normally needed to mount a fully armored knight. "Someplace green," the so-called Redmane offers, and gestures for the lance-bearers to come closer.

"Heh," mutters Thomas. "It looks as if the knight is preparing to joust. Come, show me the tent," he whispers to Alexandra.

"Green. Of course," says Minstrel Sam, whipping out a bit of parchment and jotting this down. "To what do you attribute the secret of your amazing success? Skill, strength, or maybe the great virtue of your cause, whatever that might be?"

The horse shifts beneath the knight's weight, but doesn't prance. It's a stoic beast; no nervous, high-strung racehorse, this.

"I want to win," is the knight's simple reply.

"As you wish," the Princess whispers to Tom, then slips behind the nearby tents, putting her out of the Black Knight's line-of-sight. She beckons to Thomas and sidles off in the direction of the mysterious knight's encampment.

Thomas lingers for a moment, listening. Satisfied that the Minstrel will not get much more information from this knight, he slips off after the Princess.

Minstrel Sam writes this down. "Very good, very good, and just one last question, do you have a Lord or Lady to whom you've pledged your service? Or is it possible you're a Lord of this faraway, green place, disguising yourself to come a great distance and win the tournament?" He almost seems pleading, since so far this isn't making great song material.

"No," the knight replies as he tests the lances for balance.

The tourney tents are all alike, save for the coats of arms that adorn most. The one the Princess brings Thomas to is unmarked, however, and has a single entry flap.

In the distance, the minstrel thanks "Redmane" for his time and, not seeing Tom and his cloaked informant, proceeds away to the bleachers.

Thomas circles the tent slowly once they reach it, making note of its size and how it is secured. When they return to the front, he unhooks his cloak and folds it in his arms, then offers it to Alexandra. "Please hold this while I examine the knight's belongings. Also, please keep watch and alert me if he should head towards the tent. I will exit out the back if so ... so just alert me and then seek your own safety," Thomas instructs.

Alexandra takes Thomas' cloak and says, "All right, but I command you to report to me anything of interest that you might find in the knight's tent. If his belongings present us with sufficient cause to accuse him of treachery, I must pass on that information to my father." Then the Princess flashes Tom a grin from inside the hood of her own cloak. "And if the Black Knight approaches too soon, just expect a bit of a racket." Then she slips off to hide herself near the entrance of the tent.

"And if he might be cute, tell me that too, my slave explorer," Thomas mutters to himself with a wry smirk as the Princess slinks off. Before entering, Thomas eases the tent flap back slowly, keeping a keen eye out for any trip lines that might be connected. Seeing none, he slips inside and lets the tent close behind him.

Tourney Tent
Every contestant in the tourney is given a tent, whether they use it or not. At twelve feet across, each circular tent is tall and roomy enough to accommodate a knight, his squire and an attendant. This particular tent has been assigned to the black knight, and is a bit barren. What few items occupy it are largely clustered against the central support pole, to which a lance is strapped: a traveler's bedroll, water barrel, stool, two small flat-topped chests, drying rack with some rags hanging on it and a standing armor rack. Rugs are scattered about the floor, and a single longer chest rests near the tent wall, opposite from the entry flap.

There aren't any signs of other tenants, since the black knight has no squire or servant, and has supposedly turned away all offers from eager lads hoping for the positions. The chests and rugs are covered in odd geometric designs that resemble intertwined rope and depict creatures that are so stylized as to be unrecognizable to Thomas. The wooden chests are covered in green lacquer with the designs painted in gold leaf, although they've seen better days. Atop the two huddled near the central pole and lance lies an unsheathed longsword with faceted green gems in the crossguard and an egg-shaped one at the end of the pommel. The grip is wrapped in green and gold leather bands, as is that of the vertically-suspended lance, and both weapons are engraved with unfamiliar runes. Resting at the base of the armor rack is a bronze shield, covered in green lacquer save for the impression of a seahorse on the face.

Even though it's not strictly necessary, Thomas slinks down and slips towards the bundle in the center. His movement betrays the look of a predator on the hunt as he does an initial sweep around the belongings, noting the odd designs. "It must be far, indeed, if I do not recognize these markings. Curious, curious." He doesn't look to the weapons yet, instead his attention shifts to the rags drying on the rack. He moves in close, peering at them but not touching. "Now, what are you, clothing, perhaps?"

The rags appear to be just that: rags. No doubt used for cleaning, polishing or possibly even bathing.

Satisfied with those for now, Thomas' attention shifts back to the items clustered in the center. First for inspection is the shield. Carefully, he turns it around and looks for a maker's mark.

The back of the shield bears an inscription - but it's in those odd runes, instead of a more familiar maker's stamp. This close to the central pole, Thomas begins to feel an odd sense of discomfort as well.

Trying to ignore the feeling for now, Thomas slips out a piece of parchment from a belt pouch. He places it over the runes on the shield. There he rubs over the parchment with some coal, making a negative impression of the runes for later study. The parchment is put away and the shield is returned to its former position. Now his attention shifts to the odd feeling. He extends his hand out and slowly moves it over the pole and then the chest. He never actually touches anything, since he's trying to locate the source of the odd feeling...

The discomfort is most pronounced when his hand approaches the lance or the sword. And it also doesn't seem to be the result of a glamour, as far as Thomas can tell. It does make looking into the chests problematical however, since the sword is lying across their tops.

Focusing on the sword now, Thomas draws closer to it. His hand comes within an inch of it as he mutters, "Now, what exactly are you, hmm? And why would a knight at a tournament have weapons like you?"

The sword doesn't reply, but its presence perhaps hints at why Redmane doesn't need an attendant to guard his belongings. The odd runes on it are different from those on the lance, however, so probably aren't part of an enchantment.

Thomas leans in and sniffs the air lightly. His expression darkens as he suddenly draws back. "Iron," he determines from the metallic scent and the oils that preserve it. "Fae's bane. So ... this knight is not fae if he can wield such. Nor could a fae readily stand against it. If this knight approached the royal court bearing these ..." He lets that statement trail off and his attention shifts to the scattered rugs, looking for a small one.

Outside the tent, an exasperated voice is speaking as a couple of people walk by. Neither set of footsteps sounds like Redmane's, and the male voice that speaks is vaguely familiar to Tom. “-- already, girl, I don't need more adventure. I'm happy with my current position." He doesn't sound happy.

Thomas halts for the moment, trying to place the voice.

The rugs are all rug-sized, and overlap to cover the ground as much as possible. They also seem to be about as wide as the large chest against the back wall of the tent.

"Let’s see what's in the unprotected chest first," Thomas muses as he slips away from the terrible iron weapons, though he has already devised a manner by which to examine them. Once he reaches the large chest, he tests opening it with a light tug.

The chest isn't even latched, and as old as it seems the hinges appear to be well-oiled. Nothing happens when the lid is lifted, and in the filtered light of the tent Thomas can see another rug at the bottom, still folded.

Thomas tries to unfold the rug slightly to see if anything is concealed in it.

The rug is in worse shape than those placed around the tent, and frayed through in places. It doesn't appear to hold any secrets, however - just more of the same odd knotwork-embroidery.

Thomas lifts the folded rug from the chest and carries it back to the ones near the pole. Gently, he lays it upon the iron sword that rests on the top of the chests. Once it is covering the metal, he presses his hand down on top of it, trying to hold the sword still as he tests to see if he can open the chest while using the rug to hold the sword for him.

"You're a sword rusting into a sheath," replies the other voice, female, and this time Tom knows the voice - it is Translator Oberia, a recent recruit but one who burns bright with the mission of the Golden Hawks. "The occasional troll incursion, helping to fix a bridge that broke under the weight of Winter, drilling your men day after day; does this truly call to the spirit inside you? Can you really tell me that you're content?"

It's tricky, and doesn't leave Thomas with a free hand, but he does manage to open the first chest enough to see inside. Unfortunately, this chest is empty save for some loose cloth. It might be used for hauling the armor around, however - it seems roomy enough.

Thomas mutters something about proper villains not leaving enough clues around anymore. He slips over to try and open the next chest, using much the same technique in opening it.

"It's important work," the man replies grimly, and now Tom places it as Randall, Captain of April's guard. "An important duty. Moreso than going out and looking for trouble because there's not enough around at home. Just because it doesn't make the minstrels sing doesn't mean it's not serious business. Quite the opposite, if you ask me."

This time Thomas isn't disappointed, for within the second chest are saddlebags and green-dyed leather clothing (albeit folded) along with a sword-belt and a sheathed dirk. The style looks local, for a change. Also local is the roar of the crowd at the tourney, indicating something exciting has just transpired.

Thomas tries to slip his hand inside to move the folded clothing around a bit and get a good look at it. The roar also reminds him that he is working on borrowed time; that may have just been the end of a successful joust.

As soon as his hand is moved, Thomas can feel the heavy sword begin to slide. It doesn't help that the 'heat' from the lance isn't being mitigated by thick folds of cloth, either.

Frowning, Thomas stops. He withdraws his hand and lets the chest close. Better to not see the clothing and leave no trace than to drop the sword. He would have no way to return it to the chest.

Using the rug, it isn't difficult to push the blade back into the proper place at least.

"It's important duty, aye, I'll acknowledge that," Translator Oberia grants. "But is it your work? Or could it be done by your lieutenant? He is content with a hot cup of chocolate in the morning and the click-clack of men sparring. You... You prowl around looking for anything that's out of place. It makes the soldiers nervous."

Thomas lifts the rug from the sword once it is back into position. Glad to get away from the uncomfortable metal, he returns the rug to the large chest from where it came. Letting out a slow breath, he then looks around for a moment. Thinking of something, he goes to the armor rack and examines the part which usually holds the helmet. "Let’s see if you left any hair behind. Perhaps it would tell me something," he murmurs.

"It keeps them alert," Randall retorts sharply. "Which is just as important in apparent peace as in obvious danger. More vital, in truth, because it’s all too easy to let your guard down when you think you are safe."

Eureka! There appears to be a single thread of hair caught in a splinter of wood. Even in the dimmed light (for this tent does not seem to have any sort of lantern) it seems to shine a bright crimson.

Thomas gently pulls the bit of hair free. He holds it up to his nose and sniffs it lightly.

The strand actually has a scent to it - and a somewhat flowery one at that - from whatever is used to keep it clean.

Oberia's voice says calmly, "And if it goes on and on? How long can you expect the unexpected, be ready for danger that may come from any direction of the compass? You will wear your men out, and wear yourself out, when you could as easily go and look to see where it's coming from."

Thomas’ brow arches a bit at the scent. He coils up the strand of hair and tucks it away in one of his pouches. "Curious scent for a knight to bear," he notes to himself. He then realizes something and taps his forehead. "Oberia is a translator. I have a copy of the runes from the shield ..." he notes. Quickly, he goes back to the sword and lance. There he just tries to copy the runes freehand onto the same paper he used to make the rubbing. "Let’s see what she can make of these..."

Just as Oberia finishes chiding Randall, a clanking noise approaches the tent, growing louder by the second. Suddenly, there is a loud patter of running footsteps followed by a grunt and a loud CLANG! that even reverberates within the Black Knight's tent. This is followed by an unfamiliar young boy's voice groaning, "Ooooh, owwww, watch where yer goin', guv'nor! You wanna kill me or somefing?" There is a pause before the boy adds, "Blimey! Yer that knight wot's got everyone talkin', aincha? Um, yeah...sorry about the fuss. I meant nuffin' by it!"

"Always be aware of your surroundings, squire," the hollow-sounding voice of the Black Knight replies to whoever just ran into him - although Thomas can probably guess who it was easily enough.

Stopping midway in copying, Thomas thinks "Time to go!" So ... he heads towards the far side of the tent opening. There he tries to find a spot where he can shimmy out under the tent.

The walls of the tent are pretty firmly staked down every three feet or so, but the large rug-chest might conceal a minor breach. For that matter, the chest is large enough to hide in as well should it be necessary.

"Yeah, dat's right," the boy is heard to reply, sounding like he's dusting himself off now - and rather loudly, at that. "Always got me mind on me duties, not lookin' where I'm goin'. Anyways, sorry!"

Oberia's footsteps hurry away toward the front of the tent, and in the distance, she can be heard to ask if everyone is all right.

Randall follows Oberia's suit, sounding rather gruff and annoyed.

Working quickly, Thomas tries checking behind the chest for any possible breaches in the tent.

"No harm done, milady," comes the voice of the knight, and the creak of armor from a bow.

Apparently the chest wasn't placed there to cover up a gap. The tent wall looks plenty secure.

"Yeah, I'm alright, too, t'anks fer askin'!" the boy says cheerfully. "Anyhow, gotta get back to me knight, he'll have me ears off if I don't return soon. 'Bye!" And again, there is the sound of running feet, heading off into the distance.

Thomas gets a sudden idea, and his eyes narrow as the plot hatches in his mind. Then the ranger opens the trunk lid up and lifts out the rug. Quickly, he climbs in and lies down, drapes the rug over his body, then reaches up and pulls the lid closed.

"Your voice," Oberia observes, her own voice made faint by intervening cloth and distance and the walls of the trunk. "It sounds of someone from far away... Over the seas. Ancient Eire?"

There is a pause, instead of the quick reply that the knight usually gives. "I have heard it called that by.. some," the knight admits.

Oberia nods gravely. "I met once with a bard from Eire. He spoke as you did, and he had a gift for song. But there is something else about your voice..."

"Interesting," the foreign knight observes. "If you will grant me your leave, however, I have bruises to tend to from my recent joust."

"Oh, of course, please excuse me," comes Oberia's voice, and she wishes Redmane well in his jousts before returning her attention to the recalcitrant Randall.

Randall, meanwhile, has taken advantage of the lack of serious incident and Oberia's distraction to make good his own escape. He always was more cautious than Tom. Oberia's foot stamps. "Of all the nerve - it'd go much easier for him if he'd admit I'm right." She sighs and then her footsteps wane.

The knight enters the tent soon afterwards, and cinches closed the flap before heading for the armor rack.

Thomas remains motionless in the chest for now, buried beneath the rug. He is content to listen, as trying to peek through a lid crack would likely give him away. He does, however, take a moment to see if any light comes through a keyhole...

Since the chest has no lock on it, there isn't any convenient hole to admit light - or allow one to easily see outside. From the sounds, however, it's clear that the knight is removing pieces of the heavy armor, and occasionally sighing in discomfort.

So... Thomas waits for now inside the chest. He dare not peek given the proximity of the armor rack to this chest. His particular interest moves now to the specific sounds the knight makes, even the inflection of the sigh could be telling.

The knight is oddly quiet, aside from those brief exhalations. He doesn't even mutter or talk to himself. The sounds of movement shift away from the rack eventually, however, and relocate to the where the stool and water barrel should be. Assuming the knight is facing the barrel, his back would be to the chest Thomas is hiding in.

Thomas eases upright just a bit. With a careful nudge, he tries to lift the lid just enough to peek out.

Through the narrow crack, Thomas can make out the upper back of the knight. A thick braid of red hair falls between the shoulders, and the knight is wearing a heavy padded shirt that resembles a quilt made of tiny pillows. With a grunt, the shirt is pulled up. By the time it clears the shoulders, Thomas can at least be certain of one thing: the mysterious black knight is actually a woman.

Thomas' eyes widen in the narrow slit he's peering through. "Well, well. Won't many a maiden be disappointed," he can't help but think at this realization.

The knight has to stand up to remove the padded pants as well, and despite mentioning bruises there aren't any that Thomas can see. The garments go into the water barrel, and there is much sloshing and wringing as they're washed out. As nice as the view may be, however, there's no way Thomas will be able to see the woman's face unless she bends over.

"It's also a good thing I'm not a knight. I think I just violated half their vows in the past minute," Thomas also thinks for a moment. "But now I see why she will not reveal her face. Many would judge her by that instead of by skill alone. It does not entirely answer for the iron weapons, but ... it does tend to indicate she may not mean any harm here." For now he continues to watch unless the woman starts to turn and could take notice of the lid being slightly cracked open.

The padded garments are soon put on the other rack to dry, and the woman returns to the stool with some of the rags. One is used as a washcloth. As she bathes, Thomas begins to notice just how musty it is inside the chest, as well as how warm it's getting.

To allow the woman some privacy, he lowers the lib back down quietly. There he waits in the trunk, though the heat is getting a bit bothersome. He begins to debate a few plans of action. One comes to mind. It isn't very noble, but ...

It takes some time for the bathing, from the sounds of the cloth being dipped and wrung out. At least Thomas has a good idea of what the woman looks like from the neck down by now. She's definitely taller and leaner than usual, and didn't look strong enough to really wear that armor as easily as it appeared. There also weren't any obvious scars or other identifying marks. As the air gets staler in the chest, the sounds of washing conclude. There's a metallic clank as the longsword is moved from the chests to the armor rack, followed by the sounds of dressing.

Thomas' brow knits in concentration as he tries to project a new visage over his own. A young lad dressed in tattered clothing. Not unlike many that had likely pestered her earlier about being her squire. Absently, he slips off one of his gloves and tucks it into a pocket. "If you leave quickly, I won't have to do this, but ..." he thinks.

Buckles are buckled and laces are laced, and then there is mostly silence, aside from the pounding of Thomas' own heart by this point.

Thomas listens for a few moments longer, hoping to hear footsteps leaving. But, to prepare for his 'escape' he places his nails lightly against the chest wall...

It is always possible that the rugs absorbed the sounds of footsteps, since the woman likely wasn't wearing armored boots when she left.

So ... Thomas starts scratching his fingernails on the side of the chest, mimicking the sounds of mice and rats.

There's no response to the scratching sounds, or any other sounds of movement at this point. The voices of people moving about outside the tent grow however as the tourney ends for the day and the crowds begin to seek out taverns.

Without anyone opening the trunk ... Thomas now eases it slightly open and peers out again, looking for the woman. He keeps the glamour of the ratty squire projected, though, just in case.

The tent appears to be unoccupied now. Thomas can see that the deadly sword has been moved to the armor rack to prevent anyone from tampering with it.

Thomas lets out a slow breath and eases the chest open. Thankful for the fresh air, he now tries to climb out.

The scent of the knight's herbal soap still lingers in the air, but otherwise there's no trace of the woman now.

Thomas packs the musty rug back into the trunk, closes it, and then slinks to the tent flap. He peers out, looking to see if he can slip out unseen.

The crowds have thinned now, since very few of the spectators would have come through this way. It seems to be clear.

So ... out Thomas goes, still hidden under the glamour of the squire. Moving quickly away from the unknown knight's tent, he peers around for Alexandra.

From behind a nearby tent on the right, a voice hisses softly, "Thomas, is that you? Over here!"

Thomas slips over to the tent on the right and allows the glamour to fade. "Alexandra?" he whispers, "Well, I have some interesting things to report, at least."

The Princess herself emerges from the shade given by the tent and walks over to Thomas to hand him his cloak. "What did you see? Is this Black Knight a threat to the Royal House?" she asks, peering at him intently.

"Could the Black Knight be a threat: yes. She is not fae and carries with her iron weaponry," Thomas answers in a low voice as he peers about, trying to locate a certain red-haired woman. "But as for if she is, I do not know yet. I have something Oberia needs to translate for me. As for the woman ... well, I will find out that answer soon enough."

This information does make Alexandra start. "The Black Knight...is a woman? But... but... where's the fun in that?" she complains, suddenly acting her age and youth. "Here I thought this mysterious warrior was a dark and handsome man and he turns out to be a girl instead! Hmf!" The Princess crosses her arms and pouts for all of a minute. "Although," she muses, seeming to regain control of herself, "that is sort of romantic in its own way. Reminds me of the old story of Hildegaard the Huge slaying rampaging hobgoblins all over Mirari. Hmmm."

Thomas just rubs his temples for a moment. "I was right, she was smitten by tales of mystery and knightly romance," he thinks. After counting to five and letting out a sigh, he asks, "Did anyone pass this way dressed in mainly green? If so, which way did they go? And ... did you perhaps see which way Oberia went?"

Appearing to be a little lost in thought, the Princess says absently, "Oh yes, another person in a green cloak came out of the tent before you and headed off towards the tavern that lies near the field. As for Oberia, I assume that she went back to where the Golden Hawks are encamped, since I ran off before she did."

"Right. The tavern it is, then. You should go home; things could get dangerous," Thomas notes as he takes his cloak from Alexandra. He sweeps it around his back and fastens it in place. "I will send you a missive in the morning detailing my findings."

Alexandra folds her arms across her chest again and glares at Thomas. "You think to get rid of me that easily, do you? You told me this woman was carrying iron weapons, so what happens if you try to face her all alone, eh?" she demands to know, a dangerous look in her grey eyes.

"She left her weapons in her tent," Thomas points out calmly, "Besides; I've faced more dangerous things, might I remind you. Plus, a tavern is no place for a Princess: your mother and father would be extremely displeased if I took you into one."

"She only left behind the weapons you know about," the Princess returns hotly. "Iron knives are as easily concealed on one's person as silver ones could be, I should think! Besides, I've been to The Merry Maiden before... Mama and Papa just don't know about it, that's all."

"Yes, and the outcome of that little excursion is why I had to rescue you last time," Thomas remarks calmly, then starts towards the tavern. He waves his hand over his shoulder, adding, "But if you insist on coming, fine."

Alexandra pulls her cloak more tightly around herself again and says as she follows, "That's more like it! Although you could lose the bad attitude, for a start..."

Like all taverns at Tourney time, The Merry Maiden is crowded. There are even fae on the upper balcony where the rooms are, chatting, drinking and discussing the various competitions that took place that day. There are plenty of red-haired women as well, although they generally have company. Several of the day's combatants are visible too, surrounded by their own little islands of hangers-on.

Thomas is never one to enter a room meekly. No, he has to throw the door wide open and stride in as if he owned the place. Behind him billows his cloak. The ranger's green eyes peer out through strands of black hair as he looks around for a red-haired woman dressed in green; most likely drinking or eating alone. As he scans the room, he also makes note of anyone else he may know.

Behind Thomas and thankful that her cloak's hood is hiding her expression, Alexandra rolls her eyes heavenward and follows along in a more normal manner.

"Someplace green, likes to win, serves no lord," mutters a discontented-looking Minstrel Sam to himself at the fireplace as he pores over a piece of paper with snippets of verses written here and there. "Writing about thud and blunder is just so pedestrian, but I don't have much to go on here."

In person, young Oberia has a mop of long wavy black hair, and is dressed in an Arabian-styled black velvet vest, silk shirt, and flowing dress of black cloth embroidered with silvery tracings that suggest writing. She sips from a thin glass goblet full of some kind of dark, cloudy amber liquid with sparkles of light rising from a tiny gem in the base: mulled cider, perhaps, being kept hot by a spell. She's currently hearing about the last battle of the tournament from an enthusiastic-sounding tree-skinned fae.

Seeing the first person he wishes to speak to, Thomas makes his way through the crowd. Easing up behind Oberia, his cloak settles lightly on his shoulders as it drapes down around him. "Seeking new tales to translate, Oberia?" he whispers lightly into her ear, then slips around to stand beside her. Head tilted a bit to the side so that he's looking at her from his right eye, he says, "If your friend can spare you for a moment, there is something I would like you to look at."

"So then--" Oberia looks up and then politely excuses herself with a smile to the tree fae as she gets up, taking her glass of mulled cider. "Yes, Thomas?"

"Always on business, even in a celebration," Thomas apologies, "I have some writing I made copies of. I was wondering if you recognized it and could translate it." He reaches into his side pouch and produces the rubbing he took from the shield as well as the hastily copied runes from the sword and lance. Smiling, he offers it to her.

While Thomas exchanges small talk with his translator, Alexandra makes her way to the bar and orders a glass of wine for him and a glass of spiced lemonade for herself (just in case Thomas yells at her for trying to order wine, too). After paying the barkeep, she takes their glasses to Oberia's table and hands Thomas' off to him, positioning herself non-obtrusively so she can listen, too.

Oberia looks the runes over. Her eyebrows raise. "I met a bard once from a land called Eire, far over the seas to the east. It's an ancient land with many clans that live in uneasy amity with each other, but once there were greater civilizations and stranger tribes that lived in that place. One of these tribes was the Fomorians, or 'Sea Giants.' The bard that I met was tracing their descendants, to see if they had migrated toward the Dragonspine mountains or not, abandoning the sea. He had some copies of tablets they had written, in case I should see any."

"This symbol, and this, he knew the meanings of them. They meant 'sea' and 'little'. The others were a mystery to him," Oberia concludes.

"Mm. Thank you Oberia. That is helpful," Thomas says with a small nod. "You can keep the paper for further study if you wish," he offers as he once again looks over the room for a red-haired woman in a cloak. Absently, he takes a sip from the glass Alexandra brought.

Oberia sips her cider. "So what is this about? Are you looking for Fomorians now?" she asks. "Planning your next adventure?"

"Oh, I may have found one," Thomas remarks a bit vaguely. "What sort of people were they?"

"Giants," Oberia says. "Imagine someone as tall as this entire inn, with the head of a goat and the body of a man. They built castles by the sea and they were supposed to have kept fish and fowl, but they were too peaceful to resist the invaders that later came to Eire, so they went... elsewhere. Where, the bard didn't know."

With so many fae crowded together, the glamour in the air is thick. It takes some time before Thomas picks out a pocket where it isn't thick: a small table in the back corner, almost hidden beneath the stairs to the balcony. A green cloak hangs from a peg on one of the support posts, and someone is sitting with their back to the wall, although from this angle the stairway cuts off the view beyond the person’s legs.

"Curious," Thomas notes as his eyes lock onto that spot in the corner. He leans over and kisses Oberia's cheek lightly, noting, "Thank you, Oberia. I will let you know if I do find any." He grins and leans back from the woman. "And now I must speak to the good minstrel for a moment," he says. "We should also talk later. I heard a rumor that you have a possible new recruit."

The young black-haired woman blushes fiercely. "You charmer! And where did you hear that from? I am working on a friend; I really do think he'd be happier with us, but..."

"Voices whisper on the wind," Thomas says with a wry grin and taps his ear. "There is little I do not find out about eventually..."

"Someplace green, like a forest? Or maybe meadows... Hmm. I've heard of places where the sea itself is green, like floating on an emerald,” Minstrel Sam mutters to himself. Crumpled pages sit on the table near him. His drink of choice would appear to be beer.

Oberia shakes her head. "I'm going to be out in the middle of the woods someday and then I'll just turn around and poke the air and you'll be there and go 'ouch'. Off with you then!" She resumes sipping her cider.

"It keeps you on your toes," Thomas remarks. As he slips away from Oberia, he reaches up and lets his fingers trace along her cheek. With a flourish of his cloak, he turns and heads towards Sam. "How does the great ballad go? Or does it tend to go away with beer?" he asks the minstrel as he approaches.

Alexandra looks rather annoyed that Thomas is slipping off here and there without even a word to her, but she nods a goodbye to Oberia and sidles off after him.

Minstrel Sam looks up. "This Redmane is proving remarkably hard to characterize in a ballad," he complains to Tom. "People listen to songs because they want to feel something. How can I get into the feelings of a man who wins because he wants to win?" he sighs. "Did you find anything out, Tom?"

"Yes, I did," Thomas remarks as he settles down in a nearby chair. With a foot, he pushes out a chair for Alexandra to sit in as well. "This Redmane is not fae. There are a few other finer points, but ... I can't tell you them here."

Alexandra rolls her eyes again and mutters a disgruntled thank-you before sitting down. She tries to amuse herself by looking at the costumes of the fae crowding the tavern.

There is quite a collection of clothing (and body forms) on display in the tavern, although probably nothing suitable for a princess to wear. At least, not unless she really wanted to catch the attention of a knight, which some of the ladies here clearly intend to do.

"And, in fact, I will be uncovering a few more things soon enough. But, I may need your help with a bit of music if things go as planned," Thomas adds with a grin to Sam. It's one of those grins that tend to make people do 'ut-uh' if they happen to know Thomas. "My friend here has also taken an interest in this mystery, as you may have guessed."

The minstrel looks up at Tom's friend. "Your friend doesn't sound too happy," he comments. "I wouldn't be either, if I were drinking this stuff. What is it, the lemonade? Sour anyone's disposition, that will." He waves a hand to the serving girl to bring them a round of beer - thick dark stuff that foams up nicely and smells sweet and fizzy.

Alexandra's head turns in Sam's direction and from the way she speaks he can tell that she's smiling. "I'm not so sure I should drink the beer, either," she says lightly. "Its effects may distract me from my purpose. I thank you for the offer, though."

"Besides, she's too young to be drinking beer," Thomas comments and shakes his head. To Alexandra, he says, "I believe I have spotted our prey in here and intend to make contact. Would you do me the honor of watching out for any dangers while I tread into the den of the unknown?"

Alexandra nods to Thomas and even in spite of his recent behavior to her, she adds, "Just be careful, and remember what I said about the concealment of other weapons."

"Well, I'll have to drink her share then," Minstrel Sam says woefully. "Well, if you want music, I've got it! Poems, limericks, ballads, quatrains and sistains, I've got 'em all."

Thomas rises from his seat. "There is no one more careful than I," he claims, with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, he slips away from the pair and heads towards that back table he spotted earlier. In his right hand he carries his wine glass. As he gets closer to the table, he staggers his walking just a slight bit, as if to pretend he's 'had a few'. First goal: try to see this person sitting in the shadow.

As Thomas wanders off again, Alexandra turns to the minstrel and asks, "Since Lord Thomas didn't specify a song, do you know the old ballad about the adventures of Hildegaard the Huge? The one where she fights hordes of hobgoblins all across Mirari?"

Once clear of the stairs, and even in shadow, there's no mistaking the bright red hair of the woman seated in the corner at the small two-person table. Eyes of a duller green than Thomas' own look up at the man from a pretty face - although one that could easily be overlooked amidst the glamour-enhanced fae - and don't seem hostile in the least.

"So, young lady," Minstrel Sam says to Alexandra, leaning toward her conspiratorially. "How'd Tom get you mixed up in this den of iniquity and inebriety? I'll have a word with him if he's drafting kids off the street in his wild schemes, I will. And as to that, well, let me think a bit while you answer me, and I should have something for you soon."

"Tsk," Thomas comments as he approaches the table where the mystery-woman now sits. His movements are a bit staggered as he approaches. "In all this celebration for a tourney day well played, no one should sit alone," he adds as he draws ever closer. Without even an invitation, he sits down heavily into the spare chair at the table. He brushes back the stray bits of long black hair from his face, and then offers her a smile. The smile is followed by an open hand in greeting. "Name's Thomas," he says. "And I know; you didn't invite me to sit. Well, I didn't invite me to sit, either. So we'll both sit here with me uninvited. Deal?"

Alexandra takes another sip of her lemonade and leans in a little closer, as well. "Don't let Thomas' bluster fool you this time, my friend - I asked him to find out what he could about this Black Knight. He's acting on my request, not the other way around."

"Really? There aren't many people Tom will hop for," Minstrel Sam says, now curious. "He must like you a lot then."

"Well now, that depends," the woman says, in an almost musical accent. She rolls a half-filled leather mug of small-beer (the cheapest drink available) between her palms and says, "Ye see, I was holding that seat for someone; a kind stranger who was going to buy me dinner and a drink. Are you kind, Thomas, if not quite a stranger at the moment?"

Alexandra snorts into her glass. "He doesn't like me at all, really," she says a little peevishly. "He thinks I cause trouble and get in his way. He's merely doing this to preserve the safety of those who the Black Knight might harm. For we know very little about him, he never shows his face... and if he wins, he will stand before the Royal Family themselves. Something to consider, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't see why not," Thomas comments as he leans his chair back slightly. "Whatever you'd want in food and drink is on me. Fair trade for a chance to sit and talk with someone who must have traveled far to get here," the Lord Explorer adds. He even tries to wave a serving girl to come over.

"Well, then I guess that is your chair then," the woman says. Once a girl comes round, the red-head orders a beer and a modest meal.

"Well, standing before the Royal Family, is that so great a crime if even cats can look at kings?" asks Minstrel Sam. "Might just as well question all the minstrels who hope to perform before the King at his feast and search their lutes to see if they've hidden daggers inside. This business of wearing a helmet at all times; that might mean he's hiding his identity because he wants to collect the money to pay some debt, and he doesn't want anyone to know who he is, or he'd be shamed."

Thomas tosses a few coins on the serving girl's tray to pay for the meal. After taking another sip from his wine glass, he asks, "So, what brings a crimson haired beauty such as you to these archaic trials?"

Thomas also takes a moment to sniff the air this close to the woman, trying to detect that peculiar flowery scent she used in her soap.

"Well, the Tourney is very popular, isn't it?" the woman replies, blushing a little at the compliment. "People come from all over to see it. Far and wide, even." The scent does match the one from the tent, as if Thomas needed more convincing at this point. Even the woman's clothing has the right color - green leather, and local looking. She might have been dressed provocatively if not for the more likely explanation that she couldn't find clothing in quite her size. But laces can always be loosened.

"Popular to some, true enough," Thomas has to agree. "I've rarely come to them, myself. But, I'm not a knight, nor studier of their ways, so ... there isn't much to draw me here. Forgive my curiosity, but what part of it fascinates you?" he asks as he swirls the wine slowly in his glass.

Alexandra twirls the stem of her glass between one finger and thumb. "It may not be as obtrusive as you describe, but the Palace Guard does 'search' everyone who comes into contact with the Royal Family with their eyes and ears, looking for even the smallest hint of danger to them," she says, almost too softly for Sam to hear. "Sometimes, however, we cannot rely on the Guard for their protection. We must rely on our wits and our vigilance... and the help of other people who have the same."

"Oh, big, strong men wailing on one another," the woman says with a grin, and leans back to sip from her own drink. "What's not to like? And iff'n you're not here for the Tourney, I s'pose you're a local then, just out for a glass of wine?"

"Ah, I can tell why Tom likes you," Sam chortles. "So did you catch wind of his plan? Did he want me to sing something loud for a diversion, or is this for some future derring-do?"

"Oh, I was just passing through and thought I would see what was going on this year," Thomas comments with a small shrug. "And big men, eh? You don't seem to be the type to fawn over them, otherwise you would have already joined one of the groups gathering around one of the many knights."

"Didn't say I liked 'em in that way," the woman notes. "Just that I liked to see 'em fight. So, where are you staying tonight, Just-Passing-Through Thomas?"

Alexandra considers Sam's question. "Actually, he didn't tell me anything of his plan. I assume the song is for a diversion, but I really don't know yet. Perhaps he wants us to figure it out on our own?"

"Well, lady's request then. Hildegaard the Huge, was it?" Minstrel Sam grins and swings his lute up from the floor.

Alexandra smiles back at the minstrel. "That's right. I haven't heard it in a long while, so I'm quite looking forward to your rendition!"

"Haven't decided yet," Thomas answers, "I'm no stranger to sleeping on the ground or in the forest, though. I'll figure something out when I start to tire: makes life more interesting." His fingers tap lightly on his glass and he adds, "Though, I must admit this year has been quite interesting. Some of the knights are in a bit of a snit from what I hear, being bested by an unknown."

The woman's jaw clicks once from side to side as she give Thomas a measuring look. "Interesting answer. Not what I was expecting," she comments. "I imagine the Black Knight has stirred up the odds a bit, at that. Are you wagering coin on him then?"

Music comes from the direction of the fireplace, and then Minstrel Sam starts singing. "♫ Hildegaard the Huge was born in a deluge, a mighty babe born to folks seeking refuge... ♫" As the story goes, hobgoblins assaulted some land to the far east, driving people out of their homes and into the castle of their baron to seek protection. That he could give, but he had too few troops to be able to drive the "hobs" away again.

"Nay, I don't like to sponsor these games by doing that. Can't say I care for Houses having an excuse to beat on each other in the name of sport. They do occasionally get less than friendly and people are injured 'unintentionally'," Thomas remarks and takes a long drink from his glass, finishing off the wine. His head then rolls a bit to the side and looks at the woman with one eye. "And were you expecting me to suggest that I would be staying in your bed tonight? That would be a bit disrespectful given that we have just met."

♫ So Hildegaard the Huge grew to be big and strong, a sword did she scrounge to prove naysayers wrong♫

♫ No woman could stand and fight even fae let alone hobs, trade your sword for kitchen knife, for hobs will rule East Grob. ♫

Alexandra hums under her breath and taps her fingers gently against the table in time with the music, clearly enjoying it. She does, however, keep one eye on the place where Thomas sits, watching for any signs of danger.

"Well, it is the usual intent of those who sit with me, I've found," the woman explains. Her meal arrives then: a mug of a beer and a trencher covered in thick stew, with big hunks of meat and potatoes. "It makes me wonder what yer really looking to get out of me, Thomas. And ye don't talk about yerself nearly as much as other men do." She then cocks her head to listen to the ballad.

Thomas looks as if he's about to answer that, but finds himself cut off. "That's because he's not worth talking about," remarks a rather sharp voice from somewhere nearby. "And this is why I don't like coming to these," Thomas now mutters and sets his glass upon the table.

The lady-in-green pauses after her first bite at the comment. "Ah, well known around here, I'm guessing?" she asks. "And feel free to come right out and say what you want, I owe you something for the meal after all."

♫ Scorning words of weakness, she swore that she'd win, she ventured into the darkness, up came a mighty din. ♫

♫ Hildegaard the Huge was larger than any other, but none like the chief stooge had she ever encountere'd. ♫

♫ He was big as a barn, a donkey's head and thighs as wide, he gave her a great big yawn for her fighting skills he deride'd. ♫

The owner of the voice is soon revealed as a tall man approaches the table now. Steely cold eyes look down at Thomas. The woman may recognize this man from earlier; he's a knight that fell to the Black Knight in tournament; Sir Erik of House November. "You could do a lot better than dining with a House traitor, Milady," Erik comments to the woman in green. The knight levels a finger at Thomas, adding, "And you have a lot of nerve coming here. Are you finding pleasure in watching the House Knights fall to that Lordless Knight?"

Mouth full, Redmane watches the exchange with amused interest.

"This is neither the time, nor the place, cousin," Thomas notes with a forced calm to his voice.

Minstrel Sam repeats the chorus, "♫ No woman could stand and fight even fae, let alone hobs, trade your sword for kitchen knife, for hobs shall rule East Grob. ♫"

♫ He let her take first blow, so she galloped up with her sword, she whacked him down below and he bellowed like he'd been gored, ♫

♫ He swung his great big bludge, his strike hit naught but air; Hildegaard the Huge had dodge'd, her strategy to not be there. ♫

"Don't dare claim kinship to me," Erik comments darkly. "Lord Explorer and founder of the Golden Hawks. The irony in that is revolting! You who claimed distain for nobility and wanted to 'work for all' regardless of their House. Entitled now, nearly a legend in some places; that honor could have brought much to House November, Thomas. Instead, you rejected us. I have no cousin named Thomas." Erik's hand snaps back and without another word he brings the back of it hard across Thomas' face.

The woman makes an “oooo” sound and squints her face in sympathy at the smack. "That isn't very knightly, now is it?" she comments.

"He isn't worth treating with honor," Erik notes, then turns and walks away. Thomas rolls his head a bit to the side under the blow, then comments, "And that is another reason I don't like coming here." He reaches up and rubs lightly at the side of his face, adding in a mutter, "Politics."

"So you and he are House November then?" the woman asks. "I'll have to remember that. Still new to all these Houses and such you have here."

"I was. I left a long time ago," Thomas comments as he watches Erik return to the crowd. "So now I really don't have a home. At least, never one I stay at for long."

"Still, you don't seem so bad off for that," the woman points out, before biting into a piece of meat. "I can't remember the last time I slept in a soft bed or had a warm bath... or more'n two coins to rub together."

Alexandra's head snaps over to Thomas' table when she catches a glimpse of Sir Erik slapping him across the face. With a scowl, she rises from her own table and says to Sam, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Keep playing." Then she melts into the crowd after the man of November. Some seconds later, a beautiful blonde-haired woman with fair, creamy skin can be seen beside him, winding her arm in his. From the way Sir Erik is gazing at her, anyone could tell that he's entranced. He even allows her to lead him out of the tavern.

"I almost never have a bed to sleep in, unless you count the forest floor as a bed, I suppose," Thomas notes. "As for money, well, I've done a few services for the King and Queen. They were grateful." There's a pause, then Thomas says, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Oh, I'm not sorry at all," the woman says, propping her elbows on the table and cradling her fingers together. She rests her chin on them, and says, "Lord Thomas of the Golden Hawks, Agent of the Crown, is it? I have the advantage of you, unless you already know my name?"

A few more minutes pass before Alexandra is back, sipping her lemonade as if nothing ever happened. She does seem to have a few new things in one hand, however.

Minstrel Sam grins at Alexandra. All she seems to have missed is a blow by blow recounting of the fight. At last he finishes up.

♫ At last the chief's stooge fell, the hobs all gnashed their teeth, for she'd sounded their death knell, no more was East Grob their fief. ♫

♫ She stood on the bastion, holding aloft the hob's head, "Hildegaard the Huge has won, the best of the hobs is dead!" ♫

♫ One woman did stand and fight, beating back the hobs, she fought for her folks' plight, no hobs shall rule East Grob. ♫

As the Princess applauds for the song, she briefly lays out on the tabletop all of the new items she's collected. The most significant ones are a sizeable leather purse with the crest of House November stamped upon it, and Sir Erik's favor tokens, which all Nobles, Knights, and Royals use to place bets at sporting events. She grins hugely at the minstrel, then stows everything away in the pockets of her cloak.

The minstrel bows his head in acknowledgment and catches a few coins from the nearby patrons, who are either laughing or applauding - while it's not exactly great art, it's a cheerful song and has helped to brighten the mood. He gives Alexandra's collection a curious look and then laughs. "I should be safeguarding Tom's virtue from you," he teases in a low tone of voice.

"I know you are the knight that has been besting all of them," Thomas remarks with a small shrug, his green eyes flicking back to hers. "What I do not know is the reason for your entry. Whether you pose a threat, or whether there is something else you seek here, in other words."

Alexandra laughs and finishes her drink. "Not to worry - the entire proceeds of this purse will go towards fattening the Golden Hawk's coffers," she says brightly. "Then I will return Sir Erik's favor tokens to him...after the joust is over, of course. That ought to teach him a lesson, ha!"

"Muirenn," the woman says, offering her right hand across the table. "Muirenn Ruadhain. Your scribes have trouble with my accent, I think, but I didn't see a point in correcting them. And as for why I'm in the tourney... well, that only matters if you aren't going to expose me, doesn't it?"

Sam grins. "Are you going to give them back anonymously then? Or tell him that he seems to have... lost... something?"

Thomas accepts the hand and even kisses the back of it lightly. "If you're no threat to the court, then I would have no reason to expose you now would I?" he points out with a bit of a grin. "After all, if you're just here to show up a few knights, well, who am I to interrupt that?"

Alexandra looks thoughtful. "Both ideas have their appeal," she murmurs. "If I send them back anonymously, he'll be frightened of who might know of his embarrassment. If I give them back myself, he certainly will. I wonder which action would make him the most nervous?"

"Well then, this's why I'm here:" Ruadhain - or Redmane – explains, "I'm tired of traveling and slaying monsters to earn a meal. The prize money for this Tourney could help me set down some roots. And I hear sometimes the Black Knight even gets taken in by one of the Houses. Now, tell me why you thought I might be some sort of threat to the kingdom, why don't you?"

Oberia comes over to join Minstrel Sam and Alexandra at their table. "You do know that Hildegaard the Huge actually had a well-trained band of soldiers, don't you, Sam?" she says, unable to resist correcting the artistic liberties. "They arranged a 'tribute' with drugged wine, then as the hobgoblins slept, they took the camp by surprise. After that, more of the countryside rallied to their cause, and her strategic skills won the campaign. Not as glorious as the knock-down drag-out fight you paint, of course. And who is your friend? I'm Translator Oberia of the Golden Hawks."

"Because you carry iron weapons with you," Thomas notes and gives the woman a sidelong glance. "Such are a great threat to any fae. Someone bearing them when standing before the Court would have the opportunity to rend them with little chance of them defending themselves."

"Merely a friend of Lord Thomas," Alexandra says softly, offering the other woman her hand to shake. "It is good to meet you, Translator Oberia. I am... Alexis."

Minstrel Sam grins. "Where's the glory in anonymous fear? Oh hello, Oberia! Yes, I fear that he's succeeded in corrupting our Alexis to his way of sneaky jackanapery already. We may as well give her a badge and sign her up for the payroll."

"So you've met Rhonwen and Morrighan already then," Redmane states. "And I imagine that if you turned out your pockets right now, one of my own hairs would tumble out too. Well, if I told you those weapons could only be used to fight evil, would you believe me?"

Thomas interlaces his fingers and rests his chin on the backs of them. "Could you prove it?" he asks curiously, not answering her question quite yet.

Alexandra glances at the minstrel and says, smiling, "I'm not quite sure I'm prepared to go that far, Sam. You forget; Thomas doesn't like me. We'd be at each others' throats all the day long!"

Oberia shakes her head, amused as she takes Alexis' hand to shake. "Fond of Hildegaard's example?" she says to Alexis. "Don't take my correction too harshly then. She had an impossible-seeming battle to fight, and in a straight-up fight the enemy would certainly have destroyed her small band. Always know when to pick your fights and when to turn the tables, as it were."

Minstrel Sam grins. "Oh right, of course. It's the beer, it makes me forget things." He gives an untouched mug to Oberia, who politely declines it, then starts drinking from it himself.

"I actually hadn't heard the ballad about Hildegaard in a long while, which is why I asked for it," the Princess answers. "I've always been rather fond of her. Strong women from Historie always attracted me."

"Now that would be a trick," Redmane admits. "Since I'm the only one who can wield them, you see, it's all up to me. You only have my word that I'd not turn them against the fae. But I can make whatever pledge you please to that effect. I'd no intention of carrying either before the King or Queen, certainly."

"No pledge is necessary in front of me. I believe you," Thomas finally says and sits back again. "However, I know someone it would relieve if you did so. But this is certainly not the place for it; for both your privacy and hers."

"Ah, and does this someone have a place that is safe and private?" Redmane asks. "And you never did answer me about the hair. I found it missing from the helmet brace."

"I've always been fond of the sorceresses," Oberia confides to Alexandra. "With great knowledge comes great power. Not that I expect I'll ever show any real talent with magic, but I think knowing things can be a magic of its own."

"Of course I have it," Thomas notes and shrugs slightly. "As for a place, well, I am not sure where she would wish it to be done. A room, a glade, or even your tent are possibilities, I suppose."

Alexandra nods to Oberia and says, "That's true enough. Magic and knowledge are rather similar sometimes."

"Well, I suppose my tent is closest," Redmane says with a sigh. "I was hoping for someplace with a soft bed and a warm bath though, truth be told."

"Why not reserve a room at one of the nearby Inns, then?" Thomas inquires, brow arched a bit. "There are also a few places out in the wilderness that have been converted into makeshift refuges. They are open to anyone who wishes to use them."

"I doubt there's an unclaimed room in the city," Redmane notes, waving at the crowded inn. "Although, if you could manage one, I'd be very grateful," she adds with a bit of a sly grin.

Thomas' brow goes up again. "How grateful?" he has to ask.

"Well, I'd be willing to share the bath, maybe," Redmane says, leaning back and finishing her beer. "And depending on how well you clean up, maybe the bed as well. If you're the one I've heard about, you can find anything you set your mind to."

Minstrel Sam whispers to Alexandra, "Say, what was the plan again?"

At that, Thomas has to laugh. "You are a beautiful woman, Muirenn, but that would be unnecessary. It does make me wonder if you are trying to use me for your own benefit by trying to offer certain things," he comments with a wry grin. "I'll see what I can find."

"Though, I do have one minor request to make," Thomas adds after a bit of thought.

"Just one?" Redmane asks in surprise. "Ask away."

"Just one. If they decide to have the dance this Year at Tourney's end, you save one for me. I have to make sure the Houses don't corrupt you too much," Thomas remarks. "Erik hits hard enough. I certainly don't want someone who can best him hitting me too."

Redmane laughs, and then says, "Done. I've never been asked to a dance before while growing up, on account of my being such a runt."

"Meet me outside in an hour. I'll have found ... something," Thomas remarks as he stands. With a bow, the Lord Explorer turns and heads back to Sam. "It is time to go. I have lodging to locate for someone, and then I can promise you something that will calm your concerns," he tells Alexandra.

Alexandra glances at Sam and quips, "I guess that means the plan is already over and done with! Then, by your leave?" She rises and bows in turn to the minstrel and the translator, ready to follow Thomas once again.

"Lodgings, eh? Mirari's full to burstin' at every inn and tavern, but, well, you do know where there's one place someone could stay, on your say-so, of course," Minstrel Sam points out. He taps the Golden Hawk badge he's wearing meaningfully.

"Exactly. I'll see what quarters are available," Thomas notes with a knowing grin. He pats Alexandra's shoulder, and then heads for the door.

Travelers Quarters
Where the Golden Hawks have set up small bases of operation, they often establish a building that has a few Spartan rooms that are used for lodgings for travelers that the Hawks are escorting. They are not lavish by any means, but they offer a reasonably comfortable bed and a tub that can be filled with warm water for a bath.

Within the hour, Thomas returns to collect Muirenn and guide her to the lodgings. "It isn't an Inn, but it meets your requirements of a bed and bath," Thomas notes as he unlocks the door and escorts the two women in. Once the door is locked again, Thomas settles down on the bed. "And now, may I introduce you to Princess Alexandra, the one who asked me to investigate you," he tells the red-haired woman as he motions to the one still cloaked.

Redmane drops down to one knee and bows to the girl. "Your Highness," she says.

Alexandra takes all this as her cue and removes her cloak at last, revealing her face and the gold-and-diamond pin she wears at her shoulder that bears the Royal Crest of Mirari. "Please rise," she says kindly. "I find it rather hard to talk to people if they're always bowing before me."

The woman stands up... and as a result towers over the Princess.

"Bowing is a bit problematic since ears don't grow on her feet," Thomas observes.

Alexandra looks way up at Redmane, blinks, and then laughs. "Well, I may have a crick in my neck before all this is over, but it will be worth it, I think! Anyway, to business: Lord Thomas tells me that you are the mysterious Black Knight of the tournament. Is this correct?"

"It is, Your Highness," Redmane admits.

"He has also informed me," the Princess says, more gravely now, "that you carry with you iron weapons. As I hardly need to point out, these could seriously injure, if not kill, any fae who dared oppose you. Is this also correct?"

"That is also correct, Your Highness," Redmane says.

"Then I must ask you why you brought them to a jousting tournament whose competitors are all of the fae," Alexandra continues, in the same serious vein. "Not to mention the folk in the stands or around you in the taverns. I do not wish to be rude, but this is a question which troubles me."

"All that I possess I carry with me in my travels, Princess," Redmane explains. "And as I could not risk having an attendant to guard my tent, it was necessary to employ my weapons to discourage those with curious fingers."

At that, Thomas coughs lightly.

Alexandra is silent for a few moments, clearly considering this answer. At last, she says, "Then I must ask you this, as well: if you were to win this Year's tournament - and it is my sincere belief that you will - would you bring your iron weapons before the King and Queen if presented to them as the champion?"

"I did not plan to, Your Highness," Redmane notes. "I assumed that bringing weapons of any kind would be... discouraged."

Alexandra nods at this answer and clarifies, "Sometimes a weapon wrought for ceremonial purposes only is worn before the King and Queen on special occasions, which is why I asked. But on the whole, you are quite right." The Princess then turns to Thomas and asks him, "What is your opinion of her answers?"

"You are asking me if I believe her?" Thomas inquires, sparing a glance to the fire-red haired woman. "I do believe her. From speaking with her, I do not think she intended any harm to the court."

Alexandra appears greatly relieved by this. "Then I will ask only that Mistress Ruadhain swear an oath upon her swords that she will harm no fae with any of her iron weapons for the duration of the tournament. That will, I think, be sufficient to ease my mind."

Placing a hand over her heart, Redmane says, "I so swear upon my soul that I will not raise iron against any fae, save for fell creatures, for the duration of my stay in the kingdom of Mirari."

Alexandra raises both her eyebrows at the greater strength of this oath but smiles at the taller woman, as well. "I thank you for that," she replies, "and would now ask one lesser thing of you, if I may?"

"I am at your service, Your Highness," Redmane replies.

Alexandra dips her hand into the pouch at the belt of her dress and comes up with a golden medallion, dangling upon a purple silken cord. It is also stamped with the Royal Crest and bears the Princess' name. "I would like to bestow you with my favor token, so that I may place my wager upon you for the winning of the tournament," she explains. "Will you accept it?"

The woman grins, and graciously accepts the token. "Of course, Your Highness. I am honored by your faith in my abilities."

"Your abilities are great, Mistress Ruadhain - that I have seen with my own eyes," the Princess returns with another smile. She looks again at Thomas and adds, "Oh, and I have something for you as well. Here, catch!" And she tosses Sir Erik's coin purse at the Lord Explorer. "Use some of the money to buy Randall a new sword after you've recruited him. Lord April has been rather stingy with his Guards' supplies of late!"

Thomas catches the purse. He looks at it for a moment, then back to Alexandra. "You do realize I will be blamed for this," he has to point out, though he does grin, "Any reason that gets me further into trouble with House November he certainly will seek out." Still, he does slip the pouch away, adding, "But, as you say. I may as well put his anger to good use."

"Mmm, I'm not so sure he will blame you," the Princess says as she dangles Erik's favor tokens in front of them before stowing them away again. "For I think he will receive an...interesting...letter from me in a few days' time! But I believe our business is now concluded, and I must return to my parents. By your leave?"

"If you would, Your Highness, let me be known as Redmane from this day on," the woman requests. "My old name means 'The little red one born of the sea', and I think that I've finally outgrown it."

Alexandra smile grows even brighter. "As you wish!"

Thomas nods slightly at that. "Good day to you then, Princess Alexandra," he says as he slides from his seat on the bed.

"Oh, there is one more thing I'd almost forgotten," Redmane says, and goes to Thomas. She puts her hands on his shoulders and leans in, almost as if to kiss him... but stops short and takes a few sniffs instead. "Hmmm. Thank you, Lord Thomas, for not keeping the washcloth as a souvenir. The smell of musty old rugs really does not suit you, however. I hope the next time we meet you will be a bit.. fresher smelling?"

At that, Thomas has to laugh. "If we meet again," he has to admit, "I go where the wind takes me. Tomorrow may find me heading deep into the wilds for some reason or another. We shall see." Though, at this point he can't help but lean in and kiss the woman himself since she's this close - though he does so only on her cheek. "I would wish you luck tomorrow," he whispers, "But I doubt you will need it. I hope you find everything you're looking for. I just hope one of those is a lock for your chests, though. It would be a sad end should someone wishing you harm hid in them." There's a wink from Thomas, then he steps away, and in very short order, out the door.

"Fae," the tall woman mutters, but grins all the same.

"Redmane, as we all know, went on to win the Tourney. As a reward for her prowess, she was adopted by House May. And before anyone asks ... there wasn't a dance after this particular Tourney, so we never shared that dance," Thomas concludes as he folds the old note and tucks it away. "Not as dramatic or disastrous a meeting as I'm sure all of you suspected, but not everything I'm involved in ends in chaos." The Lord Explorer now stretches out and runs his hands through his hair.

Rubbing her locket between thumb and forefinger, Redmane notes, "My mo-.. Agatha's mother was named Maureen. Funny that." She doesn't seem angry with Tom at least.

Minstrel Sam, now much older than the dapper young man he once was, sits back and laughs. "So that's what was going on. The only thing I knew for sure about the whole affair was that you knew Lady Redmane just a bit better than someone who'd only met her for the first time should have." He elbows Tom. "If you'd let me in on the details, maybe I could've won that bard's contest!"

Hannah remarks thoughtfully, "And here I thought the Princess Alexandra was going to be some horrible witch after the way you described her at first! You misled us a bit there, Thomas!"

Sir Lefallon asks, "Whatever did happen to her? She sounds a right handful of mischief."

"What didn't happen to her," Redmane says in exasperation.

"Too much. There were a couple more rescues of her that occurred. One of which was Redmane's famous battle with the dragon," Thomas says with a sigh. "You blame me for trouble, but I keep telling you it’s everyone around me."

Hannah simply shakes her head at this, as if she doesn't believe that for a moment.

The young knight scratches behind his ear. "Like, did she become a Golden Hawk?"

"No, she didn't. She ended up studying magic in the end. Something about knowledge and power," Thomas says to Sir Lefallon.

"And as for why I never told you," Thomas notes to Sam, "I promised to not reveal her. So, I couldn't tell you then."

The old minstrel grins. "Ah well, best you didn't tell me then, I never was very good at keeping secrets. It would have yearned to let itself out in song somehow."

"Would you have believed him anyway at the time, Sam?" Redmane asks.

"Oh sure, I believed him when he told me he was only going out for a little walk and he'd be back with more wine, didn't I?" Sam gives Tom a pointed look.

"You already had enough wine. Besides, I got a message that I was needed elsewhere while I was out," Thomas claims.

Redmane stands and stretches. "Quite entertaining, Thomas. And I see why you didn't want Ahearn to overhear certain parts," she says, and actually gives Tom a pat on the cheek. "By the way, this Year's Tourney will have a dance. And remember to bring a bowl and a washcloth. Out of deference to Rachel, I'll only ask that you wash down Ahearn."

Hannah snurks at Redmane's comments and tries very hard not to burst out laughing!

"You make a great assumption that I'll even show up," Thomas retorts, grinning.

"Well, if you don't.. I could tell Ahearn what he missed.." the redhead suggests, with just a hint of warning.

"What would be the point of that? It's not as if he would allow me to dance with you even if I did come," Thomas points out, standing his ground.

"Hey, I'd just be honoring an old request," Redmane says, holding her hands up and grinning so hard her cheeks puff out. "Besides, the sponge bath you give him will make up for it, I'm sure! And don't you live for the thrill of danger anyway?"

"No, he lives despite the thrill of danger," Minstrel Sam quips.

Hannah looks over at Redmane and says in a loud stage whisper, "What Thomas is really trying to tell you is that he doesn't know how to dance!"

"I'll consider it," Thomas relents. "Now, enough storytelling, don't all of you have better things to do?"

"I have to return to the Tourney," Redmane admits. "Need to see how the new Knightsteeds are doing."

Hannah rises from her seat, sheathing her rapier. "True enough," she says. "Sir Tristan did mention that he might ride out today for a visit. And you never know; he might be waiting for me, even now..."

Minstrel Sam has caught the stage whisper, of course. "Well, me boyo, if you ever happen to need some quick brush-ups on dancing, you come see me, you hear? I used to cut quite a figure on the dance floor!" he cackles and wanders outside.

"And I must warn you once again, Hannah. Be wary of relationships with a knight," Thomas says as he now stands too. "But bah, go, shoo. Be young and enjoy the romance," he adds and waves his hands towards Hannah.

From the door, Hannah gives Thomas a quick wave before replying, "Already there! See you later!" and vanishing.

The various recruits all stand now and head to the door. They have Rachel in tow, now pressing her for any further details they may be able to get out of her.

As everyone finally leaves, Thomas goes back to the bookshelf and puts away the old letter from the Princess. There he flips through a few more pages, stopping once to look out the window and watch people ride away from the keep. The last to leave is Redmane and there he watches her until she vanishes into the night. Before closing the book, he reads over one of the pages, a faded scrap of parchment written so many Years ago. "Knight Redmane," it begins, "There are many things I have always wished to say to you. It's funny how certain dangers are so easy to face, but certain people ... " There's a sigh from Thomas and he closes the book, unwilling to read any further. He returns it to the shelf and pats the spine quietly. "You have never been able to tell her, have you?" he asks himself. The Lord Explorer then turns and walks towards the exit himself. As he passes by the table, he reaches out and extinguishes the candle lit upon it. The room so full of history fades once again into shadows. Only the footsteps of its longtime guardian are left as he walks out.

Those too fade in time.

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.