Dark Medieval Times: Pendragon Solo Part 4

Bloodbath in Silchester, Hard Times in Londinium

Welcome back!

This is the fourth installment in my ongoing Pendragon solo campaign.

You can see the first one here, the second one here, and the third one here.

It is currently midwinter, late December of 509, and Aeric has ridden out with a large conroi of knights to attend the tournament in Londinium that will decide who is the next High King of Albion.

Narrative of the session is in bold, and switches to italics to explain mechanics and “out of game” information.

It is a bitter cold day in Salisbury. A light snow is falling, and the biting wind is whipping it across the road - pennons and cloaks snap in the wind.

Aeric’s mentor and former master when he was a squire, Sir Dafyd, leads the pack. An unexpected guest on the journey to Londinium rides next to him: Lord Robert.

By the command of Lady Ellen, mistress of Sarum and current regent of Salisbury, Robert is to ride with the large conroi of knights to Londinium to learn something of knighthood in action. He is to be knighted on his 18th nameday feast later this year.

To make matters more tense, she has ordered their group to stop in Levcomagus on a mission of diplomacy, to quell the rising tide of violence that has been ongoing since she married her late lord husband instead of Lord Rhisiart, steward of Levcomagus, a city on the border of Silchester and Salisbury.

Her decision to marry another man was not only a blow to Rhisiart’s pride - many of her family holdings went with her and became Salisbury lands, a strong source of contention for many years now.

Keeping Lord Robert safe was already a dangerous enough prospect without walking into the lion’s den itself. Aeric silently questions the wisdom of Lady Ellen’s decision, especially after the recent battle and bloodshed they have been unable to definitively prove was knights of Silchester.

Aeric’s gaze drifts over the other veteran knights who are riding in the lead. “Bastard,” he thinks, as he sees Haldred riding there among them, speaking freely with the older knights as though he has earned a place among them.

He grinds his teeth.

Gwion and Tyngyr ride next to him, as do other friends or acquaintances - Owain, Padraic, Lewellyn, Hastor. Good men.

”Think we’ll make Levcomagus without a fight?” asks Gwion, worriedly. He wasn’t made of stern enough stuff for this line of work, Aeric thinks, briefly.

”Probably not.”

By day’s end, they’ve pushed hard and ridden through the countryside manors and villages of Salisbury, and ahead of them they see the city of Levcomagus, large banners displaying the silver fish on blue.

In the road - a large group of knights, chargers barded and ready, chomping at their bits and knickering, breath fogging the cold dusk air.

Sir Dafyd holds a hand up in a sign of peace and parlay, and rides his horse a little ways ahead of the conroi, where the Silchester commander meets him, neither man straying far from their men.

Due to the nature of the hostilities between the two counties, this required some rolls. Sir Dafyd rolls his Suspicion: Silchester vs. his Loyalty/Homage to Lady Ellen. His duty wins out and he swallows his distaste, speaking plainly and calmly of their mission to see Lord Rhisiart.

The Silchester commander, Sir Athelstan, rolls his own checks, and replies extremely coldly and proudly.

Dafyd now rolls his Prudent, and succeeds. The diplomacy continues. The opposing knight rolls again, this time against his own Suspicion, and is able to act as he wishes.

After some time of watching the discussion go back and forth, they ride into the city, flanked on both sides by their enemies.

That evening, there is a dinner at the steward’s manor. Many knights and a few nobles are present. Lord Robert and the veteran knights are up near the high end of the table, and the higher ranking knights of Silchester sit opposite them. As Lord Robert and Sir Dafyd talk in calm and quiet tones to Lord Rhisiart, knights glare or stare harshly at one another across the table.

Aeric can feel his heartbeat in his ears as he locks eyes with the knight sitting across from him. He recognizes this bastard from their battle- though they were disguised as brigands, Aeric is positive this man exchanged sword blows with him.

As he grinds his teeth, he hears one of the knights opposite Haldred ask for a recounting of his fight against the Black Saxon - news of it has reached Silchester, it seems.

Aeric attempts to restrain himself from ruining Haldred’s story - he rolls Prudent vs. Hate: Haldred, and Prudent wins. Not sure if this was correct, but it felt right, so whatever.

Haldred tells the tale and either being gracious or out of self-preservation doesn’t attempt to make Aeric’s part in the story sound foolish or poor.

At the high table, Sir Dafyd and Lord Robert are in the process of offering lands as a peace offering - some of the very estates taken as dowry when Lady Ellen was married. It was thought this would soothe the old wounds, and richen Rhisiart considerably.

He is shaking his head vigorously. A widower now himself, he wants what he has always wanted: Lady Ellen.

Were he to marry her, his eldest son would then have a legitimate claim on a great deal of Salisbury after his death.

I’m not an expert on Dark Ages/Medieval inheritance laws and I don’t worry about it, it felt good for the story and I’m not sticking to realism, here. The oracle dice are rolled to see how the diplomacy goes and disaster strikes with 6 vs 1 “very much absolutely positively does not go well.”

Rhisiart stands, knocking his chair over and storms from the hall. “Get these fucking beggars out of my hall,” he shouts over his shoulder.

Here, Prudent rolls were fumbled on Salisbury’s side, and things kicked off.

Several knights from Salisbury rise, dishes and cups clattering off the table. Sir Dafyd tries to shout them down, but it’s gone too far, and violence erupts.

Thought this might be it for Aeric, as no one wears armor to dinner. Oh, hell.

A group of knights at the high end of the table makes a rush for Lord Robert - Sir Dafyd splits a skull and roars for the conroi to protect their Lord.

Aeric feels the blood rise, and leaps into action against the foes.

He I rolled for Passion, as I felt protecting Lord Robert would definitely fall under the homage thing, especially versus our main rivals. Success!

After this, its crit after crit.

Aeric removes a man’s arm, splits another’s face in twain, and thrusts his blade through a third’s guts before any of them can even close the distance to surround him.

A few Salisbury knights fall - among them, Sir Tyngyr, Aeric’s long time friend. The rest fight their way free of the hall, through the courtyard of the estate, and into the stables, where they mount and ride at high speed.

Oracle rolls here determined the Silchester knights had suffered too many losses in the main hall to pursue - they stay and lick their wounds and stoke their hate instead.

I decide to give Aeric a new passion, Hate: Silchester Knights + Rhisiart. It seems right to me, and I set it to 10.

The rest of the ride to Londinium is somber. They’ve lost a few men, and the mission they were entrusted with is not only in shambles, but things have considerably worsened, and open war with Silchester now seems like a foregone conclusion.

LONDINIUM.

Filthy. Cold. Loud. Vile. Aeric is disgusted by the place, and prefers to camp outside the city near the tournament grounds. The place is bursting with knights, travelers, merchants, thieves, whores and all kinds of humanity, more than Aeric has ever dreamed of seeing in one place.

He misses home, and wonders about Gwyneth and the baby she says she’s carrying. This spring, he thinks. He’ll be a father.

Sir Dafyd has secured an audience with Lord Ulfius, legendary friend of Uther Pendragon himself, and Lord of Silchester. Things have gone well, and Ulfius promises there will be peace talks following the tournament, and for now, Rhisiart has been put on a leash.

The day of the tournament.

Hostility between Salisbury knights and Silchester knights is palpable and barely contained. Sir Dafyd has made all swear an oath not to draw swords against them unless drawn on first.

The knights of Salisbury are splendid on their horses, though the day is grey, still, cold, and snow is falling again, covering the tournament field as they prepare to ride into the melee.

Haldred sidles his steed next to Aeric’s. They’ve spoken not a word to each other since Sarum.

”I know my sister has your bastard in her belly, you pig. I’ll die or cut it out of her before I see a hedge knight of such low station slither his way into my family’s household. Watch yourself, Sir. A tourney can be very dangerous.”

Aeric looks at him coldly.

”A tourney is dangerous ‘my lord’. But look to yourself. The both of us know twice over now who’s the better man. I’ve no idea what manner of deceit you worked on the Naddar to best that giant, but you’re no warrior. You’re no knight.”

Both roll Hate. Both are impassioned. As soon as there’s a chance, they’ll use the chaos of the tournament to turn on each other.

The tournament engages, and the swirling melee brings them face to face with the knights of Silchester. A bitter and brutal conflict.

I used the tournament rules from 1e, and just phoned things in with a battle roll from Sir Dafyd, and then decided to fight three rounds of combat, the first being a mounted charge, the following being either attacking from horse vs. dismounted foes, the opposite, or both on the ground. Things went well for Salisbury, and I threw a few rolls for the other knights, and Haldred as well to see how they all fared.

Aeric’s lance is ripped from his hand as it explodes on a Silchester knights shield, driving him from his saddle and bursting the saddle buckles.

His blunted tournament sword rains down, driving the man to the ground, blood gushing out the holes of his helm.

The rest of it is a blur of metal and horses, and Aeric has dismounted, the huge tournament melee like a real battlefield: chaos, blood, fear, glory.

Somewhere in the madness, they face each other. He sees Haldred’s tabard, the griffin rampant on the squares of white and red.

His own is torn in several places, and he’s taken some bad bruises, Haldred seems to be the same.

They fall on each other without a word, swords ringing on shield and sliding over mail, bruising, biting, beating, and bludgeoning each other.

And here’s where things went sideways. Aeric hits Haldred in the first round for minor damage, as the tournament sword halves it. Haldred rolls…2 critical hits in a row, dropping 8d6 damage on both of them.

Both do 13 damage each, just a shade under a major wound each time, but definitely enough to put Aeric under…I played it out, and allowed him to stay conscious for the story.

Aeric fails his Valorous roll, and then rolls under Cowardice with a 2!

Aeric’s helmet is broken, and fallen to the ground. He is beaten to his knees, his mail destroyed, blood running from his head, his nouse, his mouth, his ears.

He hears himself beg for mercy, like a dog.

Haldred draws a knife instead, and moves toward him for the finishing stroke. At that moment, the chaos clears - they haven’t realized the fighting around them has stopped. They both hear a knight shouting:

”The sword! The sword! The sword’s been drawn from the stone!!”

Aeric falls to his face, swooning.

Another hard one for Aeric. I felt myself feeling sorry for him.

Apologies for the lack of art in this one, I hope the single image is evocative enough, and we get our first look at Aeric without a helm on.

Let me know if you enjoyed this, and I’d love to hear any comments or thoughts you might have.

- Castle Grief