Ser Giles clasped his hands together as the introductions finished. "Well, we certainly have a diverse group here, eh?" He said, half to himself. A Grandmaster of the Knights Templar, a court mage, two mercenary-looking types, a nobleman and a noblewoman's lady. Perhaps not the flower of Brittonian knighthood he had wanted, but he could see the strengths of such a party. He stifled a yawn and stood.

"Well, we'd best retire for the evening. Another long day awaits us tomorrow — we must cross the Loire in the morning, and I hope to make the village of Brevis by midday. The mayor there is supposedly sympathetic to our cause, and may restock our provisions." Ser Giles said, and with that turned and strode into the night, leaving his new companions to sort themselves out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The morning brought with it a beautiful day, with clear skies and bright sunlight. Ser Giles, despite his early retirement, had slept poorly; thus he confronted the idyllic scenery with a sour mood. He struggled to maintain a cheerful front, but everything from his horse to the fit of his armor seemed to bother him. 

The Loire river was unsurprisingly flooded, but not so much that they were unable to find a passable ford a short trip further downstream. They were still forced to dismount in order to lead their unwilling mounts across, and it was a slow, unpleasant journey across the river. The water was freezing, and upon arriving at the opposite bank, Ser Giles found that he had not secured his bedroll properly and that it was soaked through. Needless to say, his mood did not improve at the revelation.

It was not long before they were riding through deep forest, and the eastern road was a double cart track with the trees sometimes arched right over the road. However, the old forest was open, the great boles of the trunks sixty feet apart or more with little enough underbrush that they could ride two or three wide. The road was damp but firm, except in the deeper ruts where puddles of stagnant rainwater and mud still lingered. The native flora seemed washed-out from the heavy rainfall of the past few days, though hints of its true vibrant nature peeked out in places. The woods were so deep that it was difficult to gauge the passage of time, and Ser Giles had little idea how far they’d traveled on the narrow track.

Ser Giles gradually grew more tense; his shoulders became hunched, his eyes narrowed. The forest, surely once a peaceful and soothing sight, now appeared all at once menacing. The sharp angles of shadows seemed to reveal a malevolent aspect to the dense trees and vegetation, and Ser Giles grew concerned, his imagination placing a brigand in every shadow, a monster in every bush. Phantasmal creatures seemed to dart in and out of his vision, and twice he shouted certain they were under attack, only for it to be revealed that there was nothing there at all. Still, the visions persisted, and several times he swore he heard voices. [i]This is all wrong,[/i] Ser Giles thought. [i]Have I been bewitched?[/i]

Eventually it grew too much. With a cry he drew his longsword and slammed his visor down. "Gods damn it, show yourselves!" He roared, turning wildly in his seat. 

The forest was quiet, and still.

Ser Giles felt a fool. He cursed, and went to sheathe his sword before belatedly noticing that he was very much alone. He turned and looked around him, and saw nothing and no one. His companions were gone. Ser Giles swallowed hard. How did he become separated? 

"Alfred? Hugo?" He called out. 

Instead of their voices, inhuman roars answered, and his spine went cold. [i]Trolls.[/i]