Hermann Vulfgang slowed his steed to a trot, the darkened blue cloak he had clad upon him still damp from the rain he had ridden through on his travels. The forest path he now rode upon was all too familiar, and even the grime on his boots and the constant wet did not sour his mood, as he knew he was reaching his destination. Clermount was a quaint little hamlet in Aquitaine, one he had taken up residence in from time to time. 

The Dukes and Barons of Brettonia did not trust the mages of the empire, so he preferred his travels were not widely known. He brought healing salves and some food to the serfs of Clermount, and in exchange they allowed him shelter so he could perform various experiments in the woods, without the pesky Witch Hunters sticking their long, pointed noses where they didn't belong. The serfs would be too frightened of his 'wtichcraft' or too grateful for his aid to go and tell their overlords of his presence. 

Trotting into the muddy village, he heeled his brown mare, dismounting carefully to not stain his robes. One of the village maidens rushed up to him, grabbing the horses reins. She spoke quickly in Brettonian. 

"Yes, good to be back. How have things bee-" 
 
"Errone!" she exclaimed, catching her breath for a moment. "Un grand homme loup est ici, chez Remy!" 

"What!?" The Gold wizard swiftly, ushered her off and made his way through the mudcaked road, heeding the ground very little. He tried to think of his best offensive spells, his mind whirring with different incantations on how best to deal with a wolfman. Sigmar, what was such a foul beast of Norsca doing here in Brettonia? Did the dark powers find him? Did his journey to rid the world of foul chaos bring their attention, and this village suffered for it!? 

The lock on Remy's door melted by the hinges as if it was so much snow in high summer, and the less than physical mage booted the door in as best he could, cloaked in power to find...a very muscular man eating a whole cooked chicken. The man didn't look too surprised to see him, though he did flinch when the door had been caved in. Needless to say, Hermann felt a bit awkward at that particular moment, not to mention Remy nearly falling out of his chair seeing Hermann breaking his door. "Ma porte! Pourquoi voudriez-vous le détruire!" he cried in dismay. 

Hermann gave a quick apology in Brettonian, but his magesight caught his attention. "Who are you?" he asked in Reikspiel, though he felt speaking in his native tongue was a mistake until the... 'man' spoke back in the same language. He looked far too strong and powerful for a normal man, but he couldn't exactly call him anything else. The term 'wolf' had been apt, but it was not the mark of chaos on him that seemed to have him in such a state. 

"Cyrdic Becker." he replied, glaring at the Wizard as if the mage would contest the claim. When he didn't, Cyrdic continued. "Of the 9th Ostland." 

Hermann did not know where to begin with his questioning. He supposed he'd start at the beginning. "How did you get here, herr Becker?" 

"I woke up in the forest, after being a guest in Chateu D'Epee." 

"D'Epee..." Hermann echoed, considering. "Interesting. And, would it be rude to ask 'what' you are?" 

"How do you mean?" Cyrdic asked, his striking golden eyes glinting with confusion and defensiveness. He stood up, the small chair pushing back against the wall. Hermann realized if the man was wearing armor and no one could see his eyes, perhaps give him a haircut, he could pass as an exceptionally powerful and handsome, even kingly man. But as he was now, he seemed more wild beast than civilized man of the empire, even a province as rough as Ostland. 

Cyrdic looked at Remy, and the peasant looked just as confused as he, probably because he spoke very little reikspeil. Hermann sighed, and produced a small mirror from his robe pocket, handing it to Cyrdic who took it slowly. He gazed at his reflection, a hint of shock in his face at the transformation. He had been a strong man before, but now... 

"Would you be surprised to learn that you're not the strangest story I heard of today?" Herman told him. 
[hr] 

Camilla and her retinue galloped at a leisurely pace, at least compared to the hard riding they done these past few weeks. The day was aging, and the forest of Chalons, while in the middle of the country, was still not the safest place to be. Bandits and the occassional beastmen lurked deeper within the woods, as well as hedge witches the serfs whispered of. Though compared to the Drakwald of the Empire, it was fairly tame. 

Beaumont held himself at the ready, lance in the air and his eyes like a hawks. Despite feeling far less honorable this past month before granting his service to Camilla, he still saw it was his duty to protect her, no matter how troublesome she was. The peasants and what Knights were in her service felt a similar way of her, some duty bound to protect her, others smitten, and many were glad to be protected [i]by[/i] her, and wished to return the favor. 

Within minutes, they made it to their camp. A small patch of ruins atop a forest hill, cleared as a glade save for the stonework. Small cairns were erected at the treeline, small wards given by the more superstitious of the band to keep out the forest spirits that they say dwelled within the deep woods. However, they did not ward against men, and to their surprise, a small band of Knights stood dismounted from their horses at the entrance. Some of them drew themselves up, having just finished eating at Camilla and Beaumont's cookfire.

Camilla had two pistols cocked and aimed at the two men who seemed to be the most kenowned, if their coat of arms and manner were anything to go by. The serfs, emboldened by their recent victory, still did not seem keen on facing the armed Knights. Even Beaumont seemed perturbed by them, and on closer inspection, the left man had an air about him that made him stand head and shoulders above the men that flanked him. In fact, he radiated power. Camilla suddenly knew that even were this man standing stark naked before her, her bullets would not harm him or his steed, a more powerful and noble horse she had never seen in all of her days serving the elector count of Ostland. 

"A grail Knight," Beaumont breathed, inclining his head to give the senior Cavalier his due respect. Rather than return it, the Grail Knight did the last thing anyone would have thought possible.

He knelt, placing his glowing sword, alight in his mailed hands, before him. "I have traveled far of late. My dreams have haunted me, and my brothers do not believe the visions the Lady has given me. But now that I stand before you, I have no doubts in my mind. I pledge my life and my sword to you, Contessa De La Trantio. The new Fey Enchantress."
[@Penny]