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Tristan is eager and brash, but he is also curious and superstitious himself - until now, he'd assumed the matter was brigands to be disarmed and disabled. Their hesitation gives him pause, but Nin immediately sets herself upon that task for him. This gives him a chance to slip away, and find her again soon.

[Weird 1+5+1 = 7 = I ask one question of the other world]

He has hunted in this place, and he has left an offering of berries and water after every success. He is familiar to this place, now. Nin can talk to the people about what they've seen; Tristan is going to find a quiet place of prayer closer to the forest, where he will bring two cups of beer: One placed in offering, and one for himself. He closes his eyes and he counts his breaths as he drinks.

He will have communion with the spirits and listen to what they have to say about the threat, what has disturbed the woods here.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Just as he was taught.
This has to be a dream, right? Not a rhetorical question.

Lucien wracks his brain for the last thing he remembers, what got him into this foodcourt. What's he wearing here, by the way? Not that it's important, but it'd be lovely if he had shoes right now.

The idea that this might be a dream doesn't make him feel any safer, mind you. The Heart is a strange place, and he's willing to take it for granted that harm done to him here is harm done. And we must always face our dreams alone...

Still, the Angel can only hurt what it can see. This one doesn't take a genius.

[Roll 2d6 = 4+3+1 = 8]
[I get away, fast and without taking harm]

Lucien grabs whatever large bits of shrapnel he can, and throws it one way as he bolts the other, running as fast as he can. The Angel shoots what it sees, but it's still pausing between shots. He can cross a solid eight meters for every second his clay pigeon gambit buys him, enough to get him out of line of sight again.

He dives over the cash register of a food-court counter, and breaks his way into the kitchen area at a crawl. Knifes, deep fryers, spices, and as many reflective surfaces as he can take advantage of.

He probably can't outrun this thing forever, but he doesn't have to. He just had to find a decent position of ambush. Something he can fashion into a simple trap in one direction, while he can hide with a weapon near it. If the trap works, good. If it doesn't, he can nail it while it's distracted.

And if that doesn't work, he was dead anyway.
Spring has meant four hours a day of archery practice. It's been a productive season; If the winds are gentle, he can't miss a bullseye from fifty paces now, and his muscles have grown to take the strain. Practicing while wearing armor has been an added challenge from previous years.

In summer the humid nights will make for good practice at working in the darkness - learning to hone his eyes to see without the aid of torchlight, to shoot and fight in it, to better see using his ears and nose.

It also means sleeping through the muggy days instead of enduring them, heavenly.

When he's not training, he's preparing in other ways, trading labour for lessons from any traveller who has a skill worth learning. Lessons in sewing and in stitching wounds, the administering and treatment of poisons, knowledge in common law and uncommon lore. Anything and everything he can do to make use of the time his body heals in. For summer? He plans for more of the same.

He's a tight little ball of youthful ambition, Tristan. He doesn't know when the time will come for him to prove himself, but he knows it can be measured in days. Taking breaks from his training fills him with needle-pains in his stomach and an unbearable itch in his limbs. One lesson that hasn't stuck is learning how to chill out.

All work and no play makes Tristan a sharp tool and a dull boy.

He's chomping at the bit to take to the woods with a hammock and a pack of provisions and make ambush. Or if the threat is more than he can take, to stalk the threat to its hideout and bring the news back to the stronghold. But Nin is the specialist here, at tracking and trailing.

He stomps down his impatience as he takes to Nin's side, but he's still vibrating with enthusiasm to be helpful as best he can. These are the moments he lives for.
I'm happy with farms and forests, I'm happy with the enemy choices, and with the square stone keep on a hill. I'd vote for archer's overlooks and a palisade wall, but I'd also be happy to swap either for the "unusually rich treasury", or to trade both for stone outer walls and a well.

Likewise, crossbows if we take the archer overlook, I'd like the armor-piercing if we're taking on knights loyal to the king. No other preferences for the armory.
I have the right to own a trained warhorse and own a kite shield. My current horse is named Apricot. I wish I had the good sense to take some apricot seeds back to England with me. Fool.


I love this so much
Hey, hi, hello. About time I stopped lurking in the Discord PMs and actually put something publicly here. Everything on the page is tentative and not final.

Okay, so, I originally was going to do something very different in Fellowship, based on a kid's book I wrote years ago called "Trent the Pragmatic Not-a-Knight; A Bedtime Story for Cynical Children", but that character interfered with what Thanquol wanted to do too much and I was more attached to their vision than my own.

Since then, though, an anthropologist I admired a lot died so I've been going back over their work. One bit that influenced me a lot, and that I'm coming back to here, is the fact that the errant knight mythology is a post-hoc way to localize the Middle Eastern "merchant adventurer" storytelling tradition, from which we even derive the word 'adventurer'. What's weird is that the "merchant adventurer" was explicitly a non-combatant, though, a change which makes the end result end up really similar to the archetypal ronin samurai story, and a lot of ronin stories could almost be considered errant knight stories told in reverse.

They're weirdly compatible, frankly, in a way that's been a lot of fun to work through. Bushido and chivalry, knights and samurai both being feudal-warrior-landed-gentry, there's a lot of overlap. And while samurai specifically are anachronistic to the Arthurian, they are contemporary to the time periods of their mythos - they both start as products of the 11th and 12th centuries.

Historically, as well, Roman coins from this time period were found in Japan, Korea and China. So, that's cool!

Then, in an uncharacteristic fit of better judgement, I thought a "ronin's" heir would better fit the story, and a group, than their parent would. It also shaves off a lot of the sharper edges of the concept, especially since it means I can focus on the part that interests me the most - where the concepts overlap and synthesize.

So. Hopefully this is actually a fun and interesting concept to play with. I know it sounds like it could be a bit of a joke, but I promise I don't intend to treat it as one.
Tristan Kuwabatake-Fletcher
The Troll-Killer


Bold: +0
Good: -1
Strong: +1
Wary: +2
Weird: +1

Rights:

I have an enchanted weapon

When I encounter something unnatural, I have the right to roll Weird.
On 10+, I ask the MC 2 of the following. On 7–9, ask 1.
• Is this a thing of old ways, new ways, or ways unknown to me?
• What manner of person made this thing, or is it its own?
• For what does this thing hunger, or by what has it sated itself?
• What would this thing make the world into, if it only could?
On a miss, ask 1, but the thing may ask a question of you in return, from this list or of its own devising. Answer truthfully.


I have the right to slay whom I must for the protection of all

In single combat, I have the right to spend 1 more than my roll alone would allow

Who?
I am the son of an expert warrior who has trained me well, and an English bowyer. My father is part of a company of elite warriors who have been exiled from their homeland who travelled far, following the legends of Rome, in search of a new place of Lords to sell their swords and undertake new duties.

The chivalric code of conduct came naturally to many of the Exiles, who integrated it with their own. As the second generation, I have been taught this synthesis of chivalry and of my father’s strict martial traditions.

My father was also a deeply spiritual man, but not a Christian. It is both his spiritualism and the esoteric faiths of my mother’s England that I have been raised with, and that I also put a great importance in.

I am no longer a child, but I am still defined by being my father’s son. His reputation is fearsome, and his People, the Pilgrims in Exile, are my people as well - together they try to rebuild as much of their traditions as they can pass down to the next generation.

While I am inspired by their legacy, I am also an Englishman. I will build my own legacy, that of an English Knight, from the tools that my People have given me. This is why I have struck out on my own, out from under my People’s shadow.

I have no land, no titles, and as yet few deeds to my name. I carry my father’s bow and my mother’s arrows, my People’s knowledge, and a heart and mind uniquely my own.

Here is my vow: I will be Just, Courageous and Compassionate. In all things I will show Integrity, Honour and Loyalty. I must never strike in anger, and I will spill no unneeded blood. If blood need be spilled, I must cut decisively and with true intent. I seek honour in duty and I seek greatness through my service to all.

People: The Pilgrims in Exile, of which I am typical (of my generation)
They are bound by a single common experience
They are a warrior order, 16 souls in 16 households of 16 warriors
They are lean and tawny-brown
They mostly speak Latin with mixed fluencies, due to following the Pax Romana from their homeland

Stats: +1 War, +1 Rites, 0 Wealth
War: They are known for their physical prowess and their individual skill at arms
Rites: They are known for their fearlessness in the face of death and their patience in suffering
Wealth: They are known for their craft and skill

Household:
I have a humble place in another’s household
The household is an Inn at which I am hosted by the Innkeeper’s charity
Horse and stables
Tenants
A kitchen, pantry and buttery
Debts

Personal belongings:
Distinctive clothing of a sky-blue silk shirt, and black gambeson trousers.
An elaborate black quiver with blue silk thread stitching.
I am without ornament, though my hair is tied back in a distinctive tight bun
My drinking cup is lacquered wood of fine craft
My knife is of long cord-wrapped iron.

Arms and Armor:
A dagger (2 harm)
A bardiche (3 harm)
Hide armor (1 armor)
A leather helmet (1 armor)
An enchanted bow of ancient yew (4 harm at range, can harm non-flesh creatures)

Has a bounty of fur and a bounty of meat
"I understand." He did. "I think we're done here. Just mix these together and I'll fetch the mugs. So you're aware, I made it strong." Whether that was warning or encouragement was up to Jackdaw. "Grand-mère would be mad if she found out I made it any other way."

Best not to risk it: Grand-mère was going outlive them all, yet, and time had only sharpened her tongue...
"I'd say take as much time as you need," Lucien works the custard, almost finished now, "but I don't know how much we have, down here. It's why I think you could stop now, maybe become a teacher, or start an orphanage. Something with a lower mortality rate." Lucien looks up, sucks air through his teeth. "How strange, I live in a glass house and all I ever seem to do in it is throw stones."
Lucien reads, then shakes his head. "These were plans to help you remember, Jackdaw." Reassurance that the signed name was hers, just in case. "You wrote down what you needed to know to trust other people, in case you forgot them. My guess is, it's a list of the people who could help you."

Another thought hits him. He breathes in as he wonders if he should say it or not, and decides on honesty here. "Another possibilty to consider. If you don't remember who you are, you have a chance on starting from scratch - on making yourself again." He shakes his head. "I thought about it, with the Flood. I'd lose a lot of awful memories, and everything I learned from them. Either way, I think..."

He takes the pen used to write grocery lists, and writes in;
Jackdaw: Worries about a lot of things, but her friends will do anything to help and protect her. Worries a lot about what others might think, because she cares very deeply. Good listener.

"Some of the best parts of who we are come of the worst things that happen to us, I think, as much as we hate them being a part of us. The sand cuts the oyster for a long time before it can become a pearl - if it ever does - but it's the only way to make them I know of. For all it took to make her, Jackdaw is someone worth remembering."
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