Sir Kendrik
First Post
Hello everyone.
Here is a chronicle of all the excitement and intrigue of the game I play in. It has been going for nearly 4 years now and at first this was just a recap of what happened soon it became a fully fledged epic story. I have decided to post for as close to the start as I thought suitable.
I rewrote part of the first adventure and will post that first. The quality drops back for a bit but bear with it it does get better
How you like it and I look forward to any feedback.
The Price of Love
Chapter One
Pushing through his tiredness, Sir Kendrik knew that he would be finally back home in Axbridge, and much sooner than expected. Though glad to be home again, he knew he didn’t have much time to tarry. Throughout his entire journey, Kendrik ran through his mind the horrifying image of his beloved Lady Elanor, her throat cut by the monster Caligulus, and her feebly struggling form being flung to his feet.
“That bastard will pay,” muttered Kendrik under his breath, so that the others couldn’t hear. “I will not rest till she is safe in my arms.”
The thought of his beloved once more in Caligulus’ clutches clouded Kendrik’s mind with outrage, and he spurred Valiant on all the harder, his heart full of both hate and despair. “I love her! I should never have left her alone.” Kendrik shook his head at the stupidity he exhibited in allowing Caligulus to goad him away for the woman he loved, allowing the bastard’s accomplices to spirit Lady Elanor away. “How could I have let her down so badly?”. His torment threatened to consume him, and the knight drove his spurs again into the flanks of his warhorse, causing the beast to grunt in pain before it lowered its head and charged ever faster into the night.
Arton and Callin had never seen Kendrik so single-mindedly focused on an objective, and they struggled to keep their mounts as close to Kendrik as possible. The knight had barely said anything to the others, apart from the occasional barked order to break the hurried camp he allowed them to eat some trial rations, or rest the dangerously tired horses. The young knight’s companions could barely keep up the pace he was setting. “Maybe Kendrik really does love this one?” thought Callin, coaxing his steed Shadow to keep close to Valiant hindquarters. Even Harper Halbaen’s protestations at the breakneck pace were acknowledged by a mere grunt of disgust from Kendrik as he spurred his warhorse on.
It was midday, and the welcoming sight of Axbridge came into view as the heroes crested Teagan’s Hill on the outskirts of the village. Though he was glad to see his childhood home for the first time in about a year, Kendrik would have much preferred that his return was by the cover of darkness. At least that way his arrival would have gone unnoticed, and he could quickly prepare for the final part of his journey to the Caves of Chaos. Fortunately, Brother Arton had had the foresight to request that Pelor reveal the location of the holy relic Perdita Mortua to him, which had also been stolen at the same time that Elanor was spirited away. Kendrik just hoped that Elanor was at the same place that the holy mace had been taken too. If not, he would leave a bloody trail behind him until the curs responsible revealed to him his beloved’s whereabouts. They would all pay dearly for the pain they had wrought both him, and the woman he loves.
Those villagers working in the fields looked up from their drudgery as the galloping warhorse, and its helmeted rider, charged across the ancient stone bridge and up Manor Tor, heading for the modest manor that the hillock was named for. The villagers’ expressions changed from surprise to concern when they recognised the faces of Callin and Brother Arton astride horse of their own, struggling to keep up with the knight. Always hungry for gossip, the villagers discussed between themselves who the knight could be that rode so recklessly into the village with the two well-known freemen. With a loud yell and a stream of curses, the beadle quickly ended the loose talk, and had the villages return to work. Satisfied that the fields were again being tended too, the beadle allowed himself a glance at the Tor, watching as the horses galloped out of sight behind the manors wall.
Kendrik rode unabated into the courtyard of the village manor, reigning Valiant to a sudden stop just before the steps leading the manor’s door. The huge warhorse reared and whinnied his protest as such harsh treatment, but settled to angrily pawing the cobblestones when Kendrik did not dismount. The manor had been without a lord for as long as Kendrik could remember, even Sir Beorn, when he had been granted Axbridge as part of his estate was rarely present. Now that Sir Beorn had been forced to steward Bloodfang Keep for his suspected involvement in the assassination attempt on Baron Aldred, he was unlikely to be seen here again.
Notker Donnellson, the hereditary Bailiff of the village, made his way to the manor doorway to see what the commotion in the courtyard was. A short, podgy, middle-aged man, Notker had served well all the lords that had been allocated to Axbridge over the years, although the rest of the village saw the aging village elder as little better than a lick-spittle. Wringing his hands for a moment, Notker looked briefly over his shoulder back into the manor before returning his gaze to the mounted knight with slightly more confidence. Joining him was Kendrik’s social climbing brother, Froderik. Bearing little resemblance to his younger brother, Froderik took more after their fair East Airelish mother rather than their broad and muscular Penlysh father. Slightly taller than Kendrik, yet not anywhere near as broad, Froderik was still lithely muscular, as would be expected from one with his level of skill with a sword. With his long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a trim neat goatee framing his mouth, Kendrik’s older brother would have caste a hamdsome figure, if not for his ugly nature, which shone through the man’s expression. Not partial to manual labour of any kind, Froderik showed little ability in the trade of his father, and had instead toadied his way into the graces of Notker. Betrothed to the bailiff’s eldest daughter, Froderik had to but bide his time until Notker died to inherit all that the wealthy villager owned.
“Assist the good knight, Froderik,” ordered Notker from the top stair. Froderik grunted his acknowledgement as he walked down the short flight of stairs and grasped the Valiant’s bridle.
Kendrik looked down at his older brother for a moment before reaching up and removing his helmet.
“Kendrik ?” began Notker before rapidly correcting himself. “My apologies my lord, but you bear a strong resemblance to a freeman of my acquaintance.”
“It is I Bailiff Notker,” answered Kendrik, looking down at his gob smacked older brother. Brother Arton, who had finally arrived with the others, joined Kendrik and couldn’t help but smile at the Froderik’s rather stupid expression. Froderik had been the tormentor of his younger brother for as long as the cleric could remember, belittling Kendrik at every opportunity.
“Excuse my surprise my lord,” apologised Notker. “Your father did not pass on the news regarding your knighthood.”
“He doesn’t as yet know,” admitted Kendrik with an absentminded smile, still looking down at his brother as his expression changed from surprise to one of pure envy. “My life since Sir Beorn exiled us has been so eventful, I have been most lax in sending word home. How is father and Betaine, Froderik?”
“They are well Ken…my lord,” responded Froderik, the honorific sticking in his throat.
“Excellent. I will pay them a visit as soon as I can,” stated Kendrik, allowing himself a hearty laugh at his brother’s obvious discomfort, but the laugh became a jaw cracking yawn. “Don’t worry Froderik, I am not even used to this myself. I have only recently been knighted, but I have been a bondsmen of the Baron ever since we arrived at Heron Keep.”
“You look like you have ridden all night my lord,” declared Notker at Kendrik’s yawn. “Allow me to have a bath drawn. You can get the rest you need in the lord’s quarters.”
“I have no time to stop and rest Bailiff,” dismissed Kendrik insistently, not wanting to waste any more time than was necessary.
“What may I ask my lord in such a hurry?” asked Notker politely.
“My beloved, the Baron’s ward Lady Elanor, has been kidnapped by a cowardly cur named Caligulus,” growled Kendrik, the disgust obvious in his tone. “The bastard has taken her to the Caves of Chaos. I will not rest till she is returned to my arms, safe and sound!”
“My lord, may I suggest that your horse is tired, and you and your companions would benefit from refreshing yourselves before you leave,” suggested Notker diplomatically.
“Hmmph” grunted Kendrik in resignation. Valiant was breathed deeply, his head hanging low, a far cry from the proud and arrogant steed he normally was. The horse would need at least a days rest before continuing, lest he be ridden into the ground. “If you believe it to be prudent I will accept your offer of hospitality bailiff,” acquiesced Kendrik. “Come, show me to the great hall!”
With Froderik holding the Valiant’s reigns, Kendrik quickly dismounted and strode toward Notker. Arton, Callin, Jon, and Halbaen quickly followed the knight’s lead, glad to be finally out of the saddle. Froderik motioned for a stable boy to attend the steeds.
“Froderik, see to the stabling of the horses,” ordered the bailiff before turning on his heels and escorting Kendrik into the manor. Froderik glared at Notker’s retreating back, and once he had disappeared from sight, gestured for the stable boy to approach. With the young boy seeing to the horses, Froderik remained in courtyard, mulling ruefully over the good fortune that had befallen his younger brother.
to be continued
Here is a chronicle of all the excitement and intrigue of the game I play in. It has been going for nearly 4 years now and at first this was just a recap of what happened soon it became a fully fledged epic story. I have decided to post for as close to the start as I thought suitable.
I rewrote part of the first adventure and will post that first. The quality drops back for a bit but bear with it it does get better
How you like it and I look forward to any feedback.
The Price of Love
Chapter One
Pushing through his tiredness, Sir Kendrik knew that he would be finally back home in Axbridge, and much sooner than expected. Though glad to be home again, he knew he didn’t have much time to tarry. Throughout his entire journey, Kendrik ran through his mind the horrifying image of his beloved Lady Elanor, her throat cut by the monster Caligulus, and her feebly struggling form being flung to his feet.
“That bastard will pay,” muttered Kendrik under his breath, so that the others couldn’t hear. “I will not rest till she is safe in my arms.”
The thought of his beloved once more in Caligulus’ clutches clouded Kendrik’s mind with outrage, and he spurred Valiant on all the harder, his heart full of both hate and despair. “I love her! I should never have left her alone.” Kendrik shook his head at the stupidity he exhibited in allowing Caligulus to goad him away for the woman he loved, allowing the bastard’s accomplices to spirit Lady Elanor away. “How could I have let her down so badly?”. His torment threatened to consume him, and the knight drove his spurs again into the flanks of his warhorse, causing the beast to grunt in pain before it lowered its head and charged ever faster into the night.
Arton and Callin had never seen Kendrik so single-mindedly focused on an objective, and they struggled to keep their mounts as close to Kendrik as possible. The knight had barely said anything to the others, apart from the occasional barked order to break the hurried camp he allowed them to eat some trial rations, or rest the dangerously tired horses. The young knight’s companions could barely keep up the pace he was setting. “Maybe Kendrik really does love this one?” thought Callin, coaxing his steed Shadow to keep close to Valiant hindquarters. Even Harper Halbaen’s protestations at the breakneck pace were acknowledged by a mere grunt of disgust from Kendrik as he spurred his warhorse on.
It was midday, and the welcoming sight of Axbridge came into view as the heroes crested Teagan’s Hill on the outskirts of the village. Though he was glad to see his childhood home for the first time in about a year, Kendrik would have much preferred that his return was by the cover of darkness. At least that way his arrival would have gone unnoticed, and he could quickly prepare for the final part of his journey to the Caves of Chaos. Fortunately, Brother Arton had had the foresight to request that Pelor reveal the location of the holy relic Perdita Mortua to him, which had also been stolen at the same time that Elanor was spirited away. Kendrik just hoped that Elanor was at the same place that the holy mace had been taken too. If not, he would leave a bloody trail behind him until the curs responsible revealed to him his beloved’s whereabouts. They would all pay dearly for the pain they had wrought both him, and the woman he loves.
Those villagers working in the fields looked up from their drudgery as the galloping warhorse, and its helmeted rider, charged across the ancient stone bridge and up Manor Tor, heading for the modest manor that the hillock was named for. The villagers’ expressions changed from surprise to concern when they recognised the faces of Callin and Brother Arton astride horse of their own, struggling to keep up with the knight. Always hungry for gossip, the villagers discussed between themselves who the knight could be that rode so recklessly into the village with the two well-known freemen. With a loud yell and a stream of curses, the beadle quickly ended the loose talk, and had the villages return to work. Satisfied that the fields were again being tended too, the beadle allowed himself a glance at the Tor, watching as the horses galloped out of sight behind the manors wall.
Kendrik rode unabated into the courtyard of the village manor, reigning Valiant to a sudden stop just before the steps leading the manor’s door. The huge warhorse reared and whinnied his protest as such harsh treatment, but settled to angrily pawing the cobblestones when Kendrik did not dismount. The manor had been without a lord for as long as Kendrik could remember, even Sir Beorn, when he had been granted Axbridge as part of his estate was rarely present. Now that Sir Beorn had been forced to steward Bloodfang Keep for his suspected involvement in the assassination attempt on Baron Aldred, he was unlikely to be seen here again.
Notker Donnellson, the hereditary Bailiff of the village, made his way to the manor doorway to see what the commotion in the courtyard was. A short, podgy, middle-aged man, Notker had served well all the lords that had been allocated to Axbridge over the years, although the rest of the village saw the aging village elder as little better than a lick-spittle. Wringing his hands for a moment, Notker looked briefly over his shoulder back into the manor before returning his gaze to the mounted knight with slightly more confidence. Joining him was Kendrik’s social climbing brother, Froderik. Bearing little resemblance to his younger brother, Froderik took more after their fair East Airelish mother rather than their broad and muscular Penlysh father. Slightly taller than Kendrik, yet not anywhere near as broad, Froderik was still lithely muscular, as would be expected from one with his level of skill with a sword. With his long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a trim neat goatee framing his mouth, Kendrik’s older brother would have caste a hamdsome figure, if not for his ugly nature, which shone through the man’s expression. Not partial to manual labour of any kind, Froderik showed little ability in the trade of his father, and had instead toadied his way into the graces of Notker. Betrothed to the bailiff’s eldest daughter, Froderik had to but bide his time until Notker died to inherit all that the wealthy villager owned.
“Assist the good knight, Froderik,” ordered Notker from the top stair. Froderik grunted his acknowledgement as he walked down the short flight of stairs and grasped the Valiant’s bridle.
Kendrik looked down at his older brother for a moment before reaching up and removing his helmet.
“Kendrik ?” began Notker before rapidly correcting himself. “My apologies my lord, but you bear a strong resemblance to a freeman of my acquaintance.”
“It is I Bailiff Notker,” answered Kendrik, looking down at his gob smacked older brother. Brother Arton, who had finally arrived with the others, joined Kendrik and couldn’t help but smile at the Froderik’s rather stupid expression. Froderik had been the tormentor of his younger brother for as long as the cleric could remember, belittling Kendrik at every opportunity.
“Excuse my surprise my lord,” apologised Notker. “Your father did not pass on the news regarding your knighthood.”
“He doesn’t as yet know,” admitted Kendrik with an absentminded smile, still looking down at his brother as his expression changed from surprise to one of pure envy. “My life since Sir Beorn exiled us has been so eventful, I have been most lax in sending word home. How is father and Betaine, Froderik?”
“They are well Ken…my lord,” responded Froderik, the honorific sticking in his throat.
“Excellent. I will pay them a visit as soon as I can,” stated Kendrik, allowing himself a hearty laugh at his brother’s obvious discomfort, but the laugh became a jaw cracking yawn. “Don’t worry Froderik, I am not even used to this myself. I have only recently been knighted, but I have been a bondsmen of the Baron ever since we arrived at Heron Keep.”
“You look like you have ridden all night my lord,” declared Notker at Kendrik’s yawn. “Allow me to have a bath drawn. You can get the rest you need in the lord’s quarters.”
“I have no time to stop and rest Bailiff,” dismissed Kendrik insistently, not wanting to waste any more time than was necessary.
“What may I ask my lord in such a hurry?” asked Notker politely.
“My beloved, the Baron’s ward Lady Elanor, has been kidnapped by a cowardly cur named Caligulus,” growled Kendrik, the disgust obvious in his tone. “The bastard has taken her to the Caves of Chaos. I will not rest till she is returned to my arms, safe and sound!”
“My lord, may I suggest that your horse is tired, and you and your companions would benefit from refreshing yourselves before you leave,” suggested Notker diplomatically.
“Hmmph” grunted Kendrik in resignation. Valiant was breathed deeply, his head hanging low, a far cry from the proud and arrogant steed he normally was. The horse would need at least a days rest before continuing, lest he be ridden into the ground. “If you believe it to be prudent I will accept your offer of hospitality bailiff,” acquiesced Kendrik. “Come, show me to the great hall!”
With Froderik holding the Valiant’s reigns, Kendrik quickly dismounted and strode toward Notker. Arton, Callin, Jon, and Halbaen quickly followed the knight’s lead, glad to be finally out of the saddle. Froderik motioned for a stable boy to attend the steeds.
“Froderik, see to the stabling of the horses,” ordered the bailiff before turning on his heels and escorting Kendrik into the manor. Froderik glared at Notker’s retreating back, and once he had disappeared from sight, gestured for the stable boy to approach. With the young boy seeing to the horses, Froderik remained in courtyard, mulling ruefully over the good fortune that had befallen his younger brother.
to be continued
