Tragedy beckons... yet another Arthurian

[tricky_bowman]

He comes walking, limping, rather, covered in rags, tattered. His face is dark with soot and filth.   His walking stick hits the ground with a thud, for every step he takes. Yet there is, in the eye of the leper, something cunning and melancholy that belies his apparently morbid state. He walks slowly, though he has no need to.  His back is bent,

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[eldeststark]

Grey Wind precedes his boy, prowling out a few yards away and growling quietly, hackles rising. A moment later Robb follows him out, sword half drawn and wary-tense. He replaces the sword and steps back, a little surprised.

"Pardon me." Grey Wind isn't fooled, though. And suspicious about the disguise.

[tricky_bowman]

"Nay, nay, pray not, my lord," Tristan replies, acting his part, that of a terrified indigent. "I am but a poor leper, lost on his way to a pilgrimage. Is there not a small place, where I may spend the night?"

[eldeststark]

"There is," he says, taking a careful step back, though Grey Wind is curiously unperturbed. "A house, I'm sure you would be welcome."

[tricky_bowman]

The leper smiles, a little, his teeth are blackened with ivy ink. "Is it a house of God, then, that would take in one such as me, affected and burnt by the Lord's punitive illness?"

[comesindreams]

Sebastian is sprawled on a small patch of snowless grass, enjoying the sun despite the chill, his remarkable eyes turned toward Tristan but watching so casually that he may not be aware he's being watched at all.

[tricky_bowman]

Tristan's eyes are however discreetly surveying the place: he is a fugitive, banned from court, and must not be found until he is away enough to be free from disgrace.

Wary enough, he moves, stumbles, simulates a fall with a credible painful cry.

[comesindreams]

Sebastian is over there in a moment and helping him up, firmly. "Be careful," mildly. His bright green eyes glint with a bit of wariness.

[tricky_bowman]

Tristan lets himself be helped, even making sure not to stand on his own two feet, so as to maintain the appearance. "To be careful, my lord, I should but have use of all my limbs. It is my leg, you see, it has gone afoul."

[ebonyjaenelle72]

Jaenelle is sitting on the porch swing and rocking back and forth, singing to herself and seemingly unaware of the approach of a stranger.

[tricky_bowman]

The leper then walks to the porch, eventually. Upon seeing Jaenelle - oh, she is blond, like the love he left behind - he bows, stumbles, though his mind reels with the enormity of the situation.

"Pray have pity, my good lady, on a poor man whose destiny is lost," he murmurs, acting the part.

[ebonyjaenelle72]

She blinks, and then turns her head to look at him, and smiles just a bit. "Which destiny is that? I think it's just you who's lost, really."

[tricky_bowman]

"Is it not the fate of any leper, Lady, to be lost, fallen on Earth before Hell's pits swallow him for endless torment?"

[scoffandjest]

Dinadan, for once in his life, doesn't say anything at all. He just sort of... stares. Then again, he's never been terribly concerned with being polite.

[tricky_bowman]

A beggar, a leper would hardly expect people to be polite with him, and so Tristan doesn't find this to be particularly insulting, though he wonders if he is the first beggar this knight has seen.

Wary of who this may be, he curves his back a little more, coughs, seemingly ill beyond repair.

[scoffandjest]

"--Tristan?" he says.

[tricky_bowman]

Tristan, inwardly, feels a great sense of dread and awe at being thus recognized, with an ease which surpasses that of his own uncle, and of King Arthur himself. He decides to attempt the preservation of the charade, making a pained sound at the appelation.

"Pity, for the love of all that is holy, good Sir, for a beggar without a name," is his plaintive reply.

[sonofpellinore]

Lamorak comes riding up from a little behind him, at ease on horseback more than he is anywhere else. He calls, "Ho there, sir. Do you need assistance?"

[tricky_bowman]

The leper looks over with what seems to be painstaking trials, making even a small sound of suffering that is all acting. "Only the way to Small-Britanny, my lord," he replies once he's turned around completely, and bowed so very deeply.

So many knights, he thinks to himself. I must have wandered to the border of another kingdom.

[sonofpellinore]

"Well, I'm afraid you're not in luck there, sir. No one has found way to leave purposely." He draws up beside him looking thoughtful. "You don't..."

[tricky_bowman]

His back curves a little bit more, as if the years were heaving on him. "No way to leave purposely, my lord? But I see no boundaries to keep us enclosed."