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It took most of the day for them to cross through the mountains and lay sight upon the forces. The only think to note on the walk was a slight bit of annoyed protest from Truffles, the white Donkey wishing to keep eating the grass that the ruined village was built upon.
What they had found was a nice size valley who was several hundred acres wide in both directions and clearly much better for armies to walk through. There were numerous tents standing up as the small force was preparing for rest in the basin of their choosing.
Their approach was seen quickly enough as the sun set behind them. The sight of peasants gathering themselves to receive whoever was on the approach from afar was slightly humorous to Lucian, but their attitudes changed when they were roughly thirty yards from the place.
The Peasants began to cower in fear and back away. Each of them getting a good look at not only his companions, but Lucian himself. When he looked upon them with his green eyes the fools seemed struck with the fear of Morr within their souls. All it took was one of them, breaking rank for the fear held within their heart.
The rest followed soon after, hiding in their tents in an attempt to forget the sight of something clearly touched by the fey.
It did not take the group long to find the Knights of the camp. Each of them were wearing their armor, but Lucian could smell the alcohol from the wine each of them had been drinking. A few of them were upon horses, but most were on foot having been caught flatfooted by Lucian’s approach.
One of them, a Knight who luckily had his horse but had failed to put on his helm, called out, “Black Knight, you have gone far enough into my camp! I, Count Husson of Tonnerre, demand a good reason not to slaughter you for such a galavant stain you have done upon my honor for this trespass.”
The truth was Lucian’s honor was also stained, for his peasants did not commit themselves accordingly. Instead of leading him into the camp directly to the Count they had fled in terror.
Looking at the Count, Lucian noticed the slight shaking of his eyes. His glance changing from Lucian, to Adok, to the Lizardmen who each were clearly strong in their own right. Where he should have given apologies for his own kind the man had allowed fear and weariness to give a far more brutal response.
It made sense, Lucian had realized, for what were they now? Walking Lizards, Dwarfs, and a man who was clearly touched by the fey. Even a Count like he would reason that he was seeing something straight out of a fairy tale.
And as all Bretonnians knew, nothing well came from such tales.
>Declare one’s purpose, keep the mysticism
>Give one’s name and purpose
>Break out the documents, prove it.
