Ranwell goes over to the barn, pulls a panel from the broken door and breaks away some ivy strands to make an entrance.
"Come! This will do for our hide."
Robert pulls the quiver down from his back and follows Ranwell into the barn.
Gruntil swaggers moodily in, kicking up dust. The goblin glares at Robert and crosses his eyes, before walking up to his boss and straightening himself up proudly, showing that he is important.
Ranwell pats Gruntil on the head and smiles cheerily, while the goblin grins at Robert and wiggles his eyebrows. Ranwell then clears his throat in preparation of giving them both orders.
"Ehhem, Robert! Can you begin by clearing some of that ivy?" He points towards a ladder, tangled with ivy, going up into the hay loft.
Robert looks in the direction of where Ranwell was pointing "Righto, Sir!" He starts pulling at the ivy immediately.
"And Gruntil!" Ranwell goes on." I want you to pick up as many stones as needed to block up some of these great big gaps in the wall."
Ranwell goes over to the door. "I'm going out to find some fellow outlaw fighters. I say, Robert! Can I borrow your bow? Might as well bring back a deer or a rabbit while I'm out.
What do you say old chap?"
Robert turns from his work.
"Certainly, I'll build a fire for when you return," says Robert.
"That would be great," says Ranwell, picking up the bow and quiver and leaving the barn.
Gruntil's head slowly turns to Robert and he watches the man start to build a fire.
Two funny characters wandering the forest outside the Village, to meet up with Ranwell and his company . . .
Name - Trusty 'Panface' Deerhead. Species - Human, male. Age - Roughly 50 years old.
Appearance - Dressed in the most drab shades of every colour - dull purple cloak, dull green tunic, dull red wool cap, dull yellow gloves and dull brown boots. Is a bent-over old man who hobbles about. Carries a smelly polecat called Busker on his shoulder. Wears a silver brooch of a fallow deer stag's head on his cloak - the emblem of his family name. Usually has a very plain expression, hence his nickname 'Panface'.
Weapons - A walking staff and a machete style blade.
-------------------------
Name - Busker the Dancing Polecat. Species - Polecat, male. Age - 3 years.
Appearance - A typical sable polecat, a little fat. Wears something like a Tudor ruff, only it's red.
Gruntil swaggers moodily in, kicking up dust. The goblin glares at Robert and crosses his eyes, before walking up to his boss and straightening himself up proudly, showing that he is important.
Ranwell pats Gruntil on the head and smiles cheerily, while the goblin grins at Robert and wiggles his eyebrows. Ranwell then clears his throat in preparation of giving them both orders.
"Ehhem, Robert! Can you begin by clearing some of that ivy?" He points towards a ladder, tangled with ivy, going up into the hay loft.
Robert looks in the direction of where Ranwell was pointing "Righto, Sir!" He starts pulling at the ivy immediately.
"And Gruntil!" Ranwell goes on." I want you to pick up as many stones as needed to block up some of these great big gaps in the wall."
Ranwell goes over to the door. "I'm going out to find some fellow outlaw fighters. I say, Robert! Can I borrow your bow? Might as well bring back a deer or a rabbit while I'm out.
What do you say old chap?"
Robert turns from his work.
"Certainly, I'll build a fire for when you return," says Robert.
"That would be great," says Ranwell, picking up the bow and quiver and leaving the barn.
Gruntil's head slowly turns to Robert and he watches the man start to build a fire.
Ranwell strolls down the bramble enclosed path humming happily to himself. He comes to a fork in the road. A sign had been placed in-between both paths. Inscribed on the right of the sign it spelt out Fortingall~Forest, to the left off the sign, Travelers~Way. Ranwell didn't take a moments notice to decide which path to take - he strode on taking the the path leading to the right. As Ranwell approached the forest he lightened his tread, then pointing the bow to the ground he attaches an arrow to his string. He slowly steps into the forest, looking left and right for any movements. He stoops low using some waist high bushes as cover. Kneeling down he points his arrow tip through a gap in the branches.
Ranwell pats Gruntil on the head and smiles cheerily, while the goblin grins at Robert and wiggles his eyebrows. Ranwell then clears his throat in preparation of giving them both orders.
"Ehhem, Robert! Can you begin by clearing some of that ivy?" He points towards a ladder, tangled with ivy, going up into the hay loft.
Robert looks in the direction of where Ranwell was pointing "Righto, Sir!" He starts pulling at the ivy immediately.
"And Gruntil!" Ranwell goes on." I want you to pick up as many stones as needed to block up some of these great big gaps in the wall."
Ranwell goes over to the door. "I'm going out to find some fellow outlaw fighters. I say, Robert! Can I borrow your bow? Might as well bring back a deer or a rabbit while I'm out.
What do you say old chap?"
Robert turns from his work.
"Certainly, I'll build a fire for when you return," says Robert.
"That would be great," says Ranwell, picking up the bow and quiver and leaving the barn.
Gruntil's head slowly turns to Robert and he watches the man start to build a fire.
Ranwell strolls down the bramble enclosed path humming happily to himself. He comes to a fork in the road. A sign had been placed in-between both paths. Inscribed on the right of the sign it spelt out Fortingall~Forest, to the left off the sign, Travelers~Way. Ranwell didn't take a moments notice to decide which path to take - he strode on taking the the path leading to the right. As Ranwell approached the forest he lightened his tread, then pointing the bow to the ground he attaches an arrow to his string. He slowly steps into the forest, looking left and right for any movements. He stoops low using some waist high bushes as cover. Kneeling down he points his arrow tip through a gap in the branches.
A man in his middle years is hobbling through the forest, digging at the ground with his staff, making his way painfully slowly down an old rabbit path. At his feet a plump creature is frolicking - a polecat wearing a ruff.
'I know, Busker me lad! I smells it too!' The man sniffs the air. 'Fire! And fire means food! I have no idea where we are but there's a village around here somewhere. At least that's what that poacher we met said . . . At least, that's what his brother told him . . . '
Suddenly the man leaps to one side. An arrow slams into a tree; he had been standing in its path.
'What -? 'eRE!' he hollers in the direction the arrow has come. 'What's the idea?'
Ranwell strolls down the bramble enclosed path humming happily to himself. He comes to a fork in the road. A sign had been placed in-between both paths. Inscribed on the right of the sign it spelt out Fortingall~Forest, to the left off the sign, Travelers~Way. Ranwell didn't take a moments notice to decide which path to take - he strode on taking the the path leading to the right. As Ranwell approached the forest he lightened his tread, then pointing the bow to the ground he attaches an arrow to his string. He slowly steps into the forest, looking left and right for any movements. He stoops low using some waist high bushes as cover. Kneeling down he points his arrow tip through a gap in the branches.
A man in his middle years is hobbling through the forest, digging at the ground with his staff, making his way painfully slowly down an old rabbit path. At his feet a plump creature is frolicking - a polecat wearing a ruff.
'I know, Busker me lad! I smells it too!' The man sniffs the air. 'Fire! And fire means food! I have no idea where we are but there's a village around here somewhere. At least that's what that poacher we met said . . . At least, that's what his brother told him . . . '
Suddenly the man leaps to one side. An arrow slams into a tree; he had been standing in its path.
'What -? 'eRE!' he hollers in the direction the arrow has come. 'What's the idea?'
Ranwell emerges from the bush, whilst attaching a new arrow to the string and pulling it back to the middle of the shaft.
"Stop where you stand stranger! Ranwell shouts, taking two steps forward.
Before he could take another step he felt the ground shake, a thunder of hooves could be heard in the distance.
Two knights on horse back clothed in hauberk, one armed with a shield and sword, the other a lethal crossbow.
Ranwell runs for cover. The Knight with the crossbow fires a bolt, which flies past Ranwell's shoulder and splits a small tree down the middle.
Taking aim at the night with the crossbow Ranwell shoots his arrow with great accuracy into the string which held the knight's money pouch.
Gruntil meanwhile, was tossing bits of dust and straw from the barn at Rodger, who was crouching on the ground, trying to build a fire. The goblin was trying to annoy the stranger.
When that didn't work Gruntil then started edging slowly up to Rodger, with a stick in his hand. Making what he thought were heroic grunts he pokes the man with the stick, before dashing behind an old barrel to hide.
A man in his middle years is hobbling through the forest, digging at the ground with his staff, making his way painfully slowly down an old rabbit path. At his feet a plump creature is frolicking - a polecat wearing a ruff.
'I know, Busker me lad! I smells it too!' The man sniffs the air. 'Fire! And fire means food! I have no idea where we are but there's a village around here somewhere. At least that's what that poacher we met said . . . At least, that's what his brother told him . . . '
Suddenly the man leaps to one side. An arrow slams into a tree; he had been standing in its path.
'What -? 'eRE!' he hollers in the direction the arrow has come. 'What's the idea?'
Ranwell emerges from the bush, whilst attaching a new arrow to the string and pulling it back to the middle of the shaft.
"Stop where you stand stranger! Ranwell shouts, taking two steps forward. Before he could take another step he felt the ground shake, a thunder of hooves could be heard in the distance. Two knights on horse back clothed in hauberk, one armed with a shield and sword, the other a lethal crossbow.
Ranwell runs for cover. The Knight with the crossbow fires a bolt, which flies past Ranwell's shoulder and splits a small tree down the middle.
Taking aim at the knight with the crossbow Ranwell shoots his arrow with great accuracy into the string which held the knight's money pouch.
The middle-aged man had gone from his place. He could be heard panting as he ran away with his ferret.
Gruntil meanwhile, was tossing bits of dust and straw from the barn at Rodger, who was crouching on the ground, trying to build a fire. The goblin was trying to annoy the stranger.
When that didn't work Gruntil then started edging slowly up to Rodger, with a stick in his hand. Making what he thought were heroic grunts he pokes the man with the stick, before dashing behind an old barrel to hide.
Before Robert makes any reaction to this impish behavior, a man stumbles into the camp with a polecat on his shoulder. He leans, panting, against Gruntil's barrel.
'Ohh,' he says. ''Ain't just a little hubbub goin' on in the forest this mornin'! Knights galloping about and men with bows firin' arrows for no reason, at poor strangers like me.' He gives a big sniff and grins at Robert. 'Got any grub? I 'aven't eaten since lunch yesterday.'
The plump polecat drops off the man's shoulder and peers into the barrel, sniffing at Gruntil the goblin.
Ranwell emerges from the bush, whilst attaching a new arrow to the string and pulling it back to the middle of the shaft.
"Stop where you stand stranger! Ranwell shouts, taking two steps forward. Before he could take another step he felt the ground shake, a thunder of hooves could be heard in the distance. Two knights on horse back clothed in hauberk, one armed with a shield and sword, the other a lethal crossbow.
Ranwell runs for cover. The Knight with the crossbow fires a bolt, which flies past Ranwell's shoulder and splits a small tree down the middle.
Taking aim at the knight with the crossbow Ranwell shoots his arrow with great accuracy into the string which held the knight's money pouch.
The middle-aged man had gone from his place. He could be heard panting as he ran away with his ferret.
The knight with the sword and shield rides towards Ranwell, swinging his sword around his head and shouting. "Come'eehr!
The other knight, seeing his money pouch drop from his belt, tries to pick it up by hanging off his saddle.
Ranwell runs forward, ducking low he flips the crossbow knight from off his horse, grabs the money pouch and mounts onto the knights horse.
The other knight kicks his horse to turn and trots close behind.
Ducking and dodging branches, Ranwell rides into the darker part of the wood.
The knight behind him was beginning to get weary.
As soon as the knight was out of view Ranwell swung himself up onto a branch above.
Gruntil meanwhile, was tossing bits of dust and straw from the barn at Rodger, who was crouching on the ground, trying to build a fire. The goblin was trying to annoy the stranger.
When that didn't work Gruntil then started edging slowly up to Rodger, with a stick in his hand. Making what he thought were heroic grunts he pokes the man with the stick, before dashing behind an old barrel to hide.
Before Robert makes any reaction to this impish behavior, a man stumbles into the camp with a polecat on his shoulder. He leans, panting, against Gruntil's barrel.
'Ohh,' he says. ''Ain't just a little hubbub goin' on in the forest this mornin'! Knights galloping about and men with bows firin' arrows for no reason, at poor strangers like me.' He gives a big sniff and grins at Robert. 'Got any grub? I 'aven't eaten since lunch yesterday.'
The plump polecat drops off the man's shoulder and peers into the barrel, sniffing at Gruntil the goblin.
Robert spins around on one knee, he looks up at the stranger. "Knights firing arrows in the forest? Did you encounter a bowman dressed in burgundy red?"
Out of breath, stooped low, Ranwell looks down at the path below. The knight who had been knocked off his horse comes plodding towards Ranwell's tree.
Ranwell holds his breath as the knight passes the branch and vanishes into the darkness of the wood. After waiting about twenty minutes Ranwell
takes one last look around and climbs down.
He goes down the trail they had made, broken twigs and flattened grass lay aside, decorating the path.
A silent brushing noise followed by some grunts comes from the bushes on his right. "Sounds like a wild boar," Ranwell whispers to himself.
Slowly he drops to one knee with an arrow on the string. He follows the sound by the point of his arrow, turning his body in a semicircle.
Focusing hard he looks down the arrows shaft. The beast comes into view.
Ranwell takes aim and frees the string, letting the arrow dart through the air.
Ranwell comes back to the barn-hide with a boar over his shoulders. He waves at Robert who was still looking up at the strange middle-aged man he had seen earlier.
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