Mention the world [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feudalism]Feudalism[/url] and the first things to come to mind are the images of European knights in armor, Kings, and, in some cases, Monty Python's [i]Quest for the Holy Grail[/i]. It is important to understand that in the setting of Arthur's Legacy, the player characters are part of a feudal system. To understand the place of the player characters within the context of the game's feudal system, we need to first reacquaint ourselves with what precisely feudalism is.

Feudalism is a socio-economic system where in wealth is based upon land ownership, property rights, real goods, and money. Unlike the socio-economic system of capitalism, which is what the economic system of the United States is most like, there is more then one way to count wealth. Unlike capitalism, however, the feudal society does not allow for ease of motion between the socio-economic classes. Wealth in the feudal society is concentrated most at the upper levels, being a direct cognate to power.

The system is comprised of three general socio-economic classes: Nobles, vassals, and serfs. Nobles are at the top of the system and hold primary land ownership, property rights, and the greatest amount of money. Real goods are included with the property rights, as what is on the property is viewed as part of the Noble's possessions. Nobles hold the ultimate authority over what occurs with respect to their property and the people who are beneath them.

The system of vassalage allows for more efficient use of the property. Vassals are subsidiaries of the Nobles, given rights and privileges (including land ownership, property rights, and money) in return for military service to the Nobles, tithes (payment of a tribute), and compliance with the orders of the Noble with respect to matters regarding the property held in trust. Vassals can have subordinate vassals of their own, distributing wealth and privileges accordingly in return for similar payment.

Serfs are the poorest of the three classes. In classical feudalism, a serf was frequently viewed as chattel and entirely dependent upon those above them for protection, a place to live and a means by which to support themselves. In return, the serf was to give payment of a portion of their product, prove obedient to those above them, and provide manual labor as needed. Often, in classical feudalism, a serf was allowed to 'rent' their home in return for payment from what they produced. The 'rent' was frequently so high that they were unable to pay it off within their life time and the debt is passed down to the descendants, as well as the descendants acquiring their own debt in their 'rent' of their home. In this fashion, a serf served as a bond servant and were frequently viewed as property by those above them.

By extraordinary measures or particularly good fortune, one could purchase their way out of the status of serfdom and either become a 'free man' or part of the lower orders of vassalage. It was more common to find one who was a serf purchasing their freedom, as vassalage was more frequently held out as a right to be taken up by those who were born of the upper echelons of society. With the passage of time, more serfs bought their way into 'free man' status and thus gave rise to the 'middle class'.

In the context of the Arthur's Legacy, the player character is part of the lower orders of vassalage. They are obligated to the Nobility to serve in a military fashion and to comply with their orders. Some may choose to pay tribute to those above them, but this is currently not the norm. The non-knights (support staff at the Embassy & people outside the Embassy) are of the Serf class.

This, however, is additionally confused by the social classes present within society outside of the Avalonian context. In part two, we'll take a brief look at how these two social systems interact. I also will be giving a more detailed description of how the social classes within a feudal society interact.

Hilde woke slowly, like a diver rising from deep water. At first, she became aware of the warmth wrapped around her and the cool breath of air against her face. A dull ache was in her right shoulder, as though a half healed bruise was there. The feeling of her hair across her cheek was like a spider's web, but the sleepy Knight couldn't muster up the energy to brush it away as the light draft toyed with it. Her limbs felt heavy and pliant, as though she was made of water and about to sink into the bed beneath her. Luxuriating in the comfort of deep relaxation, she lay still.

Against her back, she could feel the warmth of Gunther's body against hers. The quiet sound of his breathing pulled at her heart. The paradox of a feeling of deep gratitude and sharp heartbreak ripped Hilde into full consciousness. Tears pricked at her eyes and she closed them tighter. An arm wrapped about her and pulled her close against Gunther's chest. "Shhh," he soothed, lightly running the fingers of his right hand thru her hair and brushing it off her cheek.

"I... I should go," she said, feebly attempting to sit up. Gunther smiled, amused by her half hearted attempt to leave. He tightened his hold on her as she opened her eyes. "G..." she started when he placed a finger over her lips.

"Stop. You're confused and troubled," he said softly, looking at her tenderly, "What is wrong, Brynhildr?" She started to look away when Gunther's right hand moved to cradle her cheek. "There is nothing that stands between us here. Nothing, be it all the powers of the world, the King, or even Gods, stands between us here in this bed. Don't build a wall here, don't push me away, Brynhildr," he said quietly, solemnly, "I have fought too long and too hard to come here, to your side. Now, tell me."

Hilde looked over at Gunther, the pain of heartbreak inspiring fear even as the confusion of the mixture of feelings grew stronger. "I... I don' t know how to say it," she said quietly, feeling her throat tighten. Hilde swallow hard as he continued to gaze calmly at her. "I hurt, Gunnar, and it frightens me. This whole situation... it scares me," she continued, sounding somewhat ashamed. Gunther smiles again, his concerned look giving way to a tender expression.

"You, Brynhildr, take on too much and get upset when you must deal with what is in front of you rather then all of the work you pile up. You always have. Your pride, love, really isn't what is at stake here. It's your health and wholeness," he answers. Hilde starts to open her mouth to protest when Gunther places his fingertips on her lips again. "Close your eyes, Brynhildr," he says softly, "close your eyes and simply be aware of where you are right now. Be aware of what is here. Don't think about it."

Hilde looks uneasily at Gunther and he waits. Hilde closes her eyes and attempts to ease the subtle tension from her body. Her mind refuses to still and quiet, whirling madly with questions, concerns, and fears with regards to almost everything. Gunther lowers his head and places a kiss on her bruised shoulder. Heat moves from his lips to her healed wound, getting a small gasp of surprise. Her attention became tightly focused upon where his mouth lay against her shoulder and the thoughts of earlier fall away.

In that moment, Hilde felt as though a swirling storm settled around her and all the world took upon itself it's correct order. The tension in her body changed from a bird ready to take wing to something more akin to a bowstring pulled taught. All questions of who and what she was fell away to leave only herself and a soul deep yearning for the one who held her. "That," Gunther whispers in her ear, "is who you are, Brynhildr. The rest are parts of you, like your shoulder, the nape of your neck, or your cheek. If you focus too much on your parts then you lose the rest."

Gunther pushed the button for the floor where his apartment was located. Hilde leaned against the back of the elevator, her head bowed slightly. It was clear that she was quite weary and despite her pride, she was close to the point of exhaustion. He looked at her reflection in the mirrored finish of the doors before they opened. Her stance no longer suggested she was still fuming over Wolfgang's behavior earlier. Instead, it appeared as though she was allowing herself to express how worn out she felt. Gunther gave a dark smile and chuckled.

Hilde looked up and regarded him suspiciously just as the doors opened. She pushed away from the back wall of the elevator and started to walk forward. Her apartment was a stone's throw away from the elevator but on the floor below. As she got out of the elevator, she reached into her pocket and started to get her keys out when she looked about. Realizing she was on the wrong floor, she sighed and resignedly turned to walk back on to the elevator when she bumped into Gunther. "Come with me," Gunther said, taking hold of her right forearm, his grip pressing down on a cut beneath.

Hilde's eyes widened slightly as Gunther smiled at her. "Come along, Fair Shield-Breaker, before you rest, we have something to ... deal with," he said, unable to hide the amusement and anticipation in his voice. Wincing at his grip became more firm as he wrapped his left arm about her back to lend greater support to her as they walked, Hilde gave him a suspicious look. Gunther laughed and increased their pace. Hilde could feel sweat beginning to bead up on her shoulders with the effort of not stumbling. Just as she was beginning to think that she wouldn't be able to keep up for much longer, Gunther was opening the door to his apartment and helping her in.

"Now, you are going to sit down on the couch for a moment. I need to get a few things. Then we're going to have a little talk," he said, maneuvering Hilde over to sit on the slate gray colored couch. As he left the room, Hilde looked about. This was the second time she had been in his apartment. Spartan was a good adjective for it. The colors of the living room were austere and much of the furniture, while high quality, was of a very 'functional' appearance. Like her own apartment, there was a fire place in the living room. Unlike her own, however, his had evidence of a recent fire and a small stack of the wood she had cut and made available to others at the Embassy for use sat waiting to be lit.

On the mantle was what appeared to be a rack for holding spools of thread, however it held spent shells. Of the fifty pegs, fourty-seven of them held a shell casing. Where any other metal item in the room, be it part of the lamp on the table or the twisted metal piece of what was presumeably artwork hanging on the wall, was polished and gleamed in the dim light from the kitchen, the shells were smudged with evidence of their having been shot. "What is that?" Hilde asks gesturing to the rack as Gunther walked back in with a cloth covered tray.

Gunther kept his attention focused on the tray, where Hilde could see a glass of water sat and presumed there was some sort of food beneath the cloth, as he answered, "Those are trophies." Hilde arched an eyebrow. "One shot..." he started when Hilde nodded in sudden comprehension. "That, however, isn't why you're here right now. We're not going to talk about me," he continued as he took the cloth off of the tray and set the tray down on the low coffee table before the couch.

Hilde saw a small pile of alcohol wipes sitting beside a small bowl of ice cubes. A slender paring knife rested beside a lemon and a bunch of grapes. She looked at the assembly of items with a confused expression. Gunther, in silence, walked out of the room and returned with a shaker style chair with arms. He set it before the hearth and then left to return with a coil of black rope. He set this beside the chair and looked over at Hilde.

"Come here, Jordsdotter," he says softly, "And sit in the chair." Hilde's look of confusion turns wary. Gunther frowns sternly and Hilde makes her way to her feet. She walks over to the chair and looks at him. "Sit," he says, "Hearth-keeper of mine, or we will proceed with you standing. I am quite sure that you are going to prefer to sit." Cautiously, Hilde sits down in the chair. Gunther then takes the paring knife in hand. With a calm expression and great precision, he cuts the shirt off of her, careful not to disturb her injuries.

“Now, you have broken our agreement,” Gunther proceeds, setting the knife back on the tray and picking up the rope, “I am certain it was not your intention to do so, however, so I will be… kind. You must, however, pay penance. Then, you will think about why I had to do this and then rest.” Hilde starts to open her mouth to argue with him when Gunther gives her a hard glare. After a moment, his expression softens some and he lightly places a hand against her cheek. “I see you don’t understand what I’m referring to,” he says soothingly, “That simply will not do, love.” Continuing in the same soothing tone, Gunther speaks as he binds her to the chair, restraining her with a skilled hand. “You lied to yourself again, Green Maiden. You told yourself that you could continue to spar despite how tired you were. In refusing to yield and acting according to your pride, you lied to yourself. Additionally, you put yourself in significant danger doing so. This is not allowed, not by me or those you serve. If one of your men did so, you’d correct them for such foolishness. And so, I correct you.”

Hilde stared at Gunther in silent amazement. “You can’t…” she started, unable to hide the sudden blush at his words, when he chuckled.

“Yes, I can actually,” he said in a richly amused and suggestive voice, tapping the hilt of the knife at her back, “wife. And don’t bother arguing you didn’t know, because you did. Now, we’re going to begin. You are going to be no louder then a speaking volume but you can say what ever you wish. This is going to hurt. A lot.”

Gunther then removed a few of the bandages on her arms, revealing the shallower wounds that had begun to reknit themselves closed. Taking the paring knife, he lightly scored a mark down the center of the wound opening it again. Hilde gasped at the pain. “You may weep, if you feel it would help,” Gunther said calmly, turning to pick up the alcohol swabs. As he pressed the damp towlette between his fingers, a few drop of rubbing alcohol fell from the fabric into her wound. Hilde bared her teeth at the pain and glared at Gunther. “Now, tell me, what did you do wrong, Jordsdotter,” he said calmly, almost meditatively as he moved to another shallow wound on her other arm.

Hilde, unable to contain the insult she felt at his actions said nothing. Gunther opened a second wound and repeated the application of alcohol. He watched Hilde’s face out the corner of his eye. Jaw clenched, she glared at the logs resting on the hearth. Gunther smirked and applied his Essences to bring the logs into a roaring burst of flame. Hilde flinched away from it despite herself.

“Damn it, Gunther,” she snapped before gasping in pain as he applied more alcohol to her wounds. “I was an idiot, ok, I admit it,” she continues, still sounding quite irate. Gunther shakes his head, chuckling. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” she starts when he drags the edge of the paring knife along an uninjured spot on her right arm. Her sudden, sharp intake of breath makes him smile.

“Jordsdotter,” he says with a warm, loving tone, “You are very proud. I love that about you, but pride is not helping at this moment. Now, truly admit your error. What did you do wrong?” Hilde pulled weakly against the restraints and Gunther’s smile widens. In the same tone, he says, “Ah, I see you’re looking for more. Such a proud and willing girl, how could I tell you no?” Hilde’s eyes widen as he picks up the lemon and returns to her side.

Leaning against the arm of the chair, putting subtle pressure against another injury and making her groan with discomfort, he peels the lemon with the knife, making sure that Hilde can see quite clearly what he is doing. With the same deliberate care he used in binding her and opening her wounds, he separates the lemon into segments. He then slices the segments and squeezes some of the juice into her open wounds. Hilde yelps despite herself and struggles feebly against the restraints. As her other wounds continued to heal, she found herself feeling dizzy.

“Alright,” she said as Gunther picked up the alcohol swabs. He looks over at her, having placed the partially squeezed lemon segments into the glass. “I was thoughtless,” she said, eyeing the swabs and the remaining pieces of lemon on the tray, “I was frustrated and angry. I didn’t think and I was an idiot.” Gunther gestured for her to continue. When she didn’t immediately add anything, he began to open up one of the packages. In a rush, Hilde added, “Yes, I was arrogant. I refused to pay attention to how tired I was. I’m sorry.” Gunther chuckled at her and opened the package.

Hilde stared at him, dread in her gaze. “Are you going to do it again?” he asked, smiling. Hilde shook her head, a small nervous gesture. Gunther’s smile turns predatory. “Good,” he said, “But we’re not done yet.” Hilde’s eyes widened and she paled. “Your wounds need cleaned, Green Maiden,” he said, “All of them. These wipes, however, are not going to be sufficient. They will, however, work for your forearms.”

Hilde whimpered despite herself and couldn’t help cringing away from him as he leaned close to her. Pressing his lips against her neck just below her ear, Gunther smiled at how she shivered. The scents of rose, lavender, and sandalwood blended together in an exotic perfume with the sharp scent of rue as he inhaled deeply. “You’re tired and we haven’t enough time tonight,” he says softly, “But we will play sometime soon. Then you’ll have to be very quiet. Now, however, you can swear to your heart’s content.”

Gunther leans away from her and begins to clean out the long, shallow cuts on her forearms. As he does so, Hilde hisses and makes several inarticulate but low noises of pain and displeasure. Gunther chuckles, amused by her efforts not to swear and her obvious discomfort. After a time, he unties her from the chair as she glares at him.

“Now stop that,” he says with a laugh, “Keep it up and I’ll just send you to bed with no supper.” Hilde’s eyes widen in disbelief and Gunther laughs louder as he walks off to get his supplies. When he returns, he hands Hilde the glass of lemon flavored water. “Drink. I’ll work on your back in a moment. After this, you’re getting broth and then you sleep,” he said, chuckling at her as she wrinkled her nose at the mention of broth. “You’re the one who insisted on acting childish. That’s what you get.”

Hilde rolled over and attempted to pull the sheet over her head. She had decided to sleep in that morning. She had the day off, wasn't needed at the Embassy, and just felt plain worn out and cranky. As the tired Knight tugged on the sheet, it failed to move. "God damn it, cat," she snapped, sitting up to chase the old feline off the bed when she saw Gunther sitting at the foot of her bed with a smile.

Hilde yelped in surprise, despite herself, and pulled the sheet up to her chest. Eyes wide in shock, she shrieked at him, "Get OUT!" Gunther simply smiled and crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back against the foot of the bed. "Out, out, OUT!" she demanded, pointing at the door. He sat and watched her become progressively more irritated, his grin infuriating her. Hilde turned to pick up a nearby pillow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With a gasp, Hilde woke. The gray of twilight hung in the air almost like fog. She rolled over and got out of bed. Dressing in silence, she looked at her reflection. It was the first dream in months that wasn't a nightmare. Hilde wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She pulled on her jeans and out of habit affixed the empty sheath for her knife at her back. Sexual tension virtually crackled in the air between them, she was fairly certain that no one would believe either of them if they admitted that nothing beyond a few hard kisses had happened.

Buttoning up her shirt, Hilde swept aside the curtain over the window overlooking the courtyard. The sky seemed to be lit with fire as she watched the beginnings of sunrise. She stood, her right hand pressed flat against the cool glass, watching as the first drops of rain fell. Hilde shook her head and turned, letting the curtain fall back. She walked into her kitchen, tying her hair up into a braid. Taking a brief glance around the room, Hilde felt a sharp pang of grief at the silence and emptiness of the apartment.

Hilde grabbed her keys off the table and her wallet. Shoving both into her pocket, she walked out the door. A part of her hoped she'd run into Gunther while another part of her wanted to go back into her apartment, curl up into bed, and sleep until the whole business with the coming war had passed. Walking down the hallway, her head bowed and caught up in her thoughts, Hilde collided headlong into the very man she was thinking of.

Gunther's easy smile quickly was replaced with a look of concern. "Are you alright? You don't look as though you're feeling well," he said, lightly placing a hand on her wrist.

"I'm fine, Gunther," Hilde said, "I just need some fresh air." She shook of his touch and walked off. Hilde did her best not to notice the way he looked at her as she walked off or his half step in her direction. When she reached the ground level of the Embassy, she walked not to the courtyard but out to her truck. Opening the driver's side door, Hilde climbed in and reached into the glove box. She pulled out a package of stale cigarettes and listened to the rain drum down on the roof of the vehicle.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the locked rifle case in the gun rack. Hilde pulled out a cigarette from the package. She opened her eyes and looked at it. "Tom, what the hell am I doing?" she said quietly, "I... I need to let it go, but if I do that, what'll become of me." Hilde lit the cigarette and threw the pack back into the glove box. She stepped out of the truck and locked it up again.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, Hilde began to walk slowly in a circuit about the building as she smoked. The rain fell and soaked her as it began to fall harder. Gradually, Hilde made her way to where her pile of wood was brought in at the beginning of the week. By this time, her cigarette was finished. Hilde slipped the butt into the pocket of her jeans before she stooped and picked up a pebble. With a practiced gesture, Hilde threw the stone and skipped it across the largest of the puddles she saw.

Hilde walked over to the pile of wood and pulled her axe free. In the pouring rain, Hilde began to split wood, narrowing her world down to the simple task of chopping and piling wood. For a moment, she felt clarity and peace as she worked. Watching her from a window, Gunther frowned.

Let's play 20 questions with our characters. You may learn something you didn't expect! Consider these questions to be a launching point. The objective of playing 20 questions with your character is to get to know them as you would a new friend. Adapt the questions to something you would be interested in learning, if you wish. Either way, this exercise serves to help you, the player, to understand at least part of your character's personality.

Let's begins!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

1.) What is your favorite food/beverage/color?
2.) What food/beverage/color do you hate?
3.) What is your favorite type of music?
4.) Name one place in the world that you wish to visit and why.
5.) Who was your biggest inspiration as a child? Why?
6.) What is your best childhood memory?
7.) What is your worst childhood memory?
8.) Of all the jobs you had, which one did you hate the most? Why?
9.) What is your most prized possession?
10.) Name your three biggest accomplishments?
11.) Name your three biggest mistakes?
12.) What was your biggest childhood fear?
13.) What subject did you excel at in school?
14.) What subject did you do the worst at?
15.) When is your favorite time of day? Why?
16.) If you had one day left to live, what would you do?
17.) What types of things stress you out?
18.) What do you believe is your best physical feature? Why?
19.) What do you believe is your worst physical feature? Why?
20.) What do you do to relax?

Hilde slept fitfully, as she had for months now. Her dark hair worked it's way free of the restriction of the severe braid as she tossed and turned and was now wrapped about her and flung across the pillows of Gunther's bed. A stray beam of light made its way from a gap in the curtains and blinds to fall on the hand flung over her head, looking to be almost like living alabaster or nacre glimmering on the burgundy colored satin sheets. He sat down at the foot of the bed and watched her sigh in her sleep.

He thought silently about the last lifetime they were together and her death. Even though Claire was Awakened, it wasn't enough to keep her from dying. Today, they would have called it uterine prolapse, he didn't remember if it had a name during the 1800's. The sight and smell of blood was horrifying to him as pages ran in a desperate search for the Maragrave or a General, anyone with greater healing ability then he had. In his hands, the meweling cries of his newborn son grew weaker as his mother died. General Stanislaus was able to save the boy but Claire bled to death with a sigh.

Her last words to him were simply "Save the child, you who Feed's Avalon's Eagles. We shall meet again, he lives only once." It was the first time in that life he had ever wept. The second was when the boy died after being trampled to death. Word failed him when he and Hilde walked from the morgue where she had carried her son's body. He felt the old wound in his soul ache as Hilde sat and stared out the window. Gunther sat and watched the pulse in her wrist.

Silently, Gunther thanked the Goddess for a second chance.

It had been almost a week since Hilde and Warbanner had their disagreement. After that day, Hilde had been at the farm everyday. She attended to various duties for Avalon by phone from the office in the house in the early hours of the morning.  After this, she went out among the horses. Most of the time, Jack and the farmhands gave her and Warbanner wide berth. What had been a cranky horse before was now down right ornery, though he wasn't as prone to biting other horses or the staff of the farm.

The day that Hilde came out of the barn with the whip in hand, her staff simply gawked. What they hadn't realized was that Hilde had spoken with Warbanner and warned him of the necessity to train him to endure pain. It was a long and difficult day, one that ended with Warbanner successfully beating back Hilde's whip by landing a precisely aimed kick that shattered her arm. Now, it was almost a month of training at Hilde's hand. It was a hard and unconventional training, one where the Knight and the horse locked wills frequently but despite it, they continued to make progress.

Now, in the cool of the early morning, Hilde stood at the edge of the field with the gleaming spear in hand. Warbanner eyed her suspiciously as Nat drove up. The tall man got out of his truck and looked at Hilde and then to Warbanner. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" He asked her.

"He won't let me land a blow, he loves you and will protect you. And I'll heal you if I do manage to land one. Are you sure you want to do this?" Hilde said looking forward at the horse ambling over to them. Silence answered her and she looked over at Nat. Nat looked uneasy and looked at the spear head. "It needs to be real, Nat, just like you said," Hilde said soothingly and placed a hand on his arm.

Nat swallowed nervously and nodded his head. "Alright," he said as he mentally girded himself and took the tack and gear out of his truck. Warbanner eyed it with suspicion as Nat rolled his eyes. "Oh give me a break, I'm not using that new saddle," he snapped, "Hilde said that I needed to be comfortable in the saddle so don't give me that look." Warbanner snorted but allowed the man to saddle and then mount him.

Warbanner's head turned to face Hilde as she came over the fence. Looking at Warbanner, she said one word - Run.

As Warbanner bolted away from Hilde, she counted to three and then gave chase. Soon, there were spectators from the farmhands who watched in disbelief as Hilde chased Warbanner and swung blows at Nat. The spear glittered in the early daylight as Warbanner dodged and kicked out at Hilde. While the onlookers didn't understand what they were watching, they were content to marvel at the spectical.  It was when Warbanner fell back away from Hilde and cantered around at a light touch of the reins from Nat that they got the suspicion that something was different. What they didn't realize was that something was happening behind them.

Nat and Warbanner charged Hilde. Over the horse's thundering hooves, Hilde could hear Nat yell, "Mount up. Old man Parker's come to the farm. Something's wrong." Hilde looked over and saw the battered tan pickup truck rolling into the drive.  She frowned and leapt up behind him with the spear in hand. Several farmhands sitting on the split rail fence scattered as Warbanner jumped it, easily passing over where they were sitting. As they came forward, Hilde saw the shotgun coming up from the window.

"Retreat!" Hilde shouted as she flung herself from the back of the horse as Warbanner reared at the truck. Hilde landed hard on the ground, the spear pointing thru the window at the driver who paled as the individual with the shotgun dropped it into their laps with wide eyes. Warbanner had fallen back, ears flat and looking about for other possible threats. Hilde turned the spear head so that the blade edge was against the driver's throat.

"Drop your weapons out the passenger side door of the truck or I will kill you both for attempting to assault my person and those of my people," the Green Knight said, her voice hard and her gaze flat. The other man opened the door and dropped the shotgun out as several empty beer cans tumbled out. Hilde could smell the alcohol on the men and knew they were both drunk. She pulled the spear out of the open window and opened the door. Reaching in, she grabbed the driver by the neck of his shirt. Pulling him down until he was eye to eye with her, Hilde growled, "Get out of the truck and on the porch. Don't touch a damn thing or I'll break both your knees. Your friend too."

Both drunken men paled and scrambled to comply with her order. As they stumbled over themselves, they looked back at the woman walking behind them. "Move," she ordered, her voice raised in a cry that Warbanner recognized. If horses could snicker, he would have, instead he cantered and tossed his mane. Nat watched as the pair fell over in their rush to comply. He squelched the urge to snicker as Hilde walked up and hauled both men up by the backs of their shirts and dragged them to the porch. Hilde pointed over at one of the gawking farmhands. "Water on these two, sober 'em up," she said and pointed to another, "Get the spare clothes out of the closet in the upstairs hall."

She turned her attention back to the drunken pair who clung to each other. "I'm calling your wives and confiscating your guns. If you're lucky, they'll let you sleep it off in my basement. If you're not lucky, you're gonna be on the couch for the next month and a half. Knowing your wives, I may be getting a call to heal up some bludgeoning injuries," she muttered in disgust.

"We're not afraid of you!" one of them shouted with a desperate tone in his voice. Hilde strode up to him and gripped a fistful of his hair. She pulled it back hard, almost knocking the man over.

"If I wanted you to fear me, you would. Don't cross me, Donovan," Hilde hissed in his ear, "I saw you in the crowd. You owe me blood for what you assholes did to my grandfather. Do you want me to collect?" Donovan paled and his bravado fled from him in a rush of piss. "Now, you two are going to sit there and tell every person who comes to my door just how much of an idiot you are. Trespassing on my property, branishing weapons at my people, and threatening me all show that you're either suicidal or terminally stupid. You decide," she said before walking into the house.

They started to get up when Warbanner stalked towards them. The men stared at the horse with wide eyes, they had never seen menace in a horse's gaze before but they did now. The pair sat down and as one hand brought a tub of cold water and the other clothes, they stared. They looked up at Nat.

"Strip down and wash," he said, "Do it quick and you won't get cold. There's supposed to be a breeze today."

Hilde stands in the sun with the spear in her hand. She moves carefully and with skill honed from training and the memories of lives past. For a moment, Erik floats to the surface of her mind and regards the weapon with approval. Nat coughs and Hilde/Erik looks over. 'Gothi looks troubled,' briefly crosses the Green Knight's mind before she remembers who she is. As her old friend walks over, Hilde studies him with fresh eyes, having moments before been too caught up in her own thoughts to notice he had stopped helping Mikey and Ginny with dishes to watch her from the back poarch.

'He's moving stiffly, like he's gotten into a fight. He looks uneasy and uncomfortable. Something's wrong,' she thought to herself as she leaned against the spear. The spear head shone brightly in the springtime sun as the shield hung slung across her shoulders. Hilde hadn't even realized she had done so as she was testing out the spear while wearing it on her left arm.

As Nat walked up he said, "C'mon. We gotta go to the north paddock. You can see what the bastard's been up to. Only tolerates his dam up there and the filly that got sent up shortly after he came back." Hilde shook her head. She and he had argued briefly in low hissed tones as the last of the others were heading out the door. As others fled from her rising anger, Nat took a solid stance and pressed the fight. It ocurred to her that the tall man was just like the Duke in temperment at times - ruthless in his execution of his tasks, a hard taskmaster, and fearsome in his passions.

It made sense, in an odd way, that Nat would have taken it upon himself to bring Warbanner back to the farm and start the process of educating a horse that was breed for racing on how to be a warrior. What had been a cantankerous and high spirited athlete had apparently turned into a cunning, vitrolic, and dangerously fickle beast. Of the entire group of six that had been working with the horse, Nat was the least injured. Perhaps Warbanner was playing favorites, Hilde wasn't sure. She suspected, however, that she wasn't going to have an easy time at the paddock.

Nat explained that Warbanner had become increasingly hostile at the sound of vehicles, laying the blame for this squarely at Hilde's feet. Now, as they walked along the lane in the dappled sunlight, Hilde carrying her new shield on her back, he explained that the group of them had reached their limit of what they could do with him. The pair were beginning to walk into the paddock as the wind shifted.

A sound that was rarely, if ever heard on the farm prior to the recent events with Warbanner, echoed off the trees and the sides of the ravine along the southern edge of the hilltop where the paddock lay - the scream of a horse. While Nat couldn't understand it, he had his suspicions. Hilde recognized the sound as Erik rushed to the surface. Warbanner thundered towards them from the blindspot at the edge of the treeline. Nat turned and his eyes widened. The Green Knight reached forward and pulled Nat back as a hoof whistled thru the air where his right shoulder was.

Warbanner wheeled and made ready to kick. The shield was swung down off of her back and over her left arm as she pushed Nat back towards the lane. The shield proved solid as the hooves struck it squarely. The Green Knight grunted and bore the brunt of the blow against her shoulder, looking over the top edge of the shield as Warbanner cantered away. Nat had run for the treeline and stared in horror.

Not even half trained, Nat realized that the horse before him had gone from a cranky but benign creature to a sentient weapon intent upon killing the woman before him. Unable to speak, Nat could only stare as Hilde and Warbanner moved. Warbanner attempted to attack and Hilde evaded. This proceeded back and forth for a significant amount of time as Hilde seemed to be muttering something at the horse. Silently, Nat prayed that Jord would help her spear-maiden to tame the horse's rage.

Hilde could feel the bruises forming but she was more interested in determining just what he knew. As such, she told him if he could land a blow squarely on her that disarmed or brought her to her knee, he'd be brought to the Embassy that afternoon. If she could mount him despite his efforts, however, he needed to listen. Thus, Nat watched as Hilde tested the horse's knowledge and Warbanner spent his fury on her. Gradually, the horse began to take more recursive approaches to attacking, realizing that a frontal assault wasn't working.

In doing so, he opened his right flank to Hilde. She dropped her shield arm and took a step forward. Warbanner turned and charged her, teeth bared. Flinging the shield off her arm and to the ground, heartbeats later, Hilde gripped Warbanner's mane and vaulted up onto his back. Warbanner attempted to rear and throw her off as Hilde leaned close. Into his ear, she whispered quietly and moments later, he calmed.

"I won't allow anyone to hurt the ones I love. That includes you, boy. I didn't want strangers teaching you," she said lovingly, "I wanted you to learn here before you left us. Make it the last gift I can give you before you're grown. I'm proud of you, boy. You're strong and fine. You'll be a hero some day." He tossed his mane as Hilde knew that even with her Knightly gifts, she was going to look like she'd been in a bar brawl. When she dismounted, Warbanner glared at her and let her reach up to place a hand on his nose. He then bit her hand, hard. Unlike other times in the past, Hilde didn't pull her hand away and swat him for it. She calmly looked him in the face, saying "I earned that. Now we've had our argument and we're done."

Warbanner did something utterly uncharacteristic of a horse and Nat stared in disbelief. He sneered at Hilde before opening his mouth and releasing her hand. Hilde arched an eyebrow but said nothing. With a swish of the tail, Warbanner walked away seemingly all the world the same horse that they had brought to the Embassy that day. As Nat came forward cautiously and Hilde leaned down to pick up the shield, Warbanner wheeled and thundered up to them. Hilde moved to step between Nat and him but she realized that he was coming to her.

Then she saw why. Across the paddock, his dam had collapsed. Hilde thrust the shield at Nat and quickly mounted. Warbanner seemed to fly across the paddock and when they reached his dam, the Green Knight dismounted. There, shuddering in the grass, lay the horse that was Hilde's 8th birthday gift from her father. After a moment, the shuddering stopped and the horse attempted to lift her head.

It was then that Hilde saw that she was lame on one side. Carefully, Hilde came close to the mare before the horse began siezing again. Nat was approaching and Warbanner moved between him and Hilde. Menace shone in Warbanner's eyes and Nat realized that Warbanner was gaurding Hilde and his dam. "Hilde, what's wrong?" Nat called. Hilde stared down at her horse, running her hands frantically over the mare to feel for an injury, knowing however that the answer wasn't any injury. "Hilde," he called again, this time sounding troubled, "What is it?"

"She's dying, Nat. She's dying and I can't do anything about it," Hilde said, feeling her throat tighten as a wave of grief washed over her. "I'd been so caught up in... in so many other things that I... I thought I'd have more time with her," Hilde sighed, sitting down beside the mare's head. Her eye rolled up to look at her mistress. In it, Hilde could see fear, pain, and misery. "Shh..." Hilde soothed and she cradled the horse's head in her lap, stroaking it like it were a child's head, "Shhh. This'll pass soon. Just like labor did, Beauty." With her Knightly gifts, Hilde massaged a potent natural seditive into her mare's coat.

Soon, the labored breathing and panic began to ease. As the horse dropped into sleep, Hilde looked down at her. Tears began to fall and she closed her eyes. Silently, Hilde wept as the mare gradually passed from sleep into death. Old age had claimed yet another of the horses Hilde had grown up with and death had robbed her of another tie back to her life before her Awakening, a tie that she had taken for granted.

So, you've decided to wear a costume to session. Congratulations and welcome to the ranks of LARPers and others who have taken their gaming experience to the next level! It may feel a little silly or strange wearing a costume to session, but don't let that stop you! The goal here is to have fun. LARP is not a fashion contest and it is ultimately you who is interpreting your character here, not anyone else. If your character loves to wear denim to the point of having a 3 peice suit and shoes made of denim, you can make it happen. Ignore any funny looks that come from the 'normals' at your dress because you're just fine for what you're doing! The only concerns you should have is if you're breaking any decency laws or similar regulations at the location your LARP or other event is taking place.

Now, that bit of cheerleading aside, let's take a second to get down to brass tacks. When assembling your costume, be it from ready made items or starting with raw fabric, it is very important to remember a few different points to make your costuming experience as successful as possible. As foolish as this may sound, keep comfort at the top of your list of priorities. Different looks can be accomplished with skilled tailoring but no measure of cutting and sewing is going to make a fabric that feels horrible against your skin more comfortable or make that heavy fabric any more forgiving in the summer. There are three major divisions to the comfort factor:

• Proper fit: Proper fit is simply that. If you wear a size 12 shirt, don't try to force yourself into a size 2 no matter how stylish that shirt it. If you do accomplish making yourself wear a smaller size, you're going to spend most of your time being uncomfortable rather then enjoying the event you've dressed up for. The same will be true if you are wearing something that is too large (unless it is planned for and properly done for maximum comfort).
• Proper fabric: If you are allergic to a given material, you want to make sure that you don't wear that or any of the blends which include it. Even if the material is 'period' for what you are choosing to wear (for example: a wool jacket in a Victorian style), wearing it when you have an allergy or sensitivity is just going to make you uncomfortable (at best) or cause an allergic reaction. Because of the wonders of modern science, it is possible to find materials that mimic the look of many other fabrics with out the disadvantages of it. As such, it may be possible to imitate the look of wool with a synthetic fabric and find something that is even on the market in that material. If you desire to make something that is 'period' for costuming, it is important to match the fabric relatively closesly to what was used and this requires researching your item before purchase. A 15th century gown will look very different if made in heavy silk, satin, wool, linen, or a printed upholstry cotton blend. Going for 'period' fabrics can be very expensive and it may be best for your budget to find something which imitates the fabric you are looking for.
  
• Proper setting: Setting plays into your choice of dress very heavily. This is less a question of what is appropriate for where you are (though a minimum of these concerns such as decency laws and such is needed) and more a question of what kind of weather and temperatures you need to concern yourself with. Fabrics worn for outdoors in winter and summer are dramatically different, as are those required for in an air conditioned building versus a tent in the middle of a late August afternoon. Failure to take these factors into consideration places you at risk for heat stroke or hypothermia, depending on the weather and what you are wearing. Wearing easily flammable clothing with trailing sleeves (such as a dagged edged sleeve that is long made from Rayon) where there is open flame is another example of failing to consider your setting when making your costuming choices.  Your safety is your primary concern, not fashion.

Aside from the questions of comfort, let's take a bit deeper look at the questions of safety which were briefly looked at in the final point above. Awareness of your environment is vital in costume planning for various reasons, the least of which is the prevention of heat stroke or similar dress related issues. Be aware what the policy is regarding mock weaponry. In some locations, even the presence of a toy gun is going to be prohibited. While you may feel foolish doing the 'finger-gun' for your character's weapon, it is better then possibly being arrested for breaking the rules of where you are going to be attending the event. 

[more to be added later, I blame my children for the delay!]