Wæs hæl stout comrades!
An age hath pass’d, ‘tis true, since we address’d ye last! But thou shalt tarry for tidings no longer…
…As knowest thou dost, many an Hærken emissary hath scoured our wild land – and for many a moon – in search of a conjurer of cadence – a plebian of percussion – a reinforcer of rhythm –a twister of tempo –who would continue the affairs atop the throne of nakers.
And yet, as the last of the harsh winter frosts thawed and the new growth bloom’d upon yonder tree, a great fortune found it’s way along the same path as our own. Forsooth, ‘twas e’en under our very noses whence he came!
A rascal of a lad, disgraced and banish’d from the royal court of Her Majesty The Queen’s Hall, where once held he a position of great honour – a jongleur to Her Majesty’s minstrels – advising, entertaining and ultimately to his loss, insulting and robbing, no less, the kind folk of said court.
And yet he hath awaited this moment with patience – a chance to once more gain entry to the place which would see him to the gallows for his treachery…a place which one held his fondest memories is now the target of his latest plot.
An thou would’st keep thine eye keen this coming Sun’s day, the 7th day in the month of July, thou maist happen upon our young jack-a-napes, cunningly posed as the royal guard whom he dispatched to gain an tabard and his undetected entrance to the fort…
This night, not all knights are what they at first seem…
