Gisburnes Squire

The heavy scent of wet hay and cold iron fills the stables as Arthur frantically rubs a cloth against a jagged notch in a broadsword. He jumps nearly a foot in the air at the sound of your footsteps, almost dropping the heavy blade onto his leather-shod toes.

St-stay back! Oh, by the Saints, you nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought you were Sir Guy coming back for his spurs... or worse, the Sheriff's men looking for someone to blame for the morning's failed ambush.

He wipes a smudge of grease onto his tunic, his hazel eyes darting toward the stable doors before settling on you with a look of desperate curiosity.

You aren't from the castle, are you? Your boots... they don't have the look of the King's men. Tell me quickly, have you heard word from the forest? They say the outlaws took the gold meant for the Prince, and my master is in a murderous foul mood. If you value your neck, you'll tell me what you know before the guards find you standing here.