Post by Ryan of the Fordneys on Apr 16, 2009 2:16:48 GMT
The Chronicle of Questing
Questing is the northern island of the two that comprise the Fordneys, also known as the Ford Islands. The island’s name hearkens back to Arthurian legend, and the Questing beast, also called Glatisant in the Gaelic tongue. The beast was said to have appeared as a mix between four animals; a serpent, a leopard, a lion, and a hart. Its neck and head were that of a serpent, its body that of a leopard, the haunches of a lion, and the feet of a hart. It first appeared in the legend titled The High History of the Holy Grail. It is described thus:
The early sailors who passed by the Isle of Questing called it thus because of the foreboding gloom that was held perpetually over the island. Dense forests of evergreen pine shrouded the land in a lush and impenetrable blanket. And what areas were exposed often were hidden by mist, ice and snow. It was such an atmosphere that held people back from settling the island until even later than the first immigrants began plowing the fields of Genista in the late 1690s. It took even poorer and more destitute men and women to overcome their deep-set fears and land on the craggy shores of Questing as a potential home.
This did not come about until the spring of 1810. The ice had begun to thaw as the May sun beat down on the island and warmed its surface. The first cogs of industrialization had been planted in the mainland of Bosworth, and by now the neighboring Isle of Genista had become quite prolific. The Genistans had had a century to build up their economy and establish firm trading of peat and sheep with the mainland, so that villages had sprung up across the island. Yet still Questing remained uninhabited, and rumors persisted that the name held more meaning to it than just legend.
A group of Norse, more refugees from the western settlements, and some poor Gascons from the south, along with an odd admixture of Gaels, had arrived on ships in Plantagenet. The city by now had grown to a bustling port, not nearly as magnificent as Shrewsbury, but nonetheless a capable merchant harbor. Industrialization had not yet ebbed into Genista yet, although some of its initial influences could still be felt, as brick factories and warehouses began to dominate the piers. Fishing boats still dominated the waters, although deeper out could be seen the smoke from a coal-fired clipper, whose sails still bespoke of an earlier age.
These new immigrants faced different challenges than those faced by earlier settlers, especially those who founded Plantagenet. Unlike their earlier counterparts, they now faced an increasingly-diminished amount of available land to settle on. All the good land, and even some of the not-so-good, had been settled by immigrants and the expanding population of Bosworth. Within the boundaries of the kingdom only the worst of locations remained to be settled; high mountaintops, festooned swamps, and frozen northlands. Factories had already filled with migrant workers, thus even jobs weren’t available to these poor souls.
But it so happened that one young Gael, a man by the name of Percy Mac Oengus, took it upon himself to make a decision. Gathering a group of like-minded immigrants, he determined that an expedition should be mounted to explore the Isle of Questing. With the assistance of donations from fellow immigrants, he scrapped together enough money to travel to Shrewsbury, to seek an audience with the King. After much bathing and perfume, Mac Oengus was deemed presentable and allowed to visit His Majesty. Before the King, Mac Oengus convinced His Majesty that the plight of the immigrants was important enough to warrant some Royal assistance. Thus the King declared that an expedition should be outfitted in Plantagenet, under the direction of Mac Oengus, and one of the Royal Navy’s finest sailors, Captain Hugh de Finisterre.
Back in Plantagenet feelers were sent out to lease a ship and find a worthy crew. The immigrants themselves, poor and uneducated, could offer up only a few hardy sailors. But the envoys met with many declinations. For amongst the locals rested a deep-set fear of some dark mystery surrounding the uninhabited island. It was not just the shroud of mist and impenetrable forest that hung a pall over the island. Darker rumors, strange sightings from fishermen who had brought their dinghies close to shore, suggested a deeper mystery. But none would tell what they had seen, and most had avoided the island for so long that the rumors were mere folklore. Nonetheless, this prevented Mac Oengus and Finisterre from finding a ship and crew.
After weeks of searching, Captain Finisterre finally met a man in a pub who gave him a lead, after much application of liquor. The man said “Seek out the man they call The Ogre. He has no home, and often sleeps in the trash, drunk and in a dazed stupor. But he knows much about the island.” So Finisterre told Mac Oengus of The Ogre, and together they began a search for the homeless drunkard. It took another week of searching Plantagenet until finally, on a rainy night, they found an old man sleeping under a pile of trash, behind one of the town’s pubs. Shaking the sleep from him and the rain from his ragged clothes, the startled drunkard awoke with a start. His face, having been buried in his clothes, was suddenly visible in the faint streetlight. What they saw shocked them, for he truly was an ogre. His face covered with scars, his arms bent in an awkward fashion, the man was clearly disabled.
At first he tried to run, but the two men blocked his slow efforts. Not only was he crippled also he was still drunk, and collapsed soon after trying to flee. So they took him back to their quarters at the port hotel, and bound him fast to a chair, so that the alcohol might wear off. Several hours passed before this happened, and when it did there was much protestation. The old man threw every profanity in the book at the men, mostly in French, so only Finisterre could understand., before finally acquiescing to silence.
At first all inquiries by Finisterre met with no reply. Mac Oengus, who could not speak French, relied on the Captain to relay the conversation and translate for him. But after several hours, with only water to whet his throat, the ogre finally spoke. He said his name was Pierre Dupree, once a sailor and solider on the HMS Aquitaine, and ill-fated man-o-war that was a famous disaster in the 1750s. Both Mac Oengus and Finisterre knew the story, or so they related to Dupree. But the old man countered, saying that he had kept a terrible secret all these years, which he still refused to tell. Threatening to keep him tied and unfed for a much longer duration, the old man finally succumbed to pressure.
As it goes, it was September of 1756, and Dupree was still a young sailor in the royal navy of Nouveau Aquitaine. The HMS Aquitaine had been sailing around Micras on exercises, and had rounded Nova England and entered the waters along Bosworth. From there it sailed north, planning to take a few days respite and stock up by hunting game and getting fresh water from one of the nearby islands. Dropping anchor off the shores of the northernmost island, they deemed it would be suitable, sense the dense forests would most certainly have plenty of game, and springs were bound to exist. A place was found where a stream came down to the ocean, and while this served to provide fresh water it was also an excellent way inland.
A crew was chosen to man one of the small dinghies attached to the ship, among which Dupree was not initially chosen. So this crew of around a dozen men set off with explicit orders to spend three days and no more hunting game up the stream and then return. But the three days passed, and then a week, two weeks, and still no sign of the men. Food rations running low a rescue operation was mounted, along with the necessity to provide provisions. It was presumed the men had become lost in the dense forests. But no chances were being taken, and the entire ship’s crew was to put forth in a large team led by the Captain himself, a Sir Reynald Champlain.
Several dinghies were required to carry all the crew, but only two available. So it was decided that they would travel on foot once on land. Thus several times were men ferried over to the shore, and then the dinghies secured fast to some trees several hundred feet inland. After that they began to march along the banks of the stream, deeper inland.
After two days they came across the shattered dinghy of the hunting expedition. Thus far only rabbits and deer had been encountered, providing well-needed sustenance. But the dinghy they found showed signs of strange battle. The wood had been splintered and was spattered with blood. And yet no sign of the men could be found anywhere. Their weapons too had been found, all discharged of bullets. Fearing that it must have been an ambush by natives, they decided to stay put and make camp, with the intent of finding the enemy encampment and destroying them.
As night came and the first makeshift fortifications were in place, the sailors felt secure in their tents, content that numbering in the hundreds they were safe. But as the darkness descended, along with it came strange sounds. A bellowing guttural sound, similar to that of a fox or large cat, but clearly belonging to neither. And then came the attack!
A swift rushing through the forest could be heard, and the sound echoed with it was as if it was a stampede, thousands of hooves beating the ground in unison and bearing down on the camp. The men quickly sought to arm themselves, but it was already too late. A gunshot went off as the first of the strange creatures pounced on its hapless victim. At first it was thought to be a giant snake, possibly from the nearby stream. But the flickering firelight quickly discerned the true nature of the beast. Beheld before them was a great herd of the Questing beasts, adorned with snake heads, cat-like bodies, and the hooves of deer. Their strength and ferocity was deafening, and the men fought vigorously, firing back at the herd as they pounced and ripped the soldiers to shreds. Overwhelmed, the men began to retreat. When Captain Champlain was killed by three of the beasts in a concerted attack, Dupree and several others fled the scene, running as fast as they could through the dark forest.
Several beasts pursued, and one by one they fell victim to the speed of their hooves, and the reflexive bite of the snake head. Dupree was fast enough to stay at the head of the group of runners, but was not fast enough. As he reached the dinghy, he had yet to untie it and drag it to the shore. This took precious time – a commodity he did not have. As he dragged the heavy burden through the trees to the shore, one of the beasts pounced on him. The hooves crushed his bones, and the sharp fangs sliced his face. But he grabbed a knife and buried it deep in the throat of the Glatisant. It fell dead upon him, and the world faded to black as he passed into unconsciousness.
As morning came, he awoke in immense pain. Pushing the dinghy into the nearby stream with what remaining strength he could muster, he then pulled himself in. As it floated out onto the ocean he again blacked out. By some miracle he was found by fishermen out on the open seas and taken back to Plantagenet. In the hospital his wounds were treated with mixed success, and it was by sheer determination that he survived. Although he initially tried to explain what had occurred, most thought he had developed brain fever and gone mad. Yet some of the locals just shook their heads and wore a look of grave regret. So Dupree instead concocted a story saying that a mutiny had broken out, and that the crew had violently killed eachother off until only he remained. This was more acceptable than the story of mythical creatures, and so he was released.
The HMS Aquitaine was, of course, found empty and towed back to her home country. Dupree, relieved of his duties as a soldier, and lacking any money or the ability to work, remained in Plantagenet. Plagued by nightmares, he buried his memories in alcohol, and became the town’s mad drunk. People now knew him mostly for his raving drunken tales of the strange Questing creatures. But few remained who believed those insane ravings.
Mac Oengus and Finisterre were convinced of Dupree’s sincerity, for the look on his face was dead serious, and showed no signs of lies. But as to the validity of his story, they remained skeptical. So Dupree was released, and given ten pounds for his troubles, new clothes, and a free week at the hotel – hopefully enough to allay his poor predicament somewhat. But on leaving Dupree was adamant is saying to stay clear of Questing, and to leave the island alone. “It is not meant to be inhabited by mortal men like you and me”, he said as a parting word. Though Mac Oengus and Finisterre were determined to see their expedition to the end, and so pursued finding a crew and ship nonetheless.
It took much more effort before a ship and crew were hired. So much so that they needed to send a courier to Shrewsbury port, where few knew of Questing, and hire a ship in that manner. The HMS Avignon was leased, and a crew of twenty able men hired. Captain Finisterre sailed the ship out of Shrewsbury and into Plantagenet harbor, where the immigrants were able to board the ship, along with a large stockpile of weapons, mostly guns and swords, and provisions. The crew and passengers were given only a peripheral understanding of the situation – that there may, or may not, be strange creatures inhabiting the island, and that if so, they could prove very dangerous. But even so, weapons had greatly improved in the years since the Aquitaine disaster, thus even a mythical beast would be no match for their firepower.
So it came to pass that the HMS Avignon sailed out of Plantagenet, and made her way north, around the tip of Genista, and into Eleanor’s Channel between the two islands. It was determined that a site along the channel’s narrowest point would be suitable, since in that way they could get back to Genista in short time if the need arose. The point they eventually chose was about midway down the channel, at a small promontory of rock. Here the land seemed to be the most clear of the dense forest that dominated most of the island, save for the northernmost areas of tundra and permafrost. Although not as favorable as other potential harbors, their main train of thought was defense.
Dropping anchor the Avignon made fast and dinghies were put out with the crew forming armed escorts. Upon arriving at the rock they cautiously made their way up to a flat plateau at its top. Here they decided to make camp. Masons and carpenters were immediately sent to work on constructing a stockade with the eventual goal of a fort. The ship’s priest, Father James Grant, presided over the first night’s feast, and in his honor they dedicated the spot Jamestown. Such was the fervor of that first day that by the time night had come over three-quarters of the stockade had been completed.
Their first night was spent in stark vigilance. The stories of old man Dupree had scared them enough to put rotating guard shifts out. But that night was uneventful, and the bonfires crackled safely behind the walls of wood and stone. The next day they worked as vigorously as before, and finished the stockade, as well as dragging several old cannon up on shore. But only so many could be fit inside the stockade, and for now many remained in the tight quarters of the ship. Something needed to be done. So Mac Oengus and Finisterre planned an inland expedition for the morning, to determine whether the creatures Dupree spoke of existed or not, and if so, if they proved a danger to the settlers.
A large team was formed of armed crewmen, led by Captain Finisterre, and accompanied by Mac Oengus, who had an interest in the phenomena as a naturalist. Also accompanying the team was a crew of lumberjacks. The plan was that, with the dense forest ahead, they would clear a wide trail into the trees and thus allow for a quick escape if need be. But even so, this would be a slow process, and all were eager to find answers to the question plaguing them. But still they had to wait, for the sake of safety, as the lumberjacks fell the giant pines, and cleared a path for them to easily maneuver.
The effort took more than days it took weeks, eventually leading into months. And still, no sign of the creatures Dupree had spoken of. The pines crashed down like thunder, sending what little wildlife they did find fleeing into the deeper woods. Even though slowed by the process, they had behind them a clear wide road leading directly back to the stockade. They continued inland for miles, finally reaching the center of the island, where the trees began to thin and the permafrost froze the ground several inches deep. It was here, among the misshapen trees, fields of lichen, and craggy rocks, that the situation began to change.
In the third month of their expedition, the team had awoken early, the crewmen collecting food, and the lumberjacks preparing to clear more trail. After such a long trek, many had given up thoughts of finding the creatures, and relegated them back to the annals of myth. The lumberjacks had just hacked through a dense thicket of pine and scrub when, as the tall trees came crashing down, beyond them lay are great open plain of tundra. Although the stark change from dense forest to open tundra was certainly startling, it was what was galloping across the lichen-covered landscape that sent them running. With their long reptilian necks withdrawn to decrease wind friction, hundreds of Questing beasts bounded across the fields, a whole herd of them! Scared for their lives, the lumberjacks ran back to the crew, who had only minutes earlier donned their armor and weapons.
But the beasts did not appear on the road. Even as the crewmen stood ready, guns cocked, the beasts did not appear. With orders for the unarmed elements of the team to head back to Jamestown and inform them of the situation, and get reinforcements across the channel as quickly as possible, Captain Finisterre ordered the crewmen forward. Accompanying them was Mac Oengus, who was also armed. As they edged their way up the path toward the open tundra beyond, they continued to see only the pale green of the reindeer moss that dominated the horizon, and of vast walls of ice far beyond. Cautiously they made their way to the edge of the forest and peered out into what lay beyond. Nothing! Only the empty landscape was within sight.
On the tundra the men began to track the beasts. Obviously they were afraid. Tracks left behind indicated that they had moved en masse along the edge of the open tundra and skirted the forest west. In that direction they could see the gray color of granite rocks, and knew they must have a den in that general direction. A safe place to hide, but also where they could be wiped out once and for all.
Thus they headed west, following the trail of the beasts. It was sunny that day, and only a brisk wind from the north, coming off the ice, broke the calm day. Being on the open plain they were able to make good time, and the granite rocks in the distance soon grew closer and larger, as the blurred features coalesced into a vivid picture of craggy knolls and deep crevices. A line of rock stretched around the western midland portion of the island, angling north following the contours of the landscape, where it collided head-on with the ice. The crew could easily see where the stone met the ice in cold embrace, and it looked like a great impenetrable wall. And to their immediate south stood a wall of forest, effectively encircling the flat tundra upon which they stood.
The dens themselves could be spied from afar; or so it would seem. Deep fissures, Finisterre believed, were the most likely hiding place for these creatures. But upon closer inspection they proved to be empty, except for the occasional sleeping bear, which neither man nor beast dared to disturb. The gravel rock showed little sign of tracks, but eventually some were spied in a muddy outcropping. Further inspection revealed a path leading up – nothing more than a worn-down incline. So they pressed their way up the mountain, carefully probing and spying ahead, stepping so as to make only the faintest sounds. And eventually they reached the top.
What they saw on the other side came as something of an awkward surprise. Down below lay a small, enclosed plateau, like a miniature valley, where grass grew abundantly, and a stream trickled its way through the rocks. But more surprising was that on this plateau was the herd of Questing beasts. And not only was it the large beasts that the lumberjacks had originally sighted, it was also a collection of females and young. Large piles of sticks obviously served as nests and shelters, which the beasts must have dragged up from the forest. Some young were nursing with their mothers, but for the most part they, and especially the males, seemed to be in an uproar. Nudging the females out of their nests, and baying at them to move, it seemed they were being threatened; but by whom? Surely these creatures, that had the powers of several animals, were not afraid of the men.
Fearful or feared, the crew knew not which it was expect that they must take action. Finisterre was preparing to order the charge when Mac Oengus pulled him aside, urging him to wait. The Gael pleaded with the Captain to spare the beasts. They showed, he said, intelligence like that of most pack animals – most of which man had successfully domesticated. Mac Oengus was convinced the same could be done with the Questing beasts, and provide a valuable asset to His Majesty, as well as preserving a fantastic mythical species. Finisterre, strictly a military man, was very speculative of the idea. He did not wish to risk the lives of any more good men. But at the same time, Mac Oengus had a point. Reigning in these creatures would bring far more glory than simply shooting them dead. So he agreed to spare them. But that left them figuring how to control them.
It was decided that they must identify the leader, and capture him, in order to control the others. Like horses, wolves or deer, herds tended to have a single male leader. So spying over the rocks the men looked for such a prominent creature, one that was obviously in charge. This was where Mac Oengus’ naturalist skills came in handy. He was able to identify a singular male beast that sported more elaborate colorings than the others and had two horn-like appendages extending from the top of its head, similar to a ram. This male beast was exceptionally large, and bore the scars of many conflicts. He was, indeed, suited to be the dominant leader of the beasts.
With the stallion identified, Mac Oengus launched a plan to capture the beast. Since the head could whip around with the versatility of a snake, lassoing the beast like a normal pack animal would not work. They came to the conclusion that the only way to capture it would be to isolate it from the rest of the group, and then net it through a concerted effort. Someone would have to put a cloth or saddle blanket over its head, while another two en at least would be needed to trip up its legs and bring it down. Then the men could jump the beast and tie it up. Mac Oengus then planned to use his animal husbandry skills to try and break the creature, and make it tame. It was, they knew, a fatal plan if they failed to achieve complete success.
Tools were prepared for the attack, and a number of men fanned out along the rim of the hillside, hiding behind rocks with guns drawn and loaded. Finisterre led the soldiers in preparing defenses – he would be ready to deal death if capturing the stallion proved to be going badly. Mac Oengus took with him a dozen men, armed with clubs, ropes, blankets, and nets; and of course, side arms. They waited until the stallion was away from the main group in a somewhat isolated position before sidling down the bank behind boulders to sneak up on him.
As the stallion preoccupied himself devouring a small patch of grass, the men jumped him all at once. The blanket flew over the beast’s head just as four other men used nets to entangle its legs and bring it crashing down to the ground. Finisterre, still positioned at the top of the hill, noted the other beasts coming to the aid of the stallion, and began firing pot-shots at the ground to deter them in the opposite direction. The creatures recoiled from the bullets as they sprayed the ground, and gave Mac Oengus time to throw ropes onto the stallion. Unlike a horse, which only uses one neck rope and a mouth bit, Mac Oengus knew he would need a lengthened harness to control this creature, and so quickly went about the task of fastening leather straps around the head and neck as the other men struggled to hold it down.
Another blanket was tied to its back as a makeshift saddle, and reigns made of rope secured fast around the muscular chest of the beast. And then it was up! Mac Oengus threw himself onto the back of the stallion, gripping it tightly between his legs, and holding onto the reigns with all his strength, hoping not to be thrown into the rocks by the powerful creature. As the blanket flew from the beast’s head, it chewed furiously at the metal bit in its mouth, and twisted its reptilian neck in an effort to break the harness. But it did so to no avail, as the leather held fast, and Mac Oengus clung with all his strength, and pulled with a determination to tame this freak of nature.
The creature kicked and jumped, throwing several men backwards as the others fled to let Mac Oengus do his work. Free except for the man on its back, the stallion did all it could to throw Mac Oengus from it. It raked its body against the rock, tearing the man’s clothes, and rolled onto its back, nearly crushing the Gael. But still Mac Oengus clung to the stallion, and pulled ever harder at the reigns. If ever two determined spirits were ever matched, it was these two.
But after what seemed to be hours, the stallion finally began to tire. And still Mac Oengus clung to the reigns, and dug into the beast’s sides with his feet. At last it acquiesced and with a weak howl signaled its defeat. The beast had been tamed, and suddenly Mac Oengus was in command. Broken, the stallion halted all fighting, and relegated to the direction of the rider on its back. Recognizing their leader in defeat, the rest of the pack also relented to control as several other beasts were captured and fitted for riding. Finisterre himself was second to ride another beast, and soon came up alongside Mac Oengus to congratulate him.
With the beasts under their control, the group herded the entire pack together, and like cattle ranchers began to drive them out of the ravine, up the hillside, and back across the tundra towards the road to Jamestown. Never before had such an awkward rodeo been seen.
The return trip was relatively quiet and uneventful in comparison to the start of their journey. Once tamed, the men found the Questing beasts to be quite friendly and, like themselves, omnivores that could subsist as well on plants as they could meat. This led Mac Oengus to the conclusion that the disaster of the original expedition had been brought on by the creatures seeking to defend themselves rather than a desire to eat human flesh – for the most part the creatures were content to eat grasses and wild berries, or to occasionally gobble down a field mouse or snatch a fish from a stream. Once taken into perspective, the beasts didn’t seem all that odd after all, and began to be regarded as proper animals.
Mac Oengus used the journey back as an opportunity to taxonomically and biologically study the Questing beasts. He named them according Linnaeus’ binomial system used in all biology, and called them Glatisant Cervidosteryx. The name Glatisant was directly borrowed from the Gaelachtan legend that also spoke of the Questing beasts. Cervidosteryx is a reference to deer (Cervidae) and the Archaeopteryx, which was considered the pre-eminent link between bird and reptile. For the duration of the trip, Mac Oengus made careful observations, sketches, and essays that he would later publish as Questing Animalia, a text presented to the King and the Royal Scientific Society of Bosworth.
It did not take long for word to reach Jamestown that men riding strange creatures were heading their way. It took even less time for it to become known that the riders were none other than the team of explorers. This sent a ripple of curiosity through the budding settlement, and throngs of people came out to see their loved ones return safe, and equally to witness the strange spectacle before their eyes. Indeed, the entire affair had caused such an uproar that by the time the men reached the gates of the stockade, hundreds of reporters and the curious had flocked to the village to see the strange Questing beasts. But Mac Oengus would only allow a minimal amount of stress on the beasts, and insisted that quarters be established to provide a breeding range for the animals.
Thus it came to pass that the first domestic population of Questing beasts was established the same year as the founding of Jamestown. And to this day it remains the staple of the community, which is known to have formed a deep bond with the same animals they once feared. Just as cowboys of the American Old West were known to have formed a strong level of empathy with their horses, so too have modern Questingians formed a similar relationship with the Questing beasts. But unlike horses, which are widespread, the Questing beasts remain specific to the island, and their population does not exist beyond its shores. Like Shetland ponies, while a few rare specimens may exist in zoos, the main population remains on the island, in both free-range protected reservations, and in domestic ranches.
Thanks to the efforts of Mac Oengus, and even Captain Finisterre, who became well-known for his “steed” Avallonis, the Questing beasts became a protected species, coveted by those who would eventually settle all of Questing and call this place home. Although the island retains its rural atmosphere, and villages remain the same size century after century, it has nonetheless become a priceless part of those who live there, and indeed all the kingdom. And to this day, the Questing beasts can still be seen roaming the tundra, admired by those who know their story.
*Courtesy of Wikipedia
Questing is the northern island of the two that comprise the Fordneys, also known as the Ford Islands. The island’s name hearkens back to Arthurian legend, and the Questing beast, also called Glatisant in the Gaelic tongue. The beast was said to have appeared as a mix between four animals; a serpent, a leopard, a lion, and a hart. Its neck and head were that of a serpent, its body that of a leopard, the haunches of a lion, and the feet of a hart. It first appeared in the legend titled The High History of the Holy Grail. It is described thus:
The first accounts of the beast are in the Perlesvaus and the Post-Vulgate Suite du Merlin. The Post-Vulgate's account, which is taken up in Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, has the Questing Beast appear to King Arthur after he has had an affair with his sister Morgause and begotten Mordred (they did not know they were related). Arthur sees the beast drinking from a pool just after he wakes from a disturbing dream that foretells Mordred's destruction of the realm; he is then approached by King Pellinore who reveals it is his family quest to hunt the beast. Merlin reveals the Questing Beast had been borne of a human woman, a princess who lusted after her own brother. She slept with a devil who had promised to make the boy love her, but the devil manipulated her into accusing her brother of rape. Their father had him torn apart by dogs, but before he died he prophesied his sister would give birth to an abomination that would make the same sounds as the pack of dogs that killed him. The beast has been taken as a symbol of the incest, violence, and chaos that eventually destroys Arthur's kingdom.*
The early sailors who passed by the Isle of Questing called it thus because of the foreboding gloom that was held perpetually over the island. Dense forests of evergreen pine shrouded the land in a lush and impenetrable blanket. And what areas were exposed often were hidden by mist, ice and snow. It was such an atmosphere that held people back from settling the island until even later than the first immigrants began plowing the fields of Genista in the late 1690s. It took even poorer and more destitute men and women to overcome their deep-set fears and land on the craggy shores of Questing as a potential home.
This did not come about until the spring of 1810. The ice had begun to thaw as the May sun beat down on the island and warmed its surface. The first cogs of industrialization had been planted in the mainland of Bosworth, and by now the neighboring Isle of Genista had become quite prolific. The Genistans had had a century to build up their economy and establish firm trading of peat and sheep with the mainland, so that villages had sprung up across the island. Yet still Questing remained uninhabited, and rumors persisted that the name held more meaning to it than just legend.
A group of Norse, more refugees from the western settlements, and some poor Gascons from the south, along with an odd admixture of Gaels, had arrived on ships in Plantagenet. The city by now had grown to a bustling port, not nearly as magnificent as Shrewsbury, but nonetheless a capable merchant harbor. Industrialization had not yet ebbed into Genista yet, although some of its initial influences could still be felt, as brick factories and warehouses began to dominate the piers. Fishing boats still dominated the waters, although deeper out could be seen the smoke from a coal-fired clipper, whose sails still bespoke of an earlier age.
These new immigrants faced different challenges than those faced by earlier settlers, especially those who founded Plantagenet. Unlike their earlier counterparts, they now faced an increasingly-diminished amount of available land to settle on. All the good land, and even some of the not-so-good, had been settled by immigrants and the expanding population of Bosworth. Within the boundaries of the kingdom only the worst of locations remained to be settled; high mountaintops, festooned swamps, and frozen northlands. Factories had already filled with migrant workers, thus even jobs weren’t available to these poor souls.
But it so happened that one young Gael, a man by the name of Percy Mac Oengus, took it upon himself to make a decision. Gathering a group of like-minded immigrants, he determined that an expedition should be mounted to explore the Isle of Questing. With the assistance of donations from fellow immigrants, he scrapped together enough money to travel to Shrewsbury, to seek an audience with the King. After much bathing and perfume, Mac Oengus was deemed presentable and allowed to visit His Majesty. Before the King, Mac Oengus convinced His Majesty that the plight of the immigrants was important enough to warrant some Royal assistance. Thus the King declared that an expedition should be outfitted in Plantagenet, under the direction of Mac Oengus, and one of the Royal Navy’s finest sailors, Captain Hugh de Finisterre.
Back in Plantagenet feelers were sent out to lease a ship and find a worthy crew. The immigrants themselves, poor and uneducated, could offer up only a few hardy sailors. But the envoys met with many declinations. For amongst the locals rested a deep-set fear of some dark mystery surrounding the uninhabited island. It was not just the shroud of mist and impenetrable forest that hung a pall over the island. Darker rumors, strange sightings from fishermen who had brought their dinghies close to shore, suggested a deeper mystery. But none would tell what they had seen, and most had avoided the island for so long that the rumors were mere folklore. Nonetheless, this prevented Mac Oengus and Finisterre from finding a ship and crew.
After weeks of searching, Captain Finisterre finally met a man in a pub who gave him a lead, after much application of liquor. The man said “Seek out the man they call The Ogre. He has no home, and often sleeps in the trash, drunk and in a dazed stupor. But he knows much about the island.” So Finisterre told Mac Oengus of The Ogre, and together they began a search for the homeless drunkard. It took another week of searching Plantagenet until finally, on a rainy night, they found an old man sleeping under a pile of trash, behind one of the town’s pubs. Shaking the sleep from him and the rain from his ragged clothes, the startled drunkard awoke with a start. His face, having been buried in his clothes, was suddenly visible in the faint streetlight. What they saw shocked them, for he truly was an ogre. His face covered with scars, his arms bent in an awkward fashion, the man was clearly disabled.
At first he tried to run, but the two men blocked his slow efforts. Not only was he crippled also he was still drunk, and collapsed soon after trying to flee. So they took him back to their quarters at the port hotel, and bound him fast to a chair, so that the alcohol might wear off. Several hours passed before this happened, and when it did there was much protestation. The old man threw every profanity in the book at the men, mostly in French, so only Finisterre could understand., before finally acquiescing to silence.
At first all inquiries by Finisterre met with no reply. Mac Oengus, who could not speak French, relied on the Captain to relay the conversation and translate for him. But after several hours, with only water to whet his throat, the ogre finally spoke. He said his name was Pierre Dupree, once a sailor and solider on the HMS Aquitaine, and ill-fated man-o-war that was a famous disaster in the 1750s. Both Mac Oengus and Finisterre knew the story, or so they related to Dupree. But the old man countered, saying that he had kept a terrible secret all these years, which he still refused to tell. Threatening to keep him tied and unfed for a much longer duration, the old man finally succumbed to pressure.
As it goes, it was September of 1756, and Dupree was still a young sailor in the royal navy of Nouveau Aquitaine. The HMS Aquitaine had been sailing around Micras on exercises, and had rounded Nova England and entered the waters along Bosworth. From there it sailed north, planning to take a few days respite and stock up by hunting game and getting fresh water from one of the nearby islands. Dropping anchor off the shores of the northernmost island, they deemed it would be suitable, sense the dense forests would most certainly have plenty of game, and springs were bound to exist. A place was found where a stream came down to the ocean, and while this served to provide fresh water it was also an excellent way inland.
A crew was chosen to man one of the small dinghies attached to the ship, among which Dupree was not initially chosen. So this crew of around a dozen men set off with explicit orders to spend three days and no more hunting game up the stream and then return. But the three days passed, and then a week, two weeks, and still no sign of the men. Food rations running low a rescue operation was mounted, along with the necessity to provide provisions. It was presumed the men had become lost in the dense forests. But no chances were being taken, and the entire ship’s crew was to put forth in a large team led by the Captain himself, a Sir Reynald Champlain.
Several dinghies were required to carry all the crew, but only two available. So it was decided that they would travel on foot once on land. Thus several times were men ferried over to the shore, and then the dinghies secured fast to some trees several hundred feet inland. After that they began to march along the banks of the stream, deeper inland.
After two days they came across the shattered dinghy of the hunting expedition. Thus far only rabbits and deer had been encountered, providing well-needed sustenance. But the dinghy they found showed signs of strange battle. The wood had been splintered and was spattered with blood. And yet no sign of the men could be found anywhere. Their weapons too had been found, all discharged of bullets. Fearing that it must have been an ambush by natives, they decided to stay put and make camp, with the intent of finding the enemy encampment and destroying them.
As night came and the first makeshift fortifications were in place, the sailors felt secure in their tents, content that numbering in the hundreds they were safe. But as the darkness descended, along with it came strange sounds. A bellowing guttural sound, similar to that of a fox or large cat, but clearly belonging to neither. And then came the attack!
A swift rushing through the forest could be heard, and the sound echoed with it was as if it was a stampede, thousands of hooves beating the ground in unison and bearing down on the camp. The men quickly sought to arm themselves, but it was already too late. A gunshot went off as the first of the strange creatures pounced on its hapless victim. At first it was thought to be a giant snake, possibly from the nearby stream. But the flickering firelight quickly discerned the true nature of the beast. Beheld before them was a great herd of the Questing beasts, adorned with snake heads, cat-like bodies, and the hooves of deer. Their strength and ferocity was deafening, and the men fought vigorously, firing back at the herd as they pounced and ripped the soldiers to shreds. Overwhelmed, the men began to retreat. When Captain Champlain was killed by three of the beasts in a concerted attack, Dupree and several others fled the scene, running as fast as they could through the dark forest.
Several beasts pursued, and one by one they fell victim to the speed of their hooves, and the reflexive bite of the snake head. Dupree was fast enough to stay at the head of the group of runners, but was not fast enough. As he reached the dinghy, he had yet to untie it and drag it to the shore. This took precious time – a commodity he did not have. As he dragged the heavy burden through the trees to the shore, one of the beasts pounced on him. The hooves crushed his bones, and the sharp fangs sliced his face. But he grabbed a knife and buried it deep in the throat of the Glatisant. It fell dead upon him, and the world faded to black as he passed into unconsciousness.
As morning came, he awoke in immense pain. Pushing the dinghy into the nearby stream with what remaining strength he could muster, he then pulled himself in. As it floated out onto the ocean he again blacked out. By some miracle he was found by fishermen out on the open seas and taken back to Plantagenet. In the hospital his wounds were treated with mixed success, and it was by sheer determination that he survived. Although he initially tried to explain what had occurred, most thought he had developed brain fever and gone mad. Yet some of the locals just shook their heads and wore a look of grave regret. So Dupree instead concocted a story saying that a mutiny had broken out, and that the crew had violently killed eachother off until only he remained. This was more acceptable than the story of mythical creatures, and so he was released.
The HMS Aquitaine was, of course, found empty and towed back to her home country. Dupree, relieved of his duties as a soldier, and lacking any money or the ability to work, remained in Plantagenet. Plagued by nightmares, he buried his memories in alcohol, and became the town’s mad drunk. People now knew him mostly for his raving drunken tales of the strange Questing creatures. But few remained who believed those insane ravings.
Mac Oengus and Finisterre were convinced of Dupree’s sincerity, for the look on his face was dead serious, and showed no signs of lies. But as to the validity of his story, they remained skeptical. So Dupree was released, and given ten pounds for his troubles, new clothes, and a free week at the hotel – hopefully enough to allay his poor predicament somewhat. But on leaving Dupree was adamant is saying to stay clear of Questing, and to leave the island alone. “It is not meant to be inhabited by mortal men like you and me”, he said as a parting word. Though Mac Oengus and Finisterre were determined to see their expedition to the end, and so pursued finding a crew and ship nonetheless.
It took much more effort before a ship and crew were hired. So much so that they needed to send a courier to Shrewsbury port, where few knew of Questing, and hire a ship in that manner. The HMS Avignon was leased, and a crew of twenty able men hired. Captain Finisterre sailed the ship out of Shrewsbury and into Plantagenet harbor, where the immigrants were able to board the ship, along with a large stockpile of weapons, mostly guns and swords, and provisions. The crew and passengers were given only a peripheral understanding of the situation – that there may, or may not, be strange creatures inhabiting the island, and that if so, they could prove very dangerous. But even so, weapons had greatly improved in the years since the Aquitaine disaster, thus even a mythical beast would be no match for their firepower.
So it came to pass that the HMS Avignon sailed out of Plantagenet, and made her way north, around the tip of Genista, and into Eleanor’s Channel between the two islands. It was determined that a site along the channel’s narrowest point would be suitable, since in that way they could get back to Genista in short time if the need arose. The point they eventually chose was about midway down the channel, at a small promontory of rock. Here the land seemed to be the most clear of the dense forest that dominated most of the island, save for the northernmost areas of tundra and permafrost. Although not as favorable as other potential harbors, their main train of thought was defense.
Dropping anchor the Avignon made fast and dinghies were put out with the crew forming armed escorts. Upon arriving at the rock they cautiously made their way up to a flat plateau at its top. Here they decided to make camp. Masons and carpenters were immediately sent to work on constructing a stockade with the eventual goal of a fort. The ship’s priest, Father James Grant, presided over the first night’s feast, and in his honor they dedicated the spot Jamestown. Such was the fervor of that first day that by the time night had come over three-quarters of the stockade had been completed.
Their first night was spent in stark vigilance. The stories of old man Dupree had scared them enough to put rotating guard shifts out. But that night was uneventful, and the bonfires crackled safely behind the walls of wood and stone. The next day they worked as vigorously as before, and finished the stockade, as well as dragging several old cannon up on shore. But only so many could be fit inside the stockade, and for now many remained in the tight quarters of the ship. Something needed to be done. So Mac Oengus and Finisterre planned an inland expedition for the morning, to determine whether the creatures Dupree spoke of existed or not, and if so, if they proved a danger to the settlers.
A large team was formed of armed crewmen, led by Captain Finisterre, and accompanied by Mac Oengus, who had an interest in the phenomena as a naturalist. Also accompanying the team was a crew of lumberjacks. The plan was that, with the dense forest ahead, they would clear a wide trail into the trees and thus allow for a quick escape if need be. But even so, this would be a slow process, and all were eager to find answers to the question plaguing them. But still they had to wait, for the sake of safety, as the lumberjacks fell the giant pines, and cleared a path for them to easily maneuver.
The effort took more than days it took weeks, eventually leading into months. And still, no sign of the creatures Dupree had spoken of. The pines crashed down like thunder, sending what little wildlife they did find fleeing into the deeper woods. Even though slowed by the process, they had behind them a clear wide road leading directly back to the stockade. They continued inland for miles, finally reaching the center of the island, where the trees began to thin and the permafrost froze the ground several inches deep. It was here, among the misshapen trees, fields of lichen, and craggy rocks, that the situation began to change.
In the third month of their expedition, the team had awoken early, the crewmen collecting food, and the lumberjacks preparing to clear more trail. After such a long trek, many had given up thoughts of finding the creatures, and relegated them back to the annals of myth. The lumberjacks had just hacked through a dense thicket of pine and scrub when, as the tall trees came crashing down, beyond them lay are great open plain of tundra. Although the stark change from dense forest to open tundra was certainly startling, it was what was galloping across the lichen-covered landscape that sent them running. With their long reptilian necks withdrawn to decrease wind friction, hundreds of Questing beasts bounded across the fields, a whole herd of them! Scared for their lives, the lumberjacks ran back to the crew, who had only minutes earlier donned their armor and weapons.
But the beasts did not appear on the road. Even as the crewmen stood ready, guns cocked, the beasts did not appear. With orders for the unarmed elements of the team to head back to Jamestown and inform them of the situation, and get reinforcements across the channel as quickly as possible, Captain Finisterre ordered the crewmen forward. Accompanying them was Mac Oengus, who was also armed. As they edged their way up the path toward the open tundra beyond, they continued to see only the pale green of the reindeer moss that dominated the horizon, and of vast walls of ice far beyond. Cautiously they made their way to the edge of the forest and peered out into what lay beyond. Nothing! Only the empty landscape was within sight.
On the tundra the men began to track the beasts. Obviously they were afraid. Tracks left behind indicated that they had moved en masse along the edge of the open tundra and skirted the forest west. In that direction they could see the gray color of granite rocks, and knew they must have a den in that general direction. A safe place to hide, but also where they could be wiped out once and for all.
Thus they headed west, following the trail of the beasts. It was sunny that day, and only a brisk wind from the north, coming off the ice, broke the calm day. Being on the open plain they were able to make good time, and the granite rocks in the distance soon grew closer and larger, as the blurred features coalesced into a vivid picture of craggy knolls and deep crevices. A line of rock stretched around the western midland portion of the island, angling north following the contours of the landscape, where it collided head-on with the ice. The crew could easily see where the stone met the ice in cold embrace, and it looked like a great impenetrable wall. And to their immediate south stood a wall of forest, effectively encircling the flat tundra upon which they stood.
The dens themselves could be spied from afar; or so it would seem. Deep fissures, Finisterre believed, were the most likely hiding place for these creatures. But upon closer inspection they proved to be empty, except for the occasional sleeping bear, which neither man nor beast dared to disturb. The gravel rock showed little sign of tracks, but eventually some were spied in a muddy outcropping. Further inspection revealed a path leading up – nothing more than a worn-down incline. So they pressed their way up the mountain, carefully probing and spying ahead, stepping so as to make only the faintest sounds. And eventually they reached the top.
What they saw on the other side came as something of an awkward surprise. Down below lay a small, enclosed plateau, like a miniature valley, where grass grew abundantly, and a stream trickled its way through the rocks. But more surprising was that on this plateau was the herd of Questing beasts. And not only was it the large beasts that the lumberjacks had originally sighted, it was also a collection of females and young. Large piles of sticks obviously served as nests and shelters, which the beasts must have dragged up from the forest. Some young were nursing with their mothers, but for the most part they, and especially the males, seemed to be in an uproar. Nudging the females out of their nests, and baying at them to move, it seemed they were being threatened; but by whom? Surely these creatures, that had the powers of several animals, were not afraid of the men.
Fearful or feared, the crew knew not which it was expect that they must take action. Finisterre was preparing to order the charge when Mac Oengus pulled him aside, urging him to wait. The Gael pleaded with the Captain to spare the beasts. They showed, he said, intelligence like that of most pack animals – most of which man had successfully domesticated. Mac Oengus was convinced the same could be done with the Questing beasts, and provide a valuable asset to His Majesty, as well as preserving a fantastic mythical species. Finisterre, strictly a military man, was very speculative of the idea. He did not wish to risk the lives of any more good men. But at the same time, Mac Oengus had a point. Reigning in these creatures would bring far more glory than simply shooting them dead. So he agreed to spare them. But that left them figuring how to control them.
It was decided that they must identify the leader, and capture him, in order to control the others. Like horses, wolves or deer, herds tended to have a single male leader. So spying over the rocks the men looked for such a prominent creature, one that was obviously in charge. This was where Mac Oengus’ naturalist skills came in handy. He was able to identify a singular male beast that sported more elaborate colorings than the others and had two horn-like appendages extending from the top of its head, similar to a ram. This male beast was exceptionally large, and bore the scars of many conflicts. He was, indeed, suited to be the dominant leader of the beasts.
With the stallion identified, Mac Oengus launched a plan to capture the beast. Since the head could whip around with the versatility of a snake, lassoing the beast like a normal pack animal would not work. They came to the conclusion that the only way to capture it would be to isolate it from the rest of the group, and then net it through a concerted effort. Someone would have to put a cloth or saddle blanket over its head, while another two en at least would be needed to trip up its legs and bring it down. Then the men could jump the beast and tie it up. Mac Oengus then planned to use his animal husbandry skills to try and break the creature, and make it tame. It was, they knew, a fatal plan if they failed to achieve complete success.
Tools were prepared for the attack, and a number of men fanned out along the rim of the hillside, hiding behind rocks with guns drawn and loaded. Finisterre led the soldiers in preparing defenses – he would be ready to deal death if capturing the stallion proved to be going badly. Mac Oengus took with him a dozen men, armed with clubs, ropes, blankets, and nets; and of course, side arms. They waited until the stallion was away from the main group in a somewhat isolated position before sidling down the bank behind boulders to sneak up on him.
As the stallion preoccupied himself devouring a small patch of grass, the men jumped him all at once. The blanket flew over the beast’s head just as four other men used nets to entangle its legs and bring it crashing down to the ground. Finisterre, still positioned at the top of the hill, noted the other beasts coming to the aid of the stallion, and began firing pot-shots at the ground to deter them in the opposite direction. The creatures recoiled from the bullets as they sprayed the ground, and gave Mac Oengus time to throw ropes onto the stallion. Unlike a horse, which only uses one neck rope and a mouth bit, Mac Oengus knew he would need a lengthened harness to control this creature, and so quickly went about the task of fastening leather straps around the head and neck as the other men struggled to hold it down.
Another blanket was tied to its back as a makeshift saddle, and reigns made of rope secured fast around the muscular chest of the beast. And then it was up! Mac Oengus threw himself onto the back of the stallion, gripping it tightly between his legs, and holding onto the reigns with all his strength, hoping not to be thrown into the rocks by the powerful creature. As the blanket flew from the beast’s head, it chewed furiously at the metal bit in its mouth, and twisted its reptilian neck in an effort to break the harness. But it did so to no avail, as the leather held fast, and Mac Oengus clung with all his strength, and pulled with a determination to tame this freak of nature.
The creature kicked and jumped, throwing several men backwards as the others fled to let Mac Oengus do his work. Free except for the man on its back, the stallion did all it could to throw Mac Oengus from it. It raked its body against the rock, tearing the man’s clothes, and rolled onto its back, nearly crushing the Gael. But still Mac Oengus clung to the stallion, and pulled ever harder at the reigns. If ever two determined spirits were ever matched, it was these two.
But after what seemed to be hours, the stallion finally began to tire. And still Mac Oengus clung to the reigns, and dug into the beast’s sides with his feet. At last it acquiesced and with a weak howl signaled its defeat. The beast had been tamed, and suddenly Mac Oengus was in command. Broken, the stallion halted all fighting, and relegated to the direction of the rider on its back. Recognizing their leader in defeat, the rest of the pack also relented to control as several other beasts were captured and fitted for riding. Finisterre himself was second to ride another beast, and soon came up alongside Mac Oengus to congratulate him.
With the beasts under their control, the group herded the entire pack together, and like cattle ranchers began to drive them out of the ravine, up the hillside, and back across the tundra towards the road to Jamestown. Never before had such an awkward rodeo been seen.
The return trip was relatively quiet and uneventful in comparison to the start of their journey. Once tamed, the men found the Questing beasts to be quite friendly and, like themselves, omnivores that could subsist as well on plants as they could meat. This led Mac Oengus to the conclusion that the disaster of the original expedition had been brought on by the creatures seeking to defend themselves rather than a desire to eat human flesh – for the most part the creatures were content to eat grasses and wild berries, or to occasionally gobble down a field mouse or snatch a fish from a stream. Once taken into perspective, the beasts didn’t seem all that odd after all, and began to be regarded as proper animals.
Mac Oengus used the journey back as an opportunity to taxonomically and biologically study the Questing beasts. He named them according Linnaeus’ binomial system used in all biology, and called them Glatisant Cervidosteryx. The name Glatisant was directly borrowed from the Gaelachtan legend that also spoke of the Questing beasts. Cervidosteryx is a reference to deer (Cervidae) and the Archaeopteryx, which was considered the pre-eminent link between bird and reptile. For the duration of the trip, Mac Oengus made careful observations, sketches, and essays that he would later publish as Questing Animalia, a text presented to the King and the Royal Scientific Society of Bosworth.
It did not take long for word to reach Jamestown that men riding strange creatures were heading their way. It took even less time for it to become known that the riders were none other than the team of explorers. This sent a ripple of curiosity through the budding settlement, and throngs of people came out to see their loved ones return safe, and equally to witness the strange spectacle before their eyes. Indeed, the entire affair had caused such an uproar that by the time the men reached the gates of the stockade, hundreds of reporters and the curious had flocked to the village to see the strange Questing beasts. But Mac Oengus would only allow a minimal amount of stress on the beasts, and insisted that quarters be established to provide a breeding range for the animals.
Thus it came to pass that the first domestic population of Questing beasts was established the same year as the founding of Jamestown. And to this day it remains the staple of the community, which is known to have formed a deep bond with the same animals they once feared. Just as cowboys of the American Old West were known to have formed a strong level of empathy with their horses, so too have modern Questingians formed a similar relationship with the Questing beasts. But unlike horses, which are widespread, the Questing beasts remain specific to the island, and their population does not exist beyond its shores. Like Shetland ponies, while a few rare specimens may exist in zoos, the main population remains on the island, in both free-range protected reservations, and in domestic ranches.
Thanks to the efforts of Mac Oengus, and even Captain Finisterre, who became well-known for his “steed” Avallonis, the Questing beasts became a protected species, coveted by those who would eventually settle all of Questing and call this place home. Although the island retains its rural atmosphere, and villages remain the same size century after century, it has nonetheless become a priceless part of those who live there, and indeed all the kingdom. And to this day, the Questing beasts can still be seen roaming the tundra, admired by those who know their story.
*Courtesy of Wikipedia
