The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom XIII

Evening of the 12th day, The Halls of Desire

The splendour of the halls is unrivaled, colours of unknown desires, smells of childhood and adolescent sin, pearls spilling out of silver carafes and peacocks strutting between them and the sound of humming birds bathing in a fountain of black meteorite. On the throne sits the Elf: High above all others, an absence more than a presence and hard as you may try he remains out of focus and when he speaks you only ever remember what he said. Rusalki sit at the table below him, ministers and advisors in their robes of rain and sunshine and among them a young man with slanted eyes that stare at Ser Perilake without emotion and Avert says something in an elfin tongue and the unfocussed figure on the throne just laughs or must have laughed for that is what you remember.

If their travels had been pleasant,

you remember the Elf asking and

if they found the food to their liking

and

if it was more refined than Stribog's offerings.

The Throne Room 

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake stands before the table, and stares back at the young man. The halls seem nothing but empty noise to his eyes, the scents cloying and the banquet of delights unpalatable. He wishes Inga was with him, and he is thankful that she is not. "Avert?"

Referee

Avert looks over to the Elf who seems to have given him permission to speak. “My lord has asked you questions.” he says and his eyes are strange and cold. “It is custom in his court to answer them before addressing his subjects.” His hair is long and straight and his tunic the colour of haze.

Anastaz, you are seated next to the Elf on his elevated throne of roots and reeds and a haggard looking human in a tunic woven from clouds. “Your reputation precedes you, Salt Knight, ” the man smiles sourly “ ... although your skills appear to mainly involve hitting creatures with a mace. Personally, I don't see the point but … my liege speaks highly of you. I'm Senechal Ashling.”

Heldris and Milos, you sit next to each other on the far end of the table among Courtiers who whisper feverishly about a sacrificial meal. They relish the thought of betrayal.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Relieved to be overlooked among this company, Milos nestles into the Dove Knight's shadow. His finger traces the pattern of runes on his ivory ring as he ruminates on the Bridge Knight's taunts, mouthing the words "King's slave" to himself.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake stares for a moment longer, his face a war of emotions. Finally, a smile breaks through as he looks upon his son once more, strange as he is. "Very well; my travels have been as nothing, for at their end I have found my son. The food, I have found lacking in an ingredient that seems scarce in this kingdom. It is the company of one in this court is I seek, and I find it more pleasing by far than any decadence found in Stribog's parlour." He gathers himself, and looks around the room. "Where is Tizra, the Herald? Where is the Elf's scuttling servant, the noble courtier entrusted with the murder and theft of children?"

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Heldris sits uncomfortably between the fairy courtiers, longing to stand besides the Gilded Knight in this moment of hardship. The quiet presence of the Fox Knight at his side allows him to keep his composure, and to find some more faith in their mission. Still, his hand clutches the dagger that lies between the folds of his tunic, as whispers of treason reach his ear. He exchanges a glance with the Salt Knight, as if to say: "We are back in the shadows, but ready to stir"

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As Perilake's words ring out across the hall, Milos breaks from his reverie and turns his attention to the dangerous dance of intrigue swirling around them. His mismatched eyes survey those gathered for any advantage they might discern.

Referee

You recall Coredis saying

Once Osier – the one they call Avert - had mastered a glamour of messenger birds the Elf had followed their travels with interest and some amusement. A father must be proud of his son's talents. Much the boy has gained and much lost.

You remember the Elf calling for Tizra and a silver platter is brought in and placed before you. A longly viper is slowly uncurling from the severed head of the Herald and slithers up the throne and whispers something to the Elf. The Elf must have said

A formidable warrior has slain his servant and the father is to be blamed. The price will be discussed after the feast.

You are lead back to your seat Avert on one side and what's left of Tizra on the other. 

 Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz subtly nods to Heldris. Turning back to the Seneschal, the corners of his mouth twitch as he says, "Fame is fickle. We humans sometimes prize odd things. What brings you here, so far from your kind?"

Referee

“I was taken by the Rusalki and mastered their craft in Stribog's Brugh” He almost spits out the last words. “And unlike most of our kind I survived ..." He stares at you with naked curiosity. “...although there are rumours of escapees in the mountains.”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

"Stranger things have happened. Would you not wish to return to our realm, if you could?"

Referee

You see a shadow falling over Ashling's face and it contorts briefly before smoothing into a polite smile. “The realms of men are below my aspirations. My desire is to serve my liege with my craft.”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

"Few seem to want to leave this place once they've stayed here. What is your craft, precisely?"

Referee

Somebody pours wine for you and Ashling makes an incidental gesture and when the servant leaves blood trickles from tiny cuts on her arms and face and she is not serving you again. "Spells to bind and spells to find and glamour to bring lust and pain." he says with a wicked smile but his voice is hoarse from exertion or rage.

Sir Milos, while the Fae eat liver and lung and licorice they hiss their rumours behind cupped hands. They whisper of Ashling's hatred for Osier who will become the new sorcerer in his stead and his hatred for Stribog who mistreated him and that he wants Perunja who taught him all he knows to rule the western Rusalki. They hope Coredis will find the King's mare and that they will feast on Sivka's flesh and that the Salt Knight will lead them into battle to bring down the Lord of Frost and that Spring will finally come for all.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake looks briefly at Tizra's head on the seat next to him, and finds only the barest glimmer of satisfaction in what he sees. A well deserved death. Whether it has won anything will be seen, but matters not. He thinks of Saša, the boy Anastasz could not save, and he thinks of his own son. The boy taken from him, from Inga, for what seemed so long a span but was but a season... but who knows how long here, in this thrice damned kingdom? The child thief of Bohat is dead, as it should be, however it was done. He steels himself to look at the young man next to him. "Avert... my son." His heart hammers in his chest. His son, alive. Here. The fear of losing him, the fear at what has become of him, seems overwhelming. "Our little bird..." He whispers, and beneath, there is the truth of that fear. "I am so happy to see you," a tear falls down his face, and the gilded knight's smile returns, its joy and warmth and love undimmed. His son, alive. Here.

Referee

Avert stiffens and looks down and moves delicacies around with a silver fork. “You promised … “ He pushes the plate away and folds his arms. “I was alone in my bed when the moon ...” he laughs bitterly “I speak like a child! - ... when the Herald grabbed me.” He turns towards you, angry now, his cold facade shattered.” And you did nothing!” Avert gets up abruptly and the chair of woven reeds tips over and before you can act he is out of the throne room. There is a hushed silence and Ashling sneers and the Elf must have clapped his hands because this is how you remember it and the feast concludes.

You recall that Coredis talked with passion and made demands and if they were not met the son would stay in the kingdom. Of his words you remember:

The Elf feels deeply the desire of the father to bring back his son. The father will do everything for his desire to be assuaged, yes? He will bring the mare before the Elf to be slaughtered, he will ride to Castle Frost and the Salt Knight will lead the Rusalki warriors. Only then will the spell be lifted and Osier will become Avert again.

But what if the father refuses? Will he be allowed to leave unharmed? No, he will not. The life of a servant has been taken and the Elf demands compensation. A duel perhaps or a sacrifice: A life for a life. They will be brought to their chambers where they will spend the night and tomorrow the Elf will hear their answer.

When the Elf leaves the Fae rise and bow and the peacocks shriek in panic and scatter and servants throw petals in his path and he holds a beast on a golden chain, some dangerous large cat and made of precious stone and the viper follows. Later you are in opulent chambers: lustful tapestries and canopy beds draped in brocade and incense burning in swinging censers that move on their own accord.

Anastaz' Chamber

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake remembers standing as Corelis spoke, cold fury against the hollow words. If Tizras life was the elves, then so are his debts. A life for a life has already been paid, and more yet should be paid still. He remembers the boy from bohat - both of them - in his mind alongside a memory of the Elf, cold and aloof, disinterested. He remembers the Elf staring in silence, a terrible tension in the air, and then something like a smile. Then a dismissal. A great beast on a golden chain taken in hand, and Perilake remembers watching the Elf go and thinking. How can a debt be owed for the death of nothing? And Tizra must be nothing to have been so discarded after the duel. Such a wretched thing can not possibly stand against what has been taken from his family. Perhaps... He remembers his brothers eyes, Zoltan looking with some grim satisfaction at the heralds severed head. The others, cautioning his wrath, hoping to give their own counsel. He remembers the boy, and the boy remembers him. He remembers. And so Perilake remembers following the others to these chambers, to talk.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The knights meet in Anastaz's chambers, slightly larger than those of the others. A four-poster bed is covered in bedding of silk and satin and the down of exotic and impossible birds. Sumptuous tapestries decorate the walls. They seem to display bucolic scenes of harvest festivals, but on closer inspection, many of them depict varied kinds of blood sacrifice. Anastaz sits on a stool, the goldfalx across his knees. He worries the blade with his thumb until a single bead of blood forms and drops to the ground. "These are a cruel and unjust people, but I can set aside my own feelings to bring Avert home." He looks expectantly at Perilake.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As he closes the ornately carved wooden door, Milos notices that it depicts a knight kneeling before a white haired Fae Lord in a bucolic forest setting. He sighs heavily in recognition and closes his eyes briefly to collect himself. Then he begins to search the room for signs that they are being watched by their host. Sentient eyes looking out from the woodwork or sigils of hearing hidden in the feathers of the birds. After a quick survey, he says "I believe we can speak freely here."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake nods gratefully at the Fox Knight. "They are unjust, but quick to speak of justice, to invoke it in their own skewed fashion" Perilake frowns. "And unlike our own kingdom, they seem bound to their words by more than honour. Perhaps... perhaps there lies a snare they have set for themselves. When they speak of justice, they bind themselves to those terms. And in their arrogance, they cannot see the weight of the scales set against them." "Tizra was slain." He smiles grimly. "And the Elf calls that a crime, a life that belonged to him taken without his consent. But Tizra was nothing to him, an exiled scapegoat for his failed ambitions, discarded and left to inflict greater harm on our people... on our children." He paces. "If Tizra still belonged to Corelis, then the Elf must pay the outstanding balance before he can invoke any debt. Not just for Sasa and Avert, but for breaching what he swore to in the Duel of Seasons." "If Tizra was nothing, then there can be no insult - and Avert cannot even have been gifted by a thief." He sighs. "I am not sure of the straight path here, but we have seen that these creatures work in crooked logic. Where they contradict themselves, they are vulnerable... and perhaps they leave a path for my son to return to his mother" There is a silence in the room as they all consider Perilakes words, his last barely a whisper. After a moment, Zoltan rises, and hugs Perilake fiercely, before holding him at arms length. "He looks like Inga, though he now has his father's fierce temper." Zoltan smiles at his former master, and Perilake smiles back, pride surging forth even in these strange times. "I am glad we have found the little bird too, my lord... my friend."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

"Shall we demand a trial for the Elf's crimes, then?"

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

The Dove Knight sighs, a worried look upon his tired face. “But who will judge them? We stand in their court, and twisted as their logic might be, I fear we have no power to hold them accountable.” He recovers his usual temper, as if the words just uttered had shaken off his fears. “But it is worth a try,” he considers, “after all, riddles and old oaths have opened up a path for us only this morning over the bridge, although the stakes weren't as high as they are now.” A drop of blood falls from Anastaz’s goldfalx, staining the the light floorboards. “I’d be willing to take the shape of the hawk and call to the Winter King for aid. Although I’m afraid even the walls have eyes in this sad palace, and acting in secret might be hard to achieve."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos frowns at the suggestion and glances at the carved door again. The Lord now has his hands around the knight's throat. "I fear we are already too beholden to the White King and have yet to reckon what he may ask for in return." He turns to Anastaz with a tilt of his head and a questioning look. "I saw you in conversation with the Seneschal. He has reason to wish Avert gone and Stribog humiliated. Do you think we could bargain with him for aid on either of these matters? He may know how to loosen the Elf's hold on Avert or vex the Hunt."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz strokes his chin. "I would not trust the Seneschal as far as I could throw him. But if it serves his interest, he may be inclined to help. Who knows what his spells can do."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight smiles mischievously. "I suspect you could throw him surprisingly far if it came to it, my friend."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight's mouth twists into something almost resembling a smile. "If we want his help, a lighter touch than mine may be required."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

"A shame, for I'd liked to have seen it." He shrugs wistfully. "In any case, I can seek out the wizard and attempt a negotiation if you like."

Winding Stairs 

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"These rumours, that Avert is to replace him, and that he does not want to be replaced. That he wishes to usurp Stribolg for his mentor...There must be some truth to them." Perilake frowns. "This wizard is no friend, but he could be of use. Perhaps he can end this glamour... or no, that would risk his lord's wrath. But we offer a way to keep his hands clean of involvement." His eyes fall on the ring upon Milos's finger. "As for the King... I do not believe he merely waits for our word to strike, if he could end his enemy so. Perhaps like Barowia, he has other concerns than mere strength. Perhaps there is some secret that would free his arm, win allies, or break the strength of his rival." He scowls. "I care not who rules this kingdom. I am aligned with the King only so long as it serves. No further was promised and no further has been given; he has his whispers, and we had brave Sivka. He does not have my service, or yours." Perilake looks around at the others, his gaze resting perhaps for a longer moment on Milos. "But if we find something.... then we will send word, Heldris. For now, we must learn what we can." He rises, and Zoltan rises beside him, knowing where Perilake is going. The older knight turns to say something, and Zoltan merely shakes his head, softly, and mumbles something, inaudible to any but the one who listened for those many years. Perilake smiles, and nods in return. "Our family..." He murmurs, before turning to the other knights. "I will speak to Avert. Whatever glamour this is, I must try."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos steps forward. "Go, my friend, with all our blessings. The human heart has a power that no Fae magic can reckon with. It is why they seek us out and torment us so." He points toward the Gilded Knight's chest. "Reach for him from here, from the terrible pain of losing him, from the deep yearning for his return. Let your broken heart guide you."

Referee

Ser Perilake, outside the door a servant with pearls in her hair for clothes is waiting for you. “My lord doesn't want you to get lost.” she says and takes Zoltan's hand. The air is lacquered with incense, rich and heady, and her bare feet step lightly on fine rugs. You climb winding stairs of great halls where stars are painted on the ceiling and colourful birds fly freely and you walk passed doors behind which there is a chorus of sighs and moans of pleasure. There are no windows and no way to orient yourself and high up in the palace you turn into another corridor. A solitary guard, a season destroyer in smoothbark armour, watches you approach, hand on the hilt of her goldfalx. “Only one guest at a time” she says and opens the door for Perilake. A chandelier of candles illuminates shelves of books and scrolls and the young man they call Osier is watched by many birds in cages as he is standing in a bow window bent over a silver bowl filled with water. He mutters elfin words and his hair hangs straight down, obscuring his face.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"The birds here are beautiful." Perilake says as he quietly walks into the room. "When I first arrived here, they sang to me in a voice sweeter still for how I had missed it." He waits for the young man to turn and face him. "Their song changed though, perverted by another. This seemed like mere days to me. But... I fear it has been much longer." His voice shakes, the horror and sadness of these long months breaking through the courage and single-mindedness that has carried him here. The sorrow and the shame that were luxuries he could not afford, indulgences that would only slow him in his quest. He steadies himself, and reaches into his pouch for a small wooden falcon, carefully varnished and cherished, placing it down upon a small table between them. "That song scared me when I first heard it, but it made me proud, and it gave me hope. Even when it was twisted, it was a sign." He sits at the table before the young man. "Please, tell me. What do you remember? Tell me of my son, and what has become of him since Tizra's magicks stole him away."

Referee

Osier touches the surface of the water with a briar and for a moment you see the hawk with bloodied wings hacking with his beak at a raven and something very white below the canopy and then the image is gone. He picks up the falcon and turns it in his hands. “I remember being a child riding on wooden stick and a man with many scars laughing … what was his name …?” He shakes his head and you see him frowning and then there is a proud glint in his slanted eyes. “Now I ride warhorses if I wish to, with brocade saddles and silver reins and sometimes a jade panther when my lord allows it.” He looks down at the toy with a sad smile. "What happened to your son?" Osier puts the falcon carefully on the table next to the bowl. "He grew up."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake stands and walks to the bowl, peering down, staring at their reflections in the now still water. "He grew up, here. Away from those who love him still." Perilake lets a finger trace the water and sighs. "And he has grown up as I knew he would; strong, and sharp. You wield these magics, yes? I have seen it. I have heard it. Your mother would be as proud as I am, standing before you now. As would the man with the scars." Perilake smiles in memory. "His name is Bartek, and he misses you. Losing you... has left such pain." He spreads his palms, and looks down at the jagged, ill-healed scar. He remembers the bite of the steel, the pain, the rush of blood, but still not enough to wash away the enchantment of Tizra. Still not enough to save his son. He notices Osier - Avert - looking at the cut quizzically. Years have passed for them, but this injury is near fresh, mere months. "They say it would have healed cleanly if I had let it. But there was no time, for me. You were out there, and you were alone." His voice catches, and his chest heaves, and his shoulders tremble, and his voice is a whisper. "I have wondered if I could have broken Tizra's spell by severing the entire hand, but that was as beyond my power as moving more than mere inches." He blinks away the tears in his eyes, and masters himself. "You would fare better, I think. A wizard, a master of magics. You have power that I have never known; it is not just Coredis and his tricks. Would you... would you show me?"

Referee

“I would have made Tizra ... “ he hisses the name” … choke on his own tongue and watch him suffocate!” He is more Rusalki than ever now as he looks at you with cruel eyes and arrogant smile and his hair is long and straight like a fall of dark brown water. “I am not as strong as Ashling or Perunja, his mistress, but I can can show you my talents. What do you want me to weave?”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"I believe my son will be stronger still." Perilake says sombrely. "And I believe that Tizra is fortunate that it was my justice that found him, not yours. I apologise for taking it from you." He sighs, and looks into his son's eyes and the cruelty there, where once there was only warmth and kindness. "Is it within your power to view the past? To view another's memory, if it is freely given."

Referee

He hesitates, “I cannot see beyond the bounds of the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom and I have never tried to steal the memory of anyone ...” Osier places the briar in your scarred hand and closes his fist around it until the thorns pierce your skin and blood drips onto the carpet. “But if it is freely given, I believe I can.”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake nods, and clenches his fist around the thorns deeper still, as he goes deeper into his broken heart. The fear, the helplessness, the loss. The powerlessness. The searching, the hope, the horror. And beyond, further, as the paths of memory tangle the sweet and the sharp. The faces of Bartek, of Inga, of his uncles, of all of Farkash and the boy they doted on. Of a world more humble but more whole than this. Of stable cats, no jade panthers but fierce in their affections for the boy who brought scraps. Of Blacwyn, a mighty steed that still ate sugarlumps from a small hand, and allowed himself to be led on reins of leather. Of the mother who waits, who hopes, who believes that she will be reunited. And of the sheer joy at being able to breathe again, that his heart is once more within reach after the long nights of fear and loss. All of this pours from Perilake's hand into the still waters of the basin, and with a word and a gesture from Avert, they take shape; the blur of images surge forwards, alongside a mist that contains sounds and scents and swirls around the young mage, the heady vapours carrying yet more as they are inhaled.

Referee

Osier gently reaches out and touches Inga's face and waves distort the vision of her on the surface of the water. “Is that Avert's mother?” he whispers. “They must have ...” He looks away. You still hear echoes of her laughter and the smell of her room lingers even after the memory has faded from the scrying bowl. “If I stay I will become the strongest sorcerer of this generation, stronger than Ashling, stronger even than the Weaver. If I leave ...” You can see his reflection in the window and the strange, slanted eyes look back at you. “Don't you want to be proud of me, father?”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"I already am. And so is she; all I want is to see you together again." Perilake takes the young mans hand. "You are my son. That is your mother. You must know, learned as you, that you are under a spell. I am sure in time you would be the strongest sorcerer, but I believe the chains of Coredis would only grow stronger still."

Referee

He wrestles his hand free, rushes over to the shelves and begins dropping scrolls and books into a satchel. “Nobody binds me!“ he spits, “When do we leave?”

Somewhere within the Halls of Desire

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As the door shuts behind the Gilded Knight, Milos turns to his comrades. "Our friend is on a noble errand to regain his son's heart but I think he dismisses the power of Fae contract magic too breezily. We need to gather leverage to even the scales in our dealings with both the King and the Elf. I will seek out Ashling to that end."

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

"Yes, I fear you're right." The Dove Knight grabs a candle from a drawer and lights it. "I'll walk the palace hallways. Much is hidden in broad daylight here, that might very well reveal itself at night." He nods to his friends. "Be careful, and remember: if you need my help, I'll know."

Referee

Anastaz, when you leave your chambers a servant wearing diamonds in her hair for clothes bows before you. “Please allow me to take you to my lord.” she says and her hands are smooth and soft as she leads you through the Halls of Desire until you reach a garden where dragonflies with golden wings hover between lilies, tall as trees. The Elf stands very close to you, the viper winding itself around his legs like a cat. You feel his gaze rest upon you.

He was hoping for a meeting with the Salt Knight.

He must have said.

An agreement can be reached for the father and the son, if only the Knights would consider his offer: To give up an old mare and to fight a quick war against his enemy, a single battle really against tired soldiers. The insolence of killing one of his servants in his own halls will be forgiven and the Knights will be allowed to return unharmed.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

"The Gilded Knight and I have been speaking about the Elf's actions," the Salt Knight says. "He takes credit for the actions of a cast-away servant, and takes offense at his death. Yet he does not claim responsibility for his misdeeds. Either the Elf is guilty of the kidnapping of Avert and the murder of Šaša, or the Elf has no right to keep Avert here and waylay us." "We have no quarrel that cannot be mended. If Avert is returned to his father, we will leave this realm for good. I am even willing to return the Bow of Harvest."

"But if the Elf insists on keeping Avert in the Halls of Desire, he must also answer for Tizra's crimes."

Referee

The viper hisses angrily at Anastaz words and the Elf is quiet for a while or if he talked you cannot remember what he said. You do recall him saying

The Elf regrets the confusion the human is labouring under. The Elf will do what he pleases in his own halls. Is there anything else the human wants to say?

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz sighs and looks down at the viper. "We need not be enemies," he says, almost sadly. And with that, he departs.

Referee

Milos, you are lead by a servant through the palace, he is wearing a silver tiara for clothes and he is very beautiful. “My lord doesn't want you to wander the halls alone, lest you lose your way.” he says and takes your hand. There is a chorus of moans and sighs of pleasure behind every door and you climb spiral staircases of silver and grand marble steps until you reach a courtyard high in the palace and a spire made of wood and a wooden flight of stairs until you reach an antechamber with mechanical birds dipping their beaks into a fountain and a season destroyer with his hand at the hilt opens the door. Ashling is sitting in a bow window staring into a silver bowl. Without looking up he says: “You are not the first spy the Winter King has sent. What do you want?”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos cocks his head to one side. "You speak quite plainly for a denizen of Faerie. Let me be equally direct and not waste your time or mine. You want Osier removed from the board. We want to take him home. You want to see Stribog humbled. What better way than humiliating him with a failed Hunt. Such a blow would open the way for Perunja to depose him as leader of the Western Rusalki. Therefore, I propose a temporary but mutually beneficial arrangement between us. What say you?"

Referee

“You have your plans, little fox, but alas between the wish and the thing the world lies waiting” the sorcerer says staring intently into the bowl before leaning back, apparently pleased with what he saw. He looks curiously into your discoloured eyes. “Tell me, how did the Winter King trick you?”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

"Ah, so we are playing the game of answering a question with another question. I will again follow your lead then. My story with the Winter King is an intimate one and the telling may make me blush." He sits across from the wizard at the window and looks out on the pastoral view, as if we could see in the distance the looming threat of winter. "I wonder what you saw in your scrying bowl that brought you such satisfaction just now? Mayhap we trade stories?"

Referee

“We can trade stories … ” Ashling pours wine into a cup and slides it over.“ … but I have no interest in the details. The halls provide enough pleasures of the flesh and I know the King can be very alluring in his hidden grove.” He leans back again and shadows obscure his face. “A guerdon for a gift: Osier yearns to return home, I gather from my bowl, and he is willing to abandon the Elf.” His voice is hoarse and you sense that he is suppressing a strong emotion but you only see his eyes glinting in the darkness and he is impossible to read. “Now you: Your lord can summon you whenever he pleases but instead he opened a portal for you and your brothers. What was his demand?”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Upon hearing the news of Avert, the Fox Knight sighs inwardly in relief. Perilake's appeal reached the boy. To Ashling he replies simply: "That my body would feed his realm."

Emergent Mundane Bullshit

Randomness Blogwagon: June 14th, 5 = 2d6 paragraphs, King of Clubs = Goblin Punch

After they followed the realm creation procedure in Mythic Bastionland referees might look at the map and find it pretty empty (unless you think that traditional hexcrawls kinda suck [1] and need to be stripped down to its bare bones). Aren't you supposed to populate it with interesting things like dungeons and wandering monsters [2]? Where are the factions and encounter tables? How are the knights to fulfil their oath of protecting the realm if nothing is threatening its security apart from the Myths, that they have to seek anyway? The promise of a sandbox – emergent stories through the intersection of random encounters, faction play and player actions – seems to be undercut by the absence of traditional hexcrawling ingredients and the linearity of following Omens in chronological order to their conclusion.[3] 

2d6 = 2 paragraphs

I am cooking my Mythic Bastionland campaign with just three ingredients: Truths about the Realm I put in by hand, randomized realm creation and Spark Tables. Everything that emerges in play is the result of initial conditions, PCs reacting to the world, the world reacting to the PCs actions and random rolls to insert surprises into the experiment. The three truths [4] are:

• The King invaded the realm not long ago
• Holdings changed sides during the war.
• The wounds of war have not been healed.

There are no wise NPC to tell them what to do. The Seers are cryptic at best, often utterly opaque and annoying, and homicidal psychopaths at worst. There are no paths (or - oh the horror! - roads) to guide them through the sandbox, no quests to send them on their way [5]. So where does the complexity of a living world come from in Mythic Bastionland? Where do relationships, themes, moral dilemmas and stories emerge from? My answer is: The beautiful randomness of 2d12 Spark Table results [6]! For the relationship between two council members of different holdings I rolled on the drama table: Betrayal (theme) and Blackmail (detail) and I learned something important about the war: a Marshall betrayed the positions of her troops to prevent further bloodshed. For the son of another council member who became the squire to a PC I rolled his desire: Mastery (ambition) and Revenge (motive) and I learned that he lost someone in the war and his wounds have not been healed either. For the goods merchants were transporting to another holding I rolled Military (theme) and Pottery (type) and now they are transporting Greek fire in earthen jars to a keep and I guess another war is brewing. Do the PCs reveal the betrayal or punish the blackmail? Do they allow their squire to enact the revenge or teach them forgiveness? Do they try to prevent the war or throw their weight behind a warring faction? The randomness of spark tables gave me the permission to shape the history of the realm and to present them with moral dilemmas without putting in quests or hooks or stories by hand. I watch the experiment unfold and I am as surprised as the players by the complications the oracle of the dice conjures up.

[1] Hexcrawls kinda suck: https://goblinpunch.blogspot.com/2024/01/hexcrawls-kinda-suck.html

[2] Hex based campaign design https://welshpiper.com/hex-based-campaign-design-part-2/

[3] Although to be fair there is the Primacy of Action and the PCs might find ways to leverage one Myth against the other or other means to prevent the story from mindlessly marching towards the last Omen. 

[4] It's a Chris McDowall game of course there aren't two or five of them. 

[5] As you see I am a mad dog gardener Referee, let the seeds fall where they may: blown in by the wind or carried by bird droppings, growing tall in the sun or withering in the shadows.

[6] For more on the beauty of Spark Tables listen to The Smiling Fox episode with yours truly: https://podcastaddict.com/the-smiling-fox/episode/223082576

 

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom XII

 Dawn of the 12 day, inside the trophy hall

“Riders approaching” hisses Zoltan who is peering through the door, the ancient blade Zuraw in his hand. The dead inside the walls seem to moan and over the howling winds that hits the bone hill you hear heavy thumping of hooves on snow. While you scramble to your feet Zoltan shouts in surprise and flings open the door: “It's Sivka!” and four horned stallions with ornate tack erupt into the hall in a chaotic tangle of limbs and flying snow. They skitter over the floor, hooves screeching on stone before they come to a halt, chest heaving, snorting and nickering. Behind them Sivka gracefully follows and still at the entrance raises her head and neighs sharply: “We need to leave! Vesper is here!” An arrow is stuck in her saddle.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

“What a sight for sore eyes!” Exclaims the Dove Knight. He takes the reins of one of the strange horses and mounts. "Let us leave this mournful place and ride to Avert."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos follows suit without hesitation. "To the Halls of Desire!"

Referee

You dash out of the mausoleum into the snow storm, the stallions with unrestrained wildness, Sivka with the grace of age. “The King sends his regards, Gilded Knight, and steeds as implored.” She tries to keep up with her brethren and needs to remind them occasionally to slow down when she falls behind. It must be mid-morning when you hear the sound of the horn for the third time and dark shapes emerge out of the blizzard, three riders and hounds. For a moment you feel you heart stop and a cold shock grips you into the marrow. The stallions' eyes roll back and their ears lie flat against their skulls and they bite on the iron bit, foam dripping from their mouths. Sivka rears and neighs a high pitched order but they do not listen. One of the riders stows her horn and grabs the bow.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The third blare of the horn overwhelms the Fox Knight's defences and an irrational fear consumes his entire body. All thought and consideration are eclipsed by a primal and irresistible urge to flee. His steed is only too willing to join him in this fever and the two lower their heads, speeding together into the blinding white of the snowstorm, without a look back.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

In the pale light of the snowstorm, a look of terror is illumined on the Salt Knight's face as he hugs his steed tightly, spurring it away from their pursuers.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake readies his weapon and prepares to charge the elves. But Zoltan wheels his horse between the knight, and yells out a warning. The Gilded Knight turns and sees their companions bolt into the snowstorm, unable to control their horses. With an oath, Perilake and Zoltan follow, racing away from their foes

Referee

Before you turn around you get a last glimpse of the leader of the group raising her bow. She has opened her beak and croaks in triumph and lets fly an arrow.

Anastaz, snow and wind hits your face and you feel the stallion's heart beating between your legs and Perilake is shouting something but your ears are still ringing from that terrible sound. Suddenly you feel an impact in the arm that tightly grips the reins and an arrow is stuck in your armour and then the snow storm swallows you and you ride for a long time until you see the ground plummet before you and in the last second you manage to bring the stallion to a halt. Far below you is a wild river foaming around rocks and further north you see a white bridge, majestic and pristine. A Knight in smoothbark armour is standing on the bridge, holding a goldfalx. A moment later your brothers are beside you.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"Ride!" Perilake yells through the storm, and urges his steed north, towards the bridge. Where he would once have normally been a beacon in the blizzard, his smoothbark armour and helm offer no such gilded light. But the steel of Rzeznik still glimmers as it is lifted into the air.

Referee

As you ride onto the bridge, gusts of wind cause you to sway in the saddle and you hear the clattering of Sivka's iron-shod hooves. The Fae Knight raises an arm and shouts over the winds. “Halt! On the order of the King, you may not pass!” You feel a sense of superiority in her voice as if the mere thought of fighting her seems ludicrous. “I am Olwen, the Bridge Knight.”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake does not fight Sivka as she pulls to a halt on the bridge, and he raises his sword in greeting. "I am Perilake, and this is the King's own steed. Do you not recognise noble Sivka?" He gestures towards Milos and his ring."My companion bears the king's favour. We are allies of your liege, and are pursued by his enemies." "Do you stand aside Olwen, in the name of the King and his cause?" He lowers the sword to a point. "Or do you stand between a father and his stolen son?"

Referee

Olwen bows deeply before the old steed: “Hail, pale tempest, oh mare of the King! It pains me to see you carry a fool. May you ride with the King into battle, wise Sivka, when your time finally comes.” She steps closer until Perilake's blade touches her armour. “Who are you, false Knight? A peasant? Then you may pass.” She presses against the blade with her body until it bends slightly and threatens to cut into her. “Or are you a vagabond in stolen armour ready to lash out? Make sure to cut out my tongue before you kill me or I will curse your blood for generations.“ The King's mare starts to prance back nervously. “Do you think Sivka will carry you for a moment longer if you spit on our traditions ... do you think the bridge will?”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"Your traditions? False knight?" Perilake laughs bitterly, then vaults off Sivka as she backs away. "The horse is the only creature here with honour, or more sense than a rabid dog." He spits on the ground before Olwen. "You are all mere puppets in a mummers farce. No matter how gilded your strings, you can only play your part. Let us be done with this." As he is about to bring Rzeznik up in to a fighting stance, the Fox Knight spurs his horse forward and steps between the two.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

“Hold your swords, noble Knights!” The clatter of his steed’s hooves on the time-worn flagstones echo sharply, even in the hushed embrace of the fallen snow. The Bridge stirs and listens, a looming presence, witness to the tense exchange between the knights. Milos briefly locks eyes with Perilake, urging restraint. Then he turns to the other. “Proud Olwen of the Bridge! You are quick to speak words of scorn to strangers but I wonder if your wit and discernment can withstand a true test? By the old roads and the ancient ways, I challenge you to the Duel of Three Truths - to speak with true depth about one another and this glorious world.” He gestures widely to the expansive landscape upon which they find themselves. “If I speak a truth you cannot answer, we all pass.” He cocks his head to one side sceptically. “That is, unless your long lonely vigil on this bridge has dulled your mind and coarsened your more elevated faculties? Perhaps you are not prepared for a true game of knightly mettle?” He flashes a bright smile as snow and wind whip the blood-speckled fur of his coat.

Referee

“What do you know of the King's roads, young squire, which were built under star light when the sun hadn't been born yet? What do you know of our ways?” She narrows her eyes and takes a step towards you. “You are the King's slave, human - I can smell your chains.” She thinks for a moment and then shouts: “I'd rather we crossed swords ...” Olwen motions towards the tower. “ … but if we need to joust with words I would prefer to talk in the comfort of my holding.” As you follow her over the bridge you hear the white ravens of the hunt croaking angrily behind you, unable to cross.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight looks over his shoulder at the ravens and smirks to himself. 

***

The Game of Three Truths

The spire of the tower shoots up and almost disappears into the mist. The make is peculiar, the stones on different levels of varying sizes, as if the tower had been stretched upwards at irregular intervals over the centuries. As the knights enter the great hall, a legion of marble soldiers stand vigil. They resemble the brothers much more closely than the Rusalki or the Heralds of Tizra, and the stonework is extremely precise, with individual wrinkles and calluses showing up. Their eyes have been "put out," and replaced with gleaming gems, glittering rubies and emeralds which seem to be lit from within.

The Knights follow Olwen up a winding staircase, into a large room with a simple fireplace. The walls are covered with heavy tapestries to keep the cold out. Woven with dark colours, all depict night scenes with black skies punctuated by golden stars, over snowy hills. Resting against the tapesties, are numerous weapons of all shape and kind, trophies from the Bridge Knight’s foes who could never cross the river. Olwen points to some faldstools to be brought before the fire.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos takes his seat across from Olwen, immediately in front of the fireplace. The others arrange themselves in a semi-circle around the duellists. “You know the tradition. Three times. We will each speak a truth to the other and then allow them to respond. If either of us falters, they lose the duel. These knights and this place will be our witnesses.“ As if in response, the stones of the Tower emanate a dense and watchful presence. Milos closes his eyes briefly in acknowledgment and upon opening, they are clear and lucid. “You have chosen the ground for our duel and so it falls to me to speak first.” The fire pops and crackles. The silhouette of the duellists starkly outlined against it.

“Olwen of the Bridge, you stand between shores because choosing one would cost you something.”

Drinking Sweet Tea

Referee

Olwen shifts slightly in her seat. A servant had helped her out of the armour and placed a samovar on a table nearby and now she is staring into the fireplace sipping her sweet tea. The wind outside had died down and you hear the low growl of the river grinding against the bridge. “You are young of years, Fox Knight, but you do have a keen eye … “she turns to you and gives a sardonic although not fully convincing smile, “ … that is unless you are dealing with the Fae who had tricked you … the King I serve but don't love.” She looks down at her cup. “Well it is the opposite for me and my Lord Coredis … who I love but cannot serve. I would lose my honour if I followed my heart and I would lose my soul if I followed my duty." She is silent for a while before adding. "A strike to the heart, I did not think a creature of such short years .... You speak the truth of me but you too have to answer truthfully: There is a shame in your heart you haven't revealed before, a shortcoming of heart or hand or character.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight leans back and scoffs. His eyes narrow sceptically in a squint. "Who of us is free of all shame? Such would be a flawed creature indeed and certainly no knight. I expected a more precise blow from such a venerable warrior, but instead only receive a clumsy lunge with a blunt weapon." He turns to ponder the fire for a moment and then raises a finger. " In the spirit of truth, I will acknowledge this much. I have indeed been tricked by your kind before and rue my youthful naivete. The lesson was hard-earned but I will not succumb to faerie subterfuges again." He sits forward again with a glint in his eye. "I offer you a second truth then: You speak as though humans are beneath you. Yet you dwell in their tower and remember its builders.”

Referee

She laughs brightly. “I let the horse carry me and the birds sing for my pleasure and yet am I not above them? Your words ring hollow.” She leans back and closes her eyes. “Your coat shows the tell of the Elf. The Kingdom has touched you more than you are willing to admit.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

"Again, so obvious!" Milos slumps in his chair in mock disappointment. He dismissively dusts off a nonexistent speck from his coat. "The Elf's hospitality was bargained for and we have paid the price in full." He manages to resist the urge to glance toward the Salt Knight, knowing that Olwen will leap upon any such tell. "I offer you a third and final truth: You let us enter here because you were curious whether one of us would remind you of someone.”

Referee

Olwen raises her eyebrows, feinting surprise. “YOU paid the price in full? - Or is it the one you adore?” She stands up, walks over to the hearth and grabs a fire fork. ”There lies a hidden truth worth revealing - in dreams … if you even remember them.” She smiles cruelly at the Salt Knight before turning back to the hearth speaking into the flames: “Human children learn so fast – they have to, for they burn quickly and oh so bright." She lowers her voice. "You worry about your quest, Fox Knight. You fear the Gilded Knight's son has already learned too much to return.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos winces and let's out a short breath. "Your kind know nothing of love, whether for a comrade or for a child. Whatever you think you feel for Coredis is a pale shadow of the human heart." Then even more quietly. "But you speak true that I fear for the child and for his father if we fail on our quest. This realm can corrupt even the most innocent. Even so I still hold out hope and that also burns true." He stands and faces her squarely. "The Three Truths have been told and the duel is complete."

                                                                                ***

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake places a hand on Milos shoulder and squeezes, nodding gratitude as the fox turns briefly. For Olwen, he has nothing, not even contempt. The path is open once more, and that is all he cares.

Referee

In the silence that follows only the roaring river can be heard and the crackling of the fire. “You haven't faltered, Fox Knight. I am bound by the laws of the King's Road to allow you passage over the bridge.” She has formally addressed all the Knights but now she turns back to Milos and her robes the colour of a sapphire aurora flow around her and darken. “But you are mistaken again, Fox Knight, the duel is not over. “ She steps closer and musters you without expression: “You may have the keen eyes of a Fae to spot weaknesses in others but you lack our cruelty and wit to follow through. You owe me a fourth truth and I will collect the debt at a time of my choosing.”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight broods before the fire, his arms crossed behind his back. When Olwen speaks of debt, he looks back at the Fox Knight with a sad expression.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight accedes to this with a short nod. “It is settled then.” Suddenly he gasps in pain and his hand comes up to cover his left eye. A trickle of blood seeps out between his fingers and disoriented, Milos leans unsteadily against his comrade Perilake. When the bloody hand is removed, the eye has been transformed. The green iris now shot through with flecks of ruby red. The eye weeps only tears of blood now and will remain changed until the day Olwen claims her fourth truth.

Referee

The servant escorts you outside and through the falling snow a figure with a wolf's head approaches from the east. ”You run, little foxes” Stribog snarls “ … but the Hunt is upon you”. Behind you the bridge knight raises her arm and answers. “Halt! On the order of the King, you may not pass!” Anastaz and Perilake help the Fox Knight onto his steed and lead him over the bridge. Milos, the way ahead is a blindingly white, shifting shape that hurts your eyes and at its end you see though watering eyes a sea of green and red and yellow and the others see lush hills and blooming meadows while Stribog and Olwen fight on the snow covered bridge. It is late afternoon and the sky is puffy clouds on dark azure silk and the mossy road leads into the slowly setting winter sun.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As the knights break into a gallop with their goal almost in sight, Milos senses the excitement and hope lifting all their spirits. He glances back over his shoulder at the Tower and his heart is gladdened that the duel, harrowing though it may have been, achieved just what he had hoped it would. He turns his gaze to the road ahead and revels in the new warm wind on his face.

The Lake blinks

Referee

You follow the road between forested hills where lies a lake and swans flutter and take flight in panic as the lake blinks and you know: What it sees, the Elf does as well. The last rays of the sun disappear behind the western mountains and you gallop between frozen craters, wounds of an old war and unwilling to melt. Finally standing on a last hill you see between trees a glimpse of the Halls of Desire, a hostile citadel of marble turrets, spiked walls and jagged battlements and above them towering trees forced to grow in twisted ways and forming towers. In the distance you spot a coach sitting on the road intricately carved and drawn by twelve horned wolves. Sivka snorts and shakes her mane: “I can't carry you further, Ser Perilake, the Elf might spare you - he wouldn't think twice to have me sacrificed. I will wait here for you with my sons.” In the distance you hear the barking of hounds.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"You have carried us far enough." Perilake dismounts, and bows to the horse. "You led the hunt astray from our path, and you gave us the means to outpace them." He turns his head towards the sound of the hounds. "Good luck. Do not let them catch you." He looks to his brothers, then begins walking towards the coach.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

The Dove Knight peers at the twisted shapes of the citadel. Despite its name, it seems to exude a sense of confinement and captivity. He turns to the Fox Knight, and comes back to that night at the campfire near Bohat. “Don’t ever feel shame for your curse or even your heart’s desire." He says, glancing at the Salt Knight, who’s studying the horizon attentively. “The path of knighthood is full of thorns and brambles, but you walk it more bravely than many ever did. I can only name one man more humble before sacrifice.” There is a tear hanging on Heldris’ eye, that shines with the reflection of the trees and the much missed spring that is blossoming all around them.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos looks up at the Dove Knight with gratitude and some relief. "Thank you, my friend. Olwen did not always strike true during our duel, but when she did, her sword cut deep. I knew upon entering the contest that my innermost preoccupations would be laid bare by the Fae, but our need seemed of greater import than my propriety. I confess to feeling exposed before you all, my august companions. And I pray I have not unsettled things between us." His eyes wander momentarily in the direction of the Salt Knight and then onto the harsh citadel he contemplates. "I know we enter where we must for our quest, but I have a presentiment that something much more terrible than the Bridge Knight awaits me within those walls."

Referee

You approach the palace and as you pass the coach you wonder if it might have been grown from a walnut and inside are red velvet seats and brass candelabra. Root-armoured guards appear holding torches and escorting you through the courtyard with red glowing flowers and a frozen tomb and into the keep. 

The Halls of Desire

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom XI

 Before dawn of the 11th day, the Chapel of the Hawk

Zoltan returns to the chapel with dry wood and rekindles the fire. The smell of the Rusalki provisions trouble Heldris and he can only manage to eat a handfull of roasted pine seeds and drink tea while Batu is slumped against a column, stroking Liška's fur. When you finally take leave outside of the chapel the world has disappeared behind a thick fog and you can't see much further than your outstretched arm but Batu embraces you one after the other and blesses you and promises that the hawk will guide you.

Shrouded in Fog

Referee

Leaning heavily on his cane the old hermit leads you through the fog to the mouth of a mountain path where he says his farewell. You follow Zoltan closely like blind men each touching the shoulders of the one before him. Whenever the Pigeon Knight is in doubt there is a piercing screech from the hawk to show him the way but the going is slow. At noon you reach a forest in the foothills and make camp in a steep ravine, and you barely see the canopy above you where the hawk rests on a branch. You sit around the fire shivering and shrouded in mist when you hear from afar the croaking of ravens, first inaudible and then close enough to understand their words.

With Whistle and Drums

Raven and Hound

Wherever it runs

The Prey will be found.

They haven't seen you yet but they are circling ever closer above you.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

As the ravens call, Anastaz quickly acts, extinguishing their fire with the Everflask. Then he beckons the other knights to follow close behind him as he looks around the sunken valley for a hiding spot. They move into a narrower part of the ravine and eventually discover a thin niche in the surrounding rock, just big enough to fit five.

Referee

You huddle together in the tight space while the terrible song goes on and on and you don't dare to move or even whisper but the songs grows ever louder and after some time you hear the barking of bloodhounds from the east, far away but getting closer.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake peers at the sky above, the cawing of the ravens circling above them through the mists. "They have us, somewhere above these clouds. Perhaps they see us despite this shroud, or perhaps they merely track the hawk. But they have alerted the hounds - we must flee."

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Heldris shivers at the thought of the devilish hunt. He looks up through the thick fog. “The hawk is doing its best to keep the raven off our trail, but the hounds are coming.” He nods to Perilake, “let's make haste.”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz urges the company on, following from behind with the Bow of Harvest. As they speed towards the mausoleum, the Salt Knight fires covering volleys from the bow, not attempting to kill the ravens so much as to scatter and slow them. The Company of the Black Wolf begins to breathe steadily as a pale hill comes into view, the bleached white of stacked bones reflecting the surrounding landscape.

Referee

As you get closer you see a low wall surrounding the bone hill and a bronze gate etched with leaves and berries that leads inside. Anastaz fires a salvo of arrows and the ravens scatter, croaking in anger. The moment you open the heavy door a horn sounds in the East, dissonant and much too close and you are gripped by a terror that you didn't know you could feel. Inside is a large hall, its walls lined with stacked skulls in grotesque patterns and you realize that this is not a tomb to honour the dead, it is a charnel house. As you close the gate you see between the closing wings half a dozen bloodhounds approaching, all teeth and lolling tongue.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake readies his spear, and looks to Anastasz. "Use the elf's bow, and slay these beasts. I am sure once they come under fire and the scent of their own blood fills the air, they will charge". He pushes the gate open and gestures to the low wall. "You fire from there, and i will use my spear to harry them on the other side as our brothers hold the bottleneck."

Referee

You feel your hands trembling on your weapons and the sound of the hunting horn still echoes in your soul as you step outside into the fog and the dim afternoon light falls into the hall of bones. You hear the hounds barking near the wall and it sounds like “Here! Here! They're here!” and the ravens answer “The prey is found!” but when the hawk swoops in, they croak and scatter.

The Bone Mausoleum

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz grimace as he raises the bow, looking into the fog from which the roars of dogs seems to echo, and fires.

Referee

The arrow whistles and disappears into the fog and you hear a sharp yelp followed by angry barks. Out of the fog three hounds emerge, eyes flashing and with one big leap they are between you snarling and biting.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake stands ready with the spear raised as the Salt Knight lets fly, eyes straining to make out the shapes in the mist. As a yelp pierces the air, he hurls the pointed tip at the sound, the weapon flying over the heads of the rushing hounds to land true. With a heavy thud, the yelp turns to a choked whimper. Then the rest of the pack is upon the low wall and the knights standing firm in the breach.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

One hound leaps toward Anastaz, and he grabs it by the throat and shifts his body weight, hurling it along to meet one of his comrade's blows.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As the hound comes sailing toward him through the air, Milos skewers it on the blade of his goldfalx

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

The second hound darts in, teeth bared as it lunges for the Salt Knight. But Zoltans blade flashes, sending the beast reeling in a spray of blood. The blade of Kranach flashes again, ending the beast.

Referee

The blood of the hounds is all the colour in the world and they are panting and whimpering as they slowly bleed out. From further away you hear the rest of the pack howling to mourn their lost brothers and sisters. As the last light of the day vanishes in the west the hawk lands on the roof of the bone hill.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

A pair of blood shot eyes jump over the Dove Knight, but they meet the end of his sword in a brush of red blood over the white snow. Heldris doesn't waste time and charges into the white fog, almost like a hound looking for more blood.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake hops down from the wall and pursues, Zoltan on his heels.

Referee

You run into the fog and the sound of your boots is muffled by snow and mist. The howling gets louder and turns into a low guttural growl as you approach the hounds, Zoltan and Perilake close behind you.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight runs off in another direction to put down the remaining hound.

Referee

You hear it whimpering nearby and find it pierced by an arrow, the spear has torn a hole in its hind legs. It bares its fangs and is ready to attack.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz swipes, and a heavy thud from the coral mace ends the creature's life.

Referee

The hounds snarl and snap at you and bite into padded arms and armoured limbs and you strike them and when you return to the charnel house you are covered in their blood.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Inside the ossuary, Milos has built a fire from the remaining wood. The flickering light plays eerily on the endless rows of skulls that line the vaulted ceiling. The mood is sombre among the knights as they clean their weapons and contemplate the inevitable approach of the Rusalki Hunt. The Fox Knight muses "I wonder if these are the bones of humans or elves? I'm not sure if I would be able to tell the difference. Whichever, we should honor their memory as we take refuge amongst them." He pulls some herbs from a pouch on his belt and sprinkles them into the fire. "Rosemary for remembrance and mugwort to open to any wisdom they might have for us." The offerings blaze brightly for a moment and fill the space with an aromatic smoke.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

As the pleasant scent of the burning herbs fill the air, Perilake takes a torch and studies their macabre surroundings more closely. No place of honour, it seems, but what?

Referee

You wander along the wall of bones and skulls in their baroque patterns until you reach the far end where you find a narrow stained glass window depicting a hunt of hares and foxes. You raise your torch and the glass reflects the dancing flame and you see that many hunters have grotesque animal masks and antlers and the leader rides a three legged horse and has the head of a wolf and their eyes are flashing. And while the riders appear bestial, the faces of foxes and hares show almost human expressions of anguish and terror.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"For all our efforts, we find ourselves at the end of the Hunt, my friends." He gestures to the walls around them. "These are poor souls who ran before us, and this is a shrine to the cruelty of our pursuers." Perilake laughs, low and without good cheer. "I daresay this would be the last place they expect to find us."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Legs crossed by the fire, Anastaz chimes in. "In any case, we've saved the victor the effort of burying their foe."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"This is an ill-fated place, this Thrice-Ninth Kingdom. The words in the chronicles... Once, people lived here, and ruled. Then they fell prey to the whisperings of these strange creatures, who are themselves victim of their own fierce natures." Perilake peers around the faces in the fire, and a faint smile intrudes upon the otherwise sombre scene. "Moreso than most, I suppose. The Elf and the King are beholden to the seasons, and this injured realm passes back and forth between them. The Rusalki are beasts, no matter their finery...all is seemingly madness and wild appetite." "And what..." He pauses, his voice lowering and all humour vanished. "What do they want of Avert? Is there a purpose here beyond mere cruel humour or petty vengeance?"

The Stained Glass Window

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

"At the feast of the Rusalki, one of the fae referred to a human child who might one day rule them. The Elf may want Avert to be his successor, though I cannot fathom why he would need one."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"His successor...." Perilake mutters, then spits, an action strikingly uncommon for the Gilded Knight. "He is nothing like this Coredis, nothing like these things. He is kind, like his mother."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos pokes sullenly at the fire with a stick."We are pawns to them, nor more than playthings and status symbols in their byzantine political machinations." He winces as if touching an old wound, then shakes his head. "I did notice that some of the Rusalki were less than pleased with Coredis' plan to crown Avert. The poor lad seems caught in a web of intrigue far greater than he can understand. And we cannot know how long the Elf has had to poison his spirit. Time passes differently here. We must pray we reach him while his mother's kind spirit still burns within him."

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Heldris nods thoughtfully. "We are as strange to them, as they are to us. And in all of their power, perhaps there is some feature of ours that they wished they had, which might be but an unnoticeable thing in our eyes. But you’re right Sir Milos, even if Avert is raised to power, he’s going to know nothing but misery in this realm. We need to find him and bring him back home."

Referee

You talk for a while longer about the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom, about Avert and how you plan to free him and you wonder what happened to old Sivka, and to Batu and Liška, and whether the Stone Hunter was successful … until one after the other the Knights fall asleep and at last only Milos is awake to stand guard over the living and the dead.

A Dream

Anastaz, in spring the meadow high in the mountains is in full bloom and the sky is golden. You lean against the warm stone, facing the setting sun. And although you are tired and your clothes are full of dust Bijlana and Marko are sitting next to you and you feel their unconditional love in your heart. And you turn to look at them and you see them hugging ...

... Adler and they are showing their filed teeth: “We need to cherish these moments, no? The sympathetic love of others. For we cannot give love, Salt Knight, neither you nor me … only death!”

And when you wake up your face is wet but you can't remember why.