Morning of the 6th
day, a cave
Mist rises over the
frozen lake when you leave the cave at dawn. The white mare leads you
down a winding mountain path and the world is hidden in the fog as
if it hasn't been fully formed yet. After some time there is a glow
in the mist and you pass an elder tree split by lightning and still
burning inside. From afar you hear music of a kind you haven't heard
before, the sound of harps and flutes and a swelling of inhuman
voices shrill and wild and although you don't understand the words
you feel a wicked celebration of past cruelties. Then you reach a
hill on a meadow with a wooden gate adorned with antlers and rich
carvings of leaves and berries. The music stops and the door opens
and Adler is waiting for you.
Sir Heldris the Dove
Knight
After a moment of
silence, the Dove Knight approaches the Fae: “Greetings Adler,”
He turns to his comrades with an hesitant look and back to the
Fae. “We have come to seek shelter and rest, and the means to
recover our spirits, as agreed between us on the day before
yesterday.”
Referee
Now that the gate is open, the entrance to the Brugh resembles a mouth and its throat is dark.
There is a heavy smell of Hyacinth and exotic spices wafting from the
halls beyond. Adler is showing their teeth again, their lips red from
wine: “Ah but we agreed to so much more, a feast for the body …
and the soul.” They gesture you to enter but remain at the
entrance. “Stribog is waiting for you.”
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
As Milos passes
Adler and crosses the threshold, he sings in a soft but clear voice:
By step and breath, we cross your line
As guests, not thieves,
by ancient sign.
What’s freely given, we receive,
And leave you
whole when we take our leave.
 |
| The Twilight of the Corridor |
Referee
You hear Sivka
whinnying worriedly behind you as you enter. Your eyes adjust to the
twilight of the corridor and you get a glimpse of the Rusalki in
their robes of unearthly colours lining the walls and eyeing you with
curiosity. They resemble the androgynous Adler only more visibly male
or female, with long black hair and blue slanted eyes. You feel warm
hands reaching out for you and lightly touching your faces and arms
and legs with their fingertips. After you have passed they follow you
into a great hall, smoke-filled from a roaring fire and a perfectly
round banquet table woven from roots and reeds and chairs of the same
make. On an antlered throne sits their master in a robe of ivory
rain. You are taken to your seats among Rusalki on both sides of you
and far away from each other. Stribog gestures Perilake to join him
at the front of the table.
Sir Anastaz, The
Salt Knight
As the Knights are
herded to their seats, Anastaz finds himself seated beside a
particularly lanky, almost spider-like Rusalki. The... man picks up a
cord from a strange-looking apparatus on the table, sucks on it for a
few seconds, and offers it to the Salt Knight, who waves it away. The
Rusalki exhales a cloud of fragrant blue smoke directly into
Anastaz's face, and smiles a wide rictus grin before returning to
another conversation.
Referee
Heldris, the Rusalki
next to you is served a platter from a human slave in gaudy clothes
and with candles in his hair. “Broth boiled liver from rare
songbirds, a delicacy reserved for special occasions” the Rusalki
purrs, her robes the colour of verdigris clouds. When the slave pours
wine into her goblet he spills a couple of drops and she slaps him
without much force but with a blinding speed. “Foolish creature”
she hisses and then she turns around to you smiling. She is young and
very beautiful and her skin is unblemished and almost translucent: “I
am Vesper. ” Behind her you see the slave scurrying away to bring
more wine. ”Few plump folk visit us willingly and even fewer return
to tell the tale. How do you like the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom?”
Perilake, a Rusalki
approaches Stribog and whispers something in his ears and then steps
back. She is older than the chief and her robes are woven from
shadows. “Your fame precedes you, Perilake. The knight who
sacrificed his golden armour, the father who travelled to Elfland,
the man who would do everything to save his son. And now you are
riding the King's famous mare." He leans forward. "What do
you say Gilded Knight: Trade me the mare and I retrieve your golden
armour for you from beyond the twilight.”
Milos, you hear the
murmurings around the table, Stribog and Perilake in conversation,
Anastaz sharing some kind of pipe with a spindly Fae with long spider-like fingers and the Rusalki on your left side turning away to face
Heldris, the one on the other side laughing at something and then
focussing his attention back to the delicacies on his plate. You are
isolated from your brothers and ignored by the Rusalki. There is
movement on the stage in the centre of the round table. The music is
about to start again.
Ser Perilake, The
Gilded Knight
"My armour...."
Perilake picks up a fine cup from the table, filigreed leaves of
gold and bronze, and studies his reflection in the shining metal for
a second. "In this land of twisted reflections, it would
indeed be a fine thing to wear my own skin, my own name." He
sets it down carefully on the table, and tosses his mane of
silvery-gold back with a dismissive smile. "But you know my
answer, I am sure. The armour is mine now, but it was a gift from
another. I do not accept such things lightly, and I do not spend them
or bargain them lightly. Much like the horse." His warmth
drains briefly, a glint of murderous fury beneath the rekindled charm
and courtly manners. "You know the only deal that would
truly tempt me. But you do not hold what I desire, do you?" He
takes a long drink of the sweet, rich wine, and his seeming of good
cheer is restored by the time the cup returns to the table.
"Still, we can make a bargain of sorts. You tell me of Sivka,
and her fame." He nods toward Anastasz. "And I will
tell you how Elves die."
 |
| Stribog briefly contemplating to strike down Ser Perilake for his insolence |
Sir Heldris the Dove
Knight
Heldris frowns at
Vesper’s rudeness toward the servant. “I found a harsh and
inhospitable land thus far,” he replies. “I would hope to
find less harshness in its inhabitants…” He observes the dish
in front of him, and although put off by its introduction, its smell
is soft and delicate. He tries a spoonful and his mouth is swarmed by
a complex taste, rich and spiced and elegant. He meets the servant’s
eye and, making sure to be seen by the Rusalki, he thanks them with a
kind bow of the head. "Tell me, Vesper, how come humans are
here in your service, displaced from their own world?"
Referee
She nods in agreement.
“Yes, it is harsh … in winter! But you should see it in spring
when the meadows bloom or in harvest, golden and decaying.” She
follows your gaze at the slave pouring wine for Sir Milos. “Some
are stolen from your Realm, some are saved from freezing." She
adds casually, "well ... the ones too weak to be hunted.“ She
points with her cup at a young human man on the stage, his eyes
closed and a flute at his lips. ”This one made a bargain. He came
here willingly to serve and to learn."
Perilake, Stribog looks
at you incredulously for a moment and then he laughs “I like your
boldness. Your kind is often too scared to be bold or too foolish to
be taken seriously and you are not scared ... but you will find us
difficult to kill.” He is as slender as Adler but even taller. He
leans back again and closes his eyes, swirling the wine with his
many-ringed hand. ”Aah Sivka ... wiser than most Rusalki witches,
braver than our warriors and as swift as a hunting hawk - she saved
the King more times than you can count on your fingers.” He opens
his eyes and licks his lips. “ … but there are old …
traditions. Rituals to bring in the new age that include sacrifices
of that which is holy and pure. What do you want in exchange for the
King's mare?”
Ser Perilake, The
Gilded Knight
"Surely your kind
is not so blind that the question even needs asking?" He
laughs. "Even the most scared or foolish peasant would know
the answer. Perhaps you do not even know what you are lacking."
Perilake's tone is light, seemingly amused. Even the implied
insult seems complimentary behind the smile. "My son, safe
and home with his mother. That is the only exchange I look for."
Referee
Stribog eyes glint and
he smiles coldly. “I am bound by traditions and my honour as your
Hospodar to protect you as long as you are a guest in my halls… but
I will not suffer the insolence of a fool.” He makes a sweeping
gesture at the assembled Rusalki and growls. “Sometimes my people
become restless, they yearn to indulge in the great hunt.” He looks
at you with narrowed eyes. “But … we are also a forgiving and
patient race when dealing with the slow travellers. I will deliberate
with my Lord and he will have to decide if your demands can be met.
But for now let's forget about politics and enjoy the Feast.” He
claps his hand and shouts. “Play us a measure!”
Anastaz, a beautiful
young Rusalki in a dress the colour of a glittering aurora grabs your
hands and tries to pull you up with surprising strength. “Would it
please you to tread a round, valiant Knight?”
Sir Anastaz, The
Salt Knight
Anastaz allows the
Fae to lead him with a grunt of agreement.
Referee
The music starts to
swell, the same unearthly sounds you heard before: a slow beating of
the drum and the glissando of the harp punctuated with shrill flute
whistles, and one after the other the Rusalki get up to form a
circle. A singer on the stage calls out and the dancing Fae answer
and their singing is wicked and inhuman. The Rusalki in her robes the
colour of verdigris clouds asks Heldris and the older woman dressed
in shadows who whispered to Stribog extends her hand to Perilake.
Only Milos remains seated for now.
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
As Milos eats the
lavish meal alone, he listens to the carefree laughter of the Rusalki
and an old wound deep in his heart is pricked by some cruel thorn. It
bleeds anew and a memory of childhood loneliness seeps out with it. A
red haired boy, neglected by all around him and left to grow wild,
yearning for a playmate and convinced that he must not deserve one.
The weight of it threatens to leave Milos vulnerable and in despair.
But he is suddenly woken from the reverie by a sharp chill emanating
from the ivory ring on his hand. The cold brings clarity to his mind
and he remembers himself, he is the Fox Knight and he dines in
dangerous company. Milos gleans the nature of the glamour being used
against him and rather than resist it, he leans into the magic and
amplifies it. If he is to be ignored, he will be so completely. The
Fox Knight slips silently from his chair and begins a hunt of his
own. He weaves the strands of the enchantment more tightly around
himself as he stalks the Rusalki themselves. “I am no one. I am
beneath notice” he tells himself as he circulates among the
merry makers. And his ears listen attentively to everything he hears,
every rustle of the leaves of discontent, every betrayal of true
intent in these naturally duplicitous creatures. Always ready to
pounce and devour whatever is carelessly left exposed to him.
Referee
The Rusalki dance
around you in their baroque circles, pairs holding hands and letting
go and being united again by inscrutable patterns, singing and
laughing and breathlessly whispering their secrets. You pick up
fragments of conversations, rumours of Stribog's pride and desire for
an elfin heirloom that might cement his legacy. You hear a name
whispered in fear: Perunja, the Weaver, who holds some power over him
and that once she has recovered fully she will become the chieftain -
of that they are all convinced and they all yearn for spring and
tasting the white mare's flesh.
Sir Anastaz, The
Salt Knight
As the dance
increases in speed, Anastaz realizes the agility necessary to
properly participate in the festivities. Locking hands with his
partner at one point, he asks. "You are quite adept at this,
stranger. For how long have you been a guest in Striborg's court?"
Referee
“I am not a guest”
she says breathlessly “I am born here” and smiles at you over her
shoulder as you are taken away from her by other dancers taking her
place and when you are united again she adds “Who would have
thought that I would one day dance with Elfbane, who slew the mighty
Season Destroyers and travelled to the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom to kill
the Elf.” She laughs, touching your face lightly and is whisked
away again. The next time your hands rejoin she asks “Will you
become the next Steward of Seasons … “ Her lips touch your ear as
she whispers” … and who will be your queen?”
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
Milos spies upon the
dancers with open interest, standing in plain sight but unnoticed.
The musicians play a sweet seductive melody in the Lydian mode,
redolent with dreams of long-awaited springtime pleasures. A
mischievous smile crosses the Fox Knight’s face as he regards the
imperious bearing of the Rusalki lords and ladies. He retrieves his
pennywhistle from his pocket, brings it to his lips, and closes his
eyes in concentration. At first, he plays delicate notes that weave
in an unassuming high counterpoint to the melody. The dance continues
unabated and not even the musicians notice the new voice. Then the
Fox subtly shifts his playing and the notes become akin to a frozen
wind whistling through a high mountain pass. The ivory ring glows
softly on his hand as he plays and gently illuminates his face with a
ghoulish white light. With clever half-holing and cross-fingering,
Milos creates a counter melody in the Locrian mode, dissonant and
disturbing, never finding rest or pleasant resolution. It evokes
images of a late frost cruelly nipping the tender buds of a naively
hopeful spring.
Ser Perilake, The
Gilded Knight
Perilake nods at the
Rusalki in her shadow-woven robes, and takes her hand, joining her on
the floor. The steps are strange and quick, but such things have
always come easily to Perilake. For the first time however, the
spring of his steps is not matched in his heart. He rotates through
the ball with a measured and precise alacrity, and only his brothers
would mark that there is none of the ebullient cheer that graced even
the most meager celebration in their youth. As he dances, he enquires
of his umbral opposite. "I see Stribog values your whispers
and words, my lady." They step around each other, and back
again. "Perhaps you can tell me the truth of those I have
heard, even from the very birds themselves." "Is it true
that Tizra has won the pleasure of his master once more?"
 |
| Vesper |
Sir Heldris the Dove
Knight
The Dove Knight
politely accepts the Rusalki’s hand, and joins her in the dance. As
her verdigris robes flutter nimbly, he struggles to follow her; his
iron arm hanging clumsily on her shoulder. “Tell me,” he
says, out of breath, “what can you tell me about the Winter
King? No love lost between them and your master, it seems.”
Referee
She looks at you
coldly. “We don't love. Love is for the plump folk … we Rusalki
desire and crave.” She passes under an arch of outstretched arms
and twirls and adds “The Voyvod of a wolf pack is challenged when
he is getting old, there is no love for him nor the challenger.”
The dance brings you very close together now and she quickly bites
your lip still staring at you without sympathy. “ I believe you too
enjoy to snap at your foes when they are weak, don't you?” A
trickle of blood runs down your chin.
Sir Anastaz, The
Salt Knight
The Salt Knight does
not seem to react to the ethereal lady's provocations. "It
would not be place to dominate your people. There is much still to do
in Barowia."
Referee
“You are too modest,
Salt Knight. Your cruelty is well known – and valued! - among men
and Rusalki both ... they say you even killed your lover, is it true?
Besides some of us wouldn't mind to be dominated by a human, better
you than the child who ...” but she doesn't finish her thoughts and
just smiles with filed teeth.
Milos, to your surprise
you realise that one of the musicians has picked up your frosty
melody and adds wintery patterns like rigid snowflakes to the Ceilidh
dance. When you look at the stage a young human man, playing the
flute, chirps a flourish like a quick icy gale that seems to warn and
greet you at the same time but he doesn't look up. His hair is long
and straight like a fall of dark brown water fashioned in the way of
the Rusalki. An angry shrill sound of several pipes from the other
flautists try to melt your frost with late spring Fohn and snow eater
winds and the young man falls in line with them.
Sir Anastaz, The
Salt Knight
Anastaz grimaces.
"It is a long story, and not suited for a celebration."
Referee
Perilake, the old
Rusalki moves more stiffly than her kind. Her eyes are milky blue by
age and for a moment it seems you are looking into Sivka's eyes but
without the humour. “Tizra is a fool and the Elf despises the
weak.” She curls her lips. “They say he has a new champion now, a
talented boy he teaches his craft: Your son, Gilded Knight.” The
room around you seems to darken and tendrils of shadows flicker
around you. “They say the boy is becoming more Fae every day, wild
and bloodthirsty, he killed a bird that refused to obey him.”
“Hurry my golden Knight” she hisses, “or it will be too late to
save him.” The shadows retreat and a young Rusalki has taken the
place of the old one. When you look around she stands next to Stribor
again whispering something in his ears.
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
Milos takes note of
the warning as well as the moment of fellowship. He lowers his
instrument and shutters his mischief for the moment. Then the Fox
slips away from the centre of the revelry and toward the dark warren
of tunnels that lead off of the great hall. He wonders what more he
might glean by stealth in this place.
Referee
You grab a candle off
the banquet table and follow a narrow, curving hall that is
stretching out of sight. After a while you pass under a low arch
inscribed with elfin runes and shadows move in the corner of your eye
and there is a stillness around you, the unbearable loneliness of
being cut off from the beating, breathing world outside. Then two
passageways cross and you feel a sense of vertigo like when you spin
around and around and suddenly stop and you are questioning which way
you came and there are no footprints in the dust of the large natural
stones of the floor.
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
The Fox Knight slows
to a stop at the juncture of the passageways, takes a breath, and
gathers his wits. A Fae labyrinth, then. Not a puzzle to be solved by
clever turns or careful marks, but an invitation to conversation, and
possibly revelation. He begins with a deep bow to the place that
holds him. “Well met. I walk without claim and take no path
that is not given. Lead me in this dance and I will follow.” Then
he closes his eyes and listens to the silence, feels into the
stillness. Which direction feels patient? Where does the air feel
like it is waiting for him? He senses deeply into the inscrutable
stirrings of his body, long attuned to the fancies of the Fae.
Referee
It is utterly silent.
Whatever glamour is placed upon the labyrinth silences the music from
the great hall and you only hear your own breathing. Nothing moves
and the air is cold and still. You feel the wax from the candle drip
onto your hand and you welcome the pain as the only anchor that
prevents you from losing yourself. The walls seem to despise you, the
ceiling wants to crush you and an unconquered fear from your past
seeps into your soul.
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
From within the
silence, Milos hears the unmistakable rasping cough that punctuated
his mother’s last days in this world. His heart constricts with
pain at a child’s memory of seemingly endless days at her deathbed.
Helplessness and despair threaten to overwhelm him. But from
somewhere else inside him arises his mother’s voice singing him a
time-worn lullaby. A sweet golden light warms his chest and melts the
grip of the terrible memory. As he regains his senses, the Fox
Knight's mouth tightens in anger at the unprovoked cruelty of the
assault and his green eyes harden with resolve. "If you do
not answer courtesy, then I will not offer it." He turns and
follows the passageway to the left. As he walks, he runs his left
hand along the wall, never breaking contact with it. And he sings the
ancient lullaby aloud, in open defiance of the malice emanating from
the labyrinth walls. Daring it to challenge him directly.
Sir Heldris the Dove
Knight
Suddenly, the Dove
Knight’s head starts to spin. At first, he thinks the fast paced
dance and the wine are getting to his head, but he soon notices a
strange feeling of loneliness and abandonment lurking underneath his
physical discomfort. “The Fox... trapped…” he mumbles an
excuse to Vesper, and moves away from the dance and toward the mouth
of a dark tunnel. “Sir Milos!” His voice echoes slowly,
unnaturally, throughout the eerie darkness.
 |
| A narrow, curving Hall |
Referee
You stumble through a
group of dancers who turn their heads as you pass, the taste of your
own blood on your lips and you call for your brother, the shrill
pipes and unearthly choir in your ears. The Rusalki start whispering
to each other.
Milos, over the sweet
lullaby you sing, you hear a faint calling of your name, stronger
than the glamour put upon you. You sense the alien nature of the
corridors around you, thousands of years of woven spells and cruelty
from deeper within the labyrinth. It might hold ancient wisdom and riches
but it won't give it away freely.
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
The Fox harkens to
the sound of his name drifting across the black void. He recognizes
the voice of his dear comrade and catches the familiar musky scent of
wolf on the air. His spirit warms in response to the call and turns
toward it, following the lingering scent and the soft echo like
Ariadne’s thread to guide him out of this forsaken place.
Somewhere along the
endless path of twisting turns, the candle burns its last and Milos
continues on through the darkness led only by the Dove Knight's call.
Then finally he sees his comrade at the end of a tunnel as if he is
looking down a deep well. The Fox quickens his pace and stumbles
through the carved archway into Heldris' arms. Holding him in a
fierce embrace, he says "You have again saved me when I was
most lost." Then he turns and spits at the base of the
archway and utters a curse: "You are corrupt and without
courtesy. May you never enjoy commerce with another being and rot in
your own malice forever." With an exhausted sigh, he leans on
his friend and looks out toward the continuing festivities.
"Come, I crave the warmth of your noble companionship, and
something strong to drink."
Referee
You return to the
banquet and taste the spiced wine and watch the dancers. In the
course of the night the music becomes stranger, the droning of bone
shaking horns resonates with the sound of pipes and drums and cries
of the Wild Fae. Ever wilder they dance, Stribog in their midst,
laughing and singing and sparks flying from his eyes, while the Lady of
Shadows watches silently from the throne. Ever higher they leap and
one after the other approaches and urges you to dance with them,
pleading and touching your hands and faces and whispering promises
they don't intend to keep and their eyes shine from pure bliss.
Ser Perilake, The
Gilded Knight
Perilake finds the
music and the dancing not to his tastes, though the food is fine
enough. But the true feast this evening has been intelligence. As the
festivities continue, he passes Zoltan, engaged in a tryst with two
Rusalki youths. He pauses a moment to observe, and judges that the
pigeon knights revelries are for their own sake, not some ploy by
these Rusalki. Perilake then makes his way to Sivkas stable. In the
dark quiet, he whispers what he has learned to the Winter Kings
Steed...
Sir Heldris the Dove
Knight
After the Fox Knight
reappears from the dark corridor, the Dove Knight feels too tired to
dance. He sits at the table with his comrade and observes the dancing
and the plotting that is going around the hall, sipping some sweet
fortified wine. After a while, he longs for some fresh air, and steps
outside to watch the strange firmament that shine over Elfland. A
longing for home replaces that of fresh air, and his thoughts go to
his dear Hedwig and young Annegrit, he wonders how well she fares in
the service of Lady Gundhilde.
Sir Anastaz, The
Salt Knight
As the festivities
wind down in the wee hours of the morning, the Salt Knight finds
himself before a roaring fire, recounting the tale of his duel with
the Iron Knight to a small group of Rusalki. The crowd seems evenly
divided between those disappointed at Anastaz's lack of open
bloodthirst and those - including his erstwhile dance partner -
delighted by the ironic turn of events and the fickle nature of fate.
Referee
The Brothers of the Black Fleece meet at the open hearth, Zoltan, Perilake, Heldris and
Anastaz and talk for a while and fall asleep one after the other
under wolf pelts.
It must be close to
dawn when the last dancers slip to the ground and only the sound of a
lone flute can be heard playing a simple shepherd's song that feels
like a cool breeze after the feverish night.
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
At first, Milos
stays close to Heldris in quiet conversation but when the Dove Knight
excuses himself to go out for some air, the Fox ventures out onto the
dance floor with a colorful series of Rusalki partners - male and
female, transitioning easily between leading to following. As the
night wears on, the Rusaliki seem less intent on intrigue and more
abandoned in their own merriment. As the first hint of dawn
approaches, Milos reclines satiated by the feast and the evening's
strange dances, complicated ballets of both body and mind. He listens
to the flautist's tune and feels relief in its simple humanity, so
unlike the baroque convolutions of the Fae. The Fox Knight clambers
delicately across the spent bodies of the Rusalki and makes his way
next to the lone flautist. He pulls out his pennywhistle again and
plays some delicate notes in a plaintive harmony high above the
shepherd's song. After the last note fades in the quiet hall, he
smiles warmly at the young man, in thanks for the musical fellowship
they have shared this night. Then with outstretched hand, offers
invitation to something more...
A dream
Sir Anastaz, the Salt
Knight, dreams his favourite memory of childhood
but when he wakes up
he can't remember what he dreamt
and he will never have that dream
again.
