The first night, somewhere in the mountains
Snowflakes dance around the campfire and beyond there is only darkness. An icy wind pierces through to your bones and wicked gusts fan the flames that burn quickly through the last logs. A few almost geometric marigold flowers break through the snow blanket around the rocks, blooming out of season and with an unplausibly bright red.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
As Milos looks out
across the frozen expanse, his heart is heavy in his chest. This
realm does not welcome them and he knows the way before them will be
a punishing one. The tiny fire sputters feebly in the cold wind and
he lets out a sigh as he coaxes it with a stick. We will need shelter
in the coming days if we are to survive this gauntlet. But who here
would help us? Then unbidden, a memory breaks like a gentle wave over
his mind. He is walking in a thick orchard of plum trees in full
blossom, tiny white blooms dance on the warm breeze of a perpetual
summer’s twilight. An arm is draped over his shoulder, and a soft
voice murmurs in his ear, speaking of hidden things, secrets things,
just for him. Milos struggles to make the words out, but then the
vision slips away, as suddenly as it appeared. He swears under his
breath and rises up from the hard unyielding scrabble of the cave.
Perilake mutters in a fitful sleep and Milos’ heart breaks a little
more to see the Gilded Knight so diminished. Placing a gentle hand on
his shoulder, he rouses him to the next watch.
 |
| A Rock Overhang |
Heldris bundles up
in his bedroll, trying to keep the cold away. He falls asleep in a
matter of minutes, as he watches sir Milos tend the fire—but it’s
a night of restless dreams: Biljana’s warped face under the silver
moon in Bohat; the blind bard at the brook dancing hand in hand with
the questing knight, their heads dangling loose, blood stains on
their necks and clothes; a disembodied slithery voice, creeping out
of the darkness of Elfland, echoing into his ears, craving for his
soul… He is suddenly awakened by Perilake’s hand on his shoulder.
The Gilded Knight mumbles a few words about the fire, which is
struggling to survive the restless wind, and is eating piece after
piece of a scrawny log. The Dove Knight casts another twisted log
into the fire and starts his watch. All around, the darkness seems to
crawl around the dancing shadows, seeping into every nook and cranny
between the fickle light of the fire. He shivers and moves closer to
the flame. But no matter how close he gets, he cannot shake the cold
out of his bones, or out of his mind. The red marigolds lie in the
darkness like open wounds. Heldris casts away these heavy thoughts,
and spends the time revising their provisions or trying to recall the
tales and songs of this mysterious land, in the hope of finding some
clue or helpful notion. When it’s time, he wakes Anastaz up and
mumbles a few words about the struggling fire, before crawling back
into this bedroll.
Sir Anastaz, The
Salt Knight
It is not difficult
to rouse the Salt Knight. In fact, he hardly slept at all. He feeds
the fire log after log, and stares into the flames meditatively. As
the first tendrils of dawn probe into their camp, Anastaz creeps to
the edge of the overhang and looks out on the other world.
Referee
You rise stiffly from
the dying embers of the campfire and approach the edge of the
plateau. Mountains all around you. Clouds hang low like dark blue
linen over the rock massif. The winds have settled down but the air
burns cold in your lungs and you can see your breath. Before you lies
a sharp mountain ridge that disappears into the twilight of dawn. A
steep path wounds east around the rock and a treacherous scree slope
covered in fresh snow leads down to the west. Behind you is a chimney
between two rock walls covered in ice to the summit. From there you
will have a better view of the surrounding area but the walls glisten
dangerously.
 |
| A sky like blue linen |
Sir Milos, Zoltan
shakes you awake. His lips are blue and his teeth are shattering. He
mumbles something that you can't understand and then he crouches next
to the cold fireplace poking the ash with a stick.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
As morning breaks,
Milos stands by the last embers of the fire as the companions gather.
“My friends, we move
in a different world now. If we fling ourselves against its sharp
edges, we will not survive. We need to speak to it in its own
language.”
He kicks at the
embers and his brow furrows.
"Warmth is not
made here. It is given—offered and noticed. Fire alone may fail or
burn strangely. Instead, warmth must be exchanged from the heart."
He raises his face
to the ominous clouds and seems to address them.
“We seek not to defy
you. Only to pass through you. Take from us what is small, and leave
us what is needed.”
Then he puts one arm
around Zoltan’s shivering shoulders and with the other hand pulls a
tattered red ribbon from his pocket.
“I offer a memory of
warmth. A young girl reunited with her mother, laughing in the
sunshine. The simple joy of homecoming in an uncertain world.”
And the ribbon blows
from his open hand to be lost in the wide expanse of white below
them. Milos hugs the Pigeon Knight close to him as he looks out at
his other comrades with glistening eyes.
Referee
It seems as if the sky
is a single unblinking dark blue eye that looks down at you and yet
its vastness is overwhelming and if it had listened it seemed unmoved
- but Zoltan stirs in appreciation of your embrace as your share your
warmth with him. Or has the ribbon warmed his heart?
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
Heldris watches the red
ribbon being lifted into the air. The wind carries it away toward a
pale rising sun, in the east. He holds tight a piece of fabric hidden
between the folds of his clothes, of the colours of Karpat, and his
heart feels warmer. “Your words warm more than this feeble fire
will ever do, Sir Milos,” says the Dove Knight. “Let’s follow
the path, and see whither it leads us.”
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
A shiver passes
through Anastaz. "Then let's get going. Shelter is our
direst concern."
Referee
Zoltan turns his head
and forces himself to smile, his face still stiff from the cold :
”Thank you, Fox Knight” he croaks and starts collecting his
things. As before he takes the lead following the path East. His slow
and steady step reveals the experienced wanderer. The pale disc of
the sun rises behind the thick panel of clouds turning the sky pink
in the east before fading into grey. Still even the ghost of the
sun's warmth on your face feels like an unexpected blessing.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Although none can
say exactly when it occurred, the Fox's coat has changed its season.
As Milos makes his way across the snowy meadow, his auburn hair now
appears bright white, his brown eyes nearly coal black, and his ruddy
complexion has become pale and ethereal. The footsteps he leaves in
the snow look to be a natural part of the wintry landscape, akin to
those of a native creature.
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Few in the realm of
Barowia would recognise the famed Sir Perilake as he follows this
strange path in this strange land. Wearing the tattered and dull
armour of the mad Seeker, his tall and proud stride now a grim and
determined march, there is none of the glitter and glamour of the
shining knight known across the land. The warm smile and easy manner
is but a story for a better time. But the strange light of the Thrice
Ninth Kingdom glimmers upon some aspects familiar to those who know
Perilake best. The armour of his namesake is gone, but the cloud of
depression and hopelessness of these last few weeks is gone too. Amid
the grey mists and steep snowbanks, Perilake's brothers see his smile
once more. Its warmth even more of a ghost than that of the pale sun,
but holding the cold strength and beauty of crafted metal. "We
are here, in the land of the Elf and his accursed Herald. We have
achieved the impossible already." He breathes in a deep,
shuddering breath of icy, and exhales slowly as he nods at the Fox
Knight's words. "We will do yet more impossible things,
together."
Referee
At noon you reach a
snowy meadow between cliff walls, so high up the mountains that it is
filled with clouds. You hear birdsong from a lone whitebark tree up in the
cliffs, a melody of profound longing that urges you to stay and
listen. Through the thick mist you see a trail before you, glittering
dust on the snow.
 |
| Noon of the first day |
As the lonesome
birdsong reaches his ear, the Dove Knight’s stops and listens. A
wistfulness for home fills his heart. “This reminds me of a
sorrowful lay from home, about two young courtiers and their
forbidden love.” He turns hurriedly to Perilake, but to his
surprise he’s met with a confident smile that warms his heart. He
crouches to inspect the glittering dust on the path. If he has
noticed the Fox Knight’s new coat, he doesn’t show, but he nods
reassuringly to him before turning his attention to the ground.
Referee
You crouch down to get
a better look at the magic trail but upon closer inspection the motes
of dust seem to possess a treacherous edge, tiny flames ready to
ignite.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
"In our realm,
such an artifice would be used to light the way or defend some place
of significance, but the ways of the fae are inscrutable."
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos steps forward
to the threshold of the glittering path. He bows and asks out loud to
the wind and the snow: “Keepers of this place, as strangers in
this land, may we walk this bright path before us with no claim or
trespass? And if a price is due, then name it for us.” Then he
scans the meadow with narrowed eyes, pauses for a moment, cocks his
head to one side listening, and finally closes his eyes to feel how
his body is responding in the wake of the request.
Referee
It is eerily silent
except for the longing song of the bird dampened by the clouds around
you. You are almost convinced it sings in a language you once spoke
but have forgotten since and the moment passes and only the yearning
remains. The mountains seem to lean over the clouded meadow, mildly
curious like a cat regarding a dead mouse. As you close your eyes you
feel a malicious presence on the trail that is neither bird nor cloud
nor mountain. A boggart or sprite maybe, ready to play tricks on you.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
The Fox Knight sighs
and steps back from the threshold of the glittering path.
“There is only ill
will for us down this path. We must find another way.”
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake's hand
grips his sword, and he gazes around the valley. "Then we
will avoid the path, and seek out the closest shelter we can. Then we
will be able to search for a path through on the morrow, for another
night in this cold and our fires may be extinguished. I will not have
them fade before they burn a path home for Avert." The
knights search the meadow for shelter or a dwelling secreted
somewhere in this valley, carefully avoiding the glittering trail -
and who or whatever laid such a tempting snare.
Referee
You discover a mountain
pass to the East that leads down below the clouds but it is narrow
and exposed to the elements. You find a frozen waterfall to the south
beautiful and cold and in the North a mountain saddle. As you climb
higher you see tall fir trees and between them the ruins of a handful
of huts, burnt and desolate but the ground is snowless and covered in
brown needles. One of the houses still has a roof and a brick built
fireplace with ancient ash. The sun has vanished behind the mountains
and you are cold and tired. You hear faint animal noises in the
distance that Sir Milos recognizes as the barking of a fox
 |
| A Valley filled with Clouds |
Anastaz sets to
preparing a fire, and he can shortly be seen kindling a small fire in
the decrepit hearth. His fingers clumsily assemble the tinder, and
when he lights the fire, it catches in a sudden conflagration, like
flash paper going up. As he feeds the flames, a single thick tendril
of smoke rises from the chimney to probe the surrounding countryside.
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake paces
through the huts, sifting the wreckage and retrieving whatever lumber
or stone may be of use. Behind him Zoltan surveys the woods and
lands, before pondering the ruins. "There were people here,
of a kind."
Referee
You feel the draft from
a corner where some of the stones are broken and moss is growing. You
find old rusted tools, shears and brushes and under the rotten top of
a table the carved toy of a sheep. Slowly the room is filling with
warmth and for the first time since you arrived in the Kingdom of
Winter you don't see your own breath.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
The Pigeon Knight
shivers as he sits in front of the hearth. Milos sits behind him and
wraps his arms around his shoulders. He looks at the other knights
with a concerned expression. “The fire will warm our bodies but
who will offer us a memory of home to warm our hearts in this
unyielding realm?”
Referee
Zoltan holds out his
hands to the fire. You can see frostbites on his fingers. He flinches
when you mention home and he stays silent.
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake quietly
takes the carved sheep, and considers it as he sits by the fire. He
remembers Inga's mementos from Svenrik, that became their son's
favourite toy. He holds it close, feeling the eyes of the others on
him. "Many years ago, I travelled to Kranach for the first
time." Zoltan shifts in his seat, his shivers interrupted by
a small but sudden tension at the name of the home he forswore, of
the lineage and loyalties that once felt like a crushing weight
around the boy's shoulders. But as Perilake tells the story of their
time together there; of the warmth of the people, of the time spent
with the Lady of Svenrik in the woods, the tension calms, and a faint
smile can be seen. A similar smile plays across Perilake's face; for
a moment, his eyes seem to bear the brightness he wore in those early
days. Or perhaps it is merely the reflection of the flickering fire.
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
Perilake's tale
warms Heldris’ heart and shakes off some of the weariness from the
long day of perilous travel. He stands up to stir the fire and add
more wood, as he comes back to the memories of his first winter at
Karpat. He smiles, but decides to keep that thought for another day,
as the warm memories of home will be a rare and treasured good as
they march deeper into the land of the Elf.
 |
| A Shelter from the Elements |
A Dream
Milos is clambering
across a gray rocky landscape high up the side of a mountain. Clouds
hug the crags in a dense mist and dark shapes seem to loom within
them. He knows he is searching for something but can’t remember
what. There is an oppressive urgency. That time is running out. The
sharp rocks cut his hands and drops of his blood fall upon the snow.
Someone is watching him. He stumbles, falls prone, and sees on the
ground before his face, the carcass of a pigeon frozen in a small
patch of snow. Mocking laughter seeps from the clouds around him and
he despairs.
With a start, he awakens. Zoltan mutters feebly in his
sleep and Milos wraps his arms around him more tightly.
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