Morning of the second day, an abandoned hut in the mountains
Referee
You all wake up before
dawn by a loud crack from above, a branch must have snapped and hit
the roof. In the night some of the shingles have been blown off. There
is a thrumming sound as gusts slam into the logs and a rushing of
wind through the canopy. The whole hut groans. When you step outside
for a moment you have to brace yourself against the winds that steal
your breath and make your face numb from the cold. It is still dark.
Sir Milos, Zoltan wakes up in your embrace and looks over his shoulder. His blue eyes muster you expressionless and then he gently removes your arm, gets up and pokes the fire.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz rises from
his slumber, blows into his hands, and rubs them together. "They
do not want us even to rest in their demesne."
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos sits up on his
elbows and looks at the ceiling. “Although it may appear that
way, not every power in this land means us harm, my friend. Sometimes
nature is simply wild and untameable. I can go out and check the roof
to make sure it is still secure above our heads for the night.“
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
The Dove Knight
wakes up as the strong gale is howling all around the ruined hut, his
serenity leaves with the wailing wind. As he sees the Fox Knight
checking the roof tiles shattered on the ground, he hands him a piece
of bread for breakfast. “Forget the ceiling,” he says,
“let’s get going.”
Referee
While you have your
breakfast Zoltan takes out his knife and carves a staff from a fallen
branch. His usually precise movements are sluggish as he hold the
knife awkwardly in his frostbitten fingers and Perilake is reminded
of the time when he carved his first bow. You leave the hut before
dawn and make your way down the mountain saddle back south while the
winds howl around you. Zoltan is leading you again, his body leaning
into the wind using his staff for balance. When you reach the valley again the clouds
have dispersed but you have to figh against powdery snow lashing
at you. You follow the mountain pass winding its way down and at a
turn you see a desolate landscape below you, black trees and frozen
ponds. Zoltan tries to move as closely to the rock side as possible
but more then once a gust threatens to blow him off the path. At
noon you reach the foot of the pass and take a short rest. Dark
clouds gather in the east. A storm is brewing. Over the distant
thunder you hear a blackbird hidden in a nearby shrub.
Ser Perilake, you understand the language of the bird. It sings: “Papa, Papa, The Elf taught me well.”
 |
| A hidden Blackbird |
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake lurches
towards the bush, but the blackbird quickly flies away. Within the
bushes, he finds a brooch, painted in Kranach's colours. A gift to
Lady Inga from Lady Zdenka, often pinned to the boy's chest. When
Perilake turns back to the others, on his face there is hope. "We
grow closer." He whispers. Zoltan recognises his aunt's
present, and clasps his hand around his former mentors. "As
does the storm." He nods to the swaying limbs of the black
trees. Perilake nods, and scans around the party. "We will
find shelter once more, and weather this ill breeze. And in the
morning, we will be closer still.
On the edge of frozen waters, between the black trees, the knights find a strange building unlike any they have ever seen. They first glimpsed it as they came down the mountain pass. A tall structure made with even, neat rows of bricks, and an opaque cupola rising above, made of some shining, smooth metal. Between thin pillars, finely carved wooden doors swing softly in the growing breeze, the motion smooth and quiet. The knights approach carefully and guarded, remembering the glittering trail that near led them astray. Quietly, Zoltan pushes forward the door and steps into the hall. As he does so the Fox steps swiftly past Perilake to watch over the Pigeon. All morning the young Milos has a look that one might call apprehensive whenever his glance falls on the scion of Kranach, though such looks vanish swiftly under the regard of other eyes. Within, they find the building empty. Not in ruin, or in disrepair, but abandoned by whatever strange inhabitants it once had. But whatever took place here, once, is stranger still. Chairs of metal and soft cushioning are arrayed in circular rows, gathered in audience around the empty heart of the great room. But above, twenty feet high, and twenty-seven in diameter, a most strange construction stands vertically before the vanished spectators. A grand mechanism of brass and silver and golden globes, affixed on circular rails in winding patterns. Faint light glimmers across their edges from the windows high above, a fortune in plain glass. Beyond these bizarre artefacts, the building is a work of art itself. Above, the dome is painted with luminous points of light, softly glowing pale suggestions of the stars themselves. And the walls of this circular building have their own artistry; faint suggestions of the landscape around, with the tall mountains to the west rising over the entrance doors in thin linework, and other features unfamiliar visible through the gloom.
Sir Milos, the Fox
Knight
Milos looks up in awe,
his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. “Is this a temple, a
church?” He points to the grand sculpture of metal above their
heads. “Is this an image of their god then?” Their footsteps ring
with strange echoes and the Fox Knight tilts his head with a smile of
delight. A pennywhistle appears in his hands, as if from nowhere, and
he blows some high notes that seem to seem to provoke an eerie
resonance from the metal sculpture. He laughs out loud.
Then a sharp
thunderclap shakes the building and reminds them of the looming
storm.
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
The Dove Knight
paces the domed hall in amazement, forgetful of the cold that’s
still biting his bones. Not even the great auditorium at Castle Barow
could equal such an astonishing place. When they finally settle in,
he kindles a fire around the metal chairs, with a bundle of sticks he
had carried with him from the day before. “We will need more,
I’m afraid." He says, to nobody in particular, as he
watches the reflection of the tender fire dancing on the brass and
silver globes of the strange artifact above. The wind sings an eerie
tune outside, sliding over the smooth metal dome, and seems to
accompany the silent music of the flames on the hanging spheres.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz nods.
"I'll be back soon." As he opens the wooden doors, the
wind outside becomes almost deafening, a screeching sound that sounds
almost like children laughing... or crying. Then, the doors close, as
the Salt Knight goes out into the storm.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos' brow furrows
a bit and he rises from his musical reverie. “We should avoid
venturing out alone in this realm. I will assist the Salt Knight.”
Referee
You step into the storm, raging winds and hail and snow. It seems as if the blizzard is
filled with the fury of the realm itself or its ruler. Leaning
forward you stumble towards the nearest trees, dead branches ripped
from trunks. As you start gathering wood you hear a bawl
over the howling of the storm and then a screaming wail. Dark shapes
prowl between the trees. They circle something white and majestic and
almost invisible against the fury of the elements ... if not for the
deep red wounds in its side: A dying white stag mercilessly attacked
by predators
From afar you hear the
thundering howl of anger.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos grabs his
comrade's shoulder and leans in close to his ear. “Anastaz! The
White Stag is the sacred emblem of the Winter King. If we intervene
to save it, we could find favor with a powerful ally against the
Spring Court, against the Elf!” And he looks up into his
friend's eyes with the question...
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz's eyes
alight. "Let's go," he yells, drawing his sword and
plunging into the storm.
Referee
You dash forward and
land between the stag and its attackers: half a dozen horned wolves
observing you with yellow eyes, exposing their dripping fangs. They
back away from their prey and start circling you. The White Stag,
lying in a pool of blood and covered in wounds, lifts his royal head
weakly and wails. Through the blizzard you see the wolves circling
around you as you stand back-to-back trying to face them. One after
the other feigns, pretending to pounce and then retreats quickly.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz waits for
what seems an eternity, then leaps forward just as the wolves
descend. He brings out his mace and his javelin in a wide arc, then
begins to spin as he disengages from Milos. He whirls around and
around, trying to keep the wolves at bay, stabbing and striking any
that get too close.
 |
| A Pack of Horned Wolves (just imagine the horns) |
Referee
All around you teeth
and snarls and growling. One of the wolves bites onto your dominant
arm, you hit him with the spinning attack but he doesn't let go,
another tears into your thigh and retreats with flesh in his muzzel,
blood spattering, the third is trying to duck under the attack but is
hurled into the darkness.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos jumps into the
midst of the three approaching wolves and swings his jagged blade at
their legs, drawing blood. He rolls and ducks as they attempt to fall
upon him, until the largest leaps up and comes down squarely on his
back. But as soon as the wolf touches Milos form, it evaporates into
smoke and the animal hits the hard ground awkwardly. The true Fox
Knight watches from a distance, then charges the confused beasts.
As he springs across
the snow, he calls to his Fae Lord: “Give me strength to
vanquish these foes and Winter will smile upon us both.”
Referee
You feel your legs
buckle under you and your body spasms. The roaring of the blizzard
fades away and with it the trees and the wolves. Snowflakes float
slowly all around you. A bell tolls. You hear a voice, mocking but
not unfriendly. “Ah, my servant summons me, how queer. I see you
haven't lost your appetite for bargains, Fox Knight.” “I
already own your body, what else will you give me? The one-armed
friend or the one you love?" The voice turns into a
seductive whisper: "Give one of them up, stay with me and you
will be my Prince!”
Referee
Ser Perilake, The Dove
Knight feeds the last branches to the meagre fire that fails to warm
the enormous hall and you turn Avert's brooch over in your numb
fingers. Zoltan is sleeping, curled up in his bedroll with a blanket
wrapped around his head. Suddenly Heldris falls over, gripped in a
spasm that envelops his whole body.
Sir Heldris, When you
come to, you are lying on the floor in front of the fire, your body
is twisting and contorting violently. An image flashes before your
eyes, Milos kneeling in the snow surrounded by wolves. The vision
disappears, the cramps start to fade and you are convinced that the
Fox Knight is in mortal danger.
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
Heldris comes to,
clutching his iron arm. He stares at Perilake, bewildered. “I
can't explain how, but I fear our friends may be in danger.” He
rises up unsteadily, and holds himself to the Gilded Knight for a
moment. “Let's haste, before it's too late.”
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
In the eerie quiet,
Milos cries out “You ask too much! Are you a Lord of the Fae or
a petty crossroads demon?” and somewhere Heldris hears his voice
and knows that his friend faces an inner threat as dire as the wolves
that encircle him.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
With a mace trapped
in one of the wolf's jaws, the Salt Knight feebly waves his javelin
around himself, drawing drops of blood as the wolves descend on him
in a great chorus of gnashing teeth. For the first time, Milos hears
the Salt Knight scream, a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound, as the
beasts rip and tear the knight's flesh. He kicks and punches at the
beasts but can hardly move as the direwolves close in around him and
prepare to feast.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
As Milos is released
from the Fae Lord's reverie, the scene around him coalesces abruptly
and the Fox Knight's charge toward the horned wolves resumes
midstride. As a blinding streak of white, he impales two wolves and
continues to waylay the others as they focus their attacks on the
Salt Knight. The scream of pain kindles a frenzy of anger in Milos'
heart as he drops his buckler and draws his hidden blade to attack
anew.
Referee
Ser Perilake, Zoltan is
awake in an instant and wriggles out of his bedroll. From the door
you stare into the blizzard but you can't see your comrades - only
the vague shapes of nearby trees. The next moment the Pidgeon Knight
stands behind you, Zuraw in hand. He mumbles something inaudible and
follows you without hesitation into the storm.
Sir Milos, the wolves retreat again into the white chaos. The Salt Knight is hunched over gripping his mace as he leans his entire weight onto it to keep him from collapsing. He is bleeding from many wounds. Over the roaring winds you barely hear the whimpers of the two dying wolves lying on the ground and the grunts of pain from the White Stag. Hail and snow whip your face as you turn around with your blades at the ready, waiting for the Horned Wolves to pounce again. Then out of the blizzard a figure approaches rapidly.
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
Perilake and Zoltan
watch the Dove Knight run blindly into the deafening blizzard, as a
hound after an invisible trail. They follow, and eventually spot two
figures in armour standing in the red snow. The dead bodies of huge
white wolves lie on the ground, and four more seem to be retreating
into the howling storm. Heldris rushes toward Milos and Anastaz,
"Are you all right my friends?" He positions himself
between them and the four wolves, as the feathered wings of his
armour spread out to shelter his comrades and scare the beasts away.
"I feared we were too late..."
 |
| The White Stag |
"Heldris, thank
the seers you have come. Anastaz has been hurt. We must protect him."
The fear in his voice is evident but his eyes have a stony
resolve. He stoops to grab his buckler from the snow and peers out
toward the trees. "The beasts will return I have no doubt.
This fight is not over."
Referee
When Perilake and
Zoltan finally catch up with Heldris they see him standing over the
wounded Salt Knight, his wings fluttering wildly in the wind while
Milos is pacing back and forth trying to catch a glimpse of the
wolves through the swirling snow.
Anastaz, you are bleeding from numerous wounds and now that the tension of the battle is fading so is your strength. Hot pain is pulsating where the teeth have cut you and still a terrible chill seeps into your bones.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos returns from
his survey of the nearby area. "They appear to be gone for
now. We should bring Anastaz back to the domed temple and tend to his
wounds." Then he looks over his shoulder at the white stag.
"Give me one moment first. " Milos approaches the white
stag slowly, with reverence, He squats down near its head, listens to
its rasping breath, and looks deeply into the dying light in its
eyes. A prayer leaves his lips silently, "Great King of the
Winter forest, what can be done to honor your passing?
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz stumbles and
nearly falls towards the other knights to support him. After a
moment, and in obvious pain, he manages to stand upright. "I
didn't gather any..." he grimaces, "wood."
Referee
Sir Milos, you kneel at
the dying animal's side and the winds seem to die down and a strange
calmness comes over you. You hear the voices of your brothers calling
you as if from afar and the rattling breath of the stag fills you
ears while his eyes draw you in. “Stay with me” they say as
clearly as if it had been spoken aloud “and gift me your Rowan
seeds when I'm gone. A King dies slowly and never stays dead for
long.”
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos turns and
looks up at Anastaz. He grimaces at the sight of his many wounds.
"I must stay here at vigil a while longer and finish what we
started. Go back with the others and please do not die. I will see
you soon.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz looks at
Milos, almost seeming delirious. Through the wind, his raised voice
can hardly be made out. "You fought well. We will live to
fight another day."
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Tears well up in his
eyes as Milos watches the Salt Knight lumber away in such obvious
pain. He fights the impulse to run after him but instead looks to
Perilake and gestures with his chin that they should go. A tear falls
from his pale cheek and freezes on its way down to the snowy ground.
Then he sees the Dove Knight regarding him with arms crossed and a
frown upon his face. "I know, it is foolhardy to remain here
alone. Will you keep watch with me then, Sir Heldris?"
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
Heldris nods, the
tireless wind bending his armour's wings around him like a feathered
shroud. “I'll stand guard with you, sir Milos.”
Referee
Perilake lends his
strong shoulder to the exhausted Salt Knight and guides him
back to the tower. After a few steps they disappear into darkness and
snow. Heldris stands guard while Milos kneels beside the stag. Time
passes and although the storm seems to lose its might it is very cold
and your fingers and toes become numb. From afar you hear the howling
of wolves. Large snowflakes are falling on the bloodied ground, white
on red, and the rattled breathing of the stag slows down until at
last it breathes no more.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Only occasionally
leaning on the Gilded Knight for support, Anastaz makes it back into
the orrery. When Perilake removes his blood-soaked garments, the
other knight sees a constellation of scars, including a 20-year old
jousting wound that runs from the Salt Knight's armpit to just below
his navel. His newest injury is a bloody mess where a piece of his
side had been ripped out. Though unsightly and pouring blood, the
wound is shallow enough it should not have any permanent effect. The
Salt Knight, mostly lucid, helps his companion tend to his own
injuries and stanch the flow. Within the hour, the Salt Knight is
curled up in a corner of the planetarium and able to claim such
much-needed rest.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
The Fox’s head
rests gently on the stag’s breast, feeling the warmth beneath the
white fur, even as the beat of the great heart slows to an eventual
stop. Then an immense stillness descends upon the glade and upon the
young knight’s spirit. It is the black emptiness underneath all the
white, the deepest source from which all emerges and to which all
returns. Milos opens his eyes and stands stiffly. Snow falls from his
shoulders as he shakes himself. In the aftermath of the storm, the
vault of the night sky is clear and filled with unfamiliar stars. He
digs a hand into his pocket and draws out a handful of bright red
rowan berries. As he scatters them on the snow around the stag, he
speaks into the intimate silence “Rest at last great King.
Until you rise again.” The Dove Knight waits patiently, his
wings a welcome refuge for the weary Fox. They slowly walk from the
glade together. As they make their way through the soft landscape of
white, Milos stammers “Anastaz. He almost died. I was
terrified.”
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
As they walk, the
Dove Knight’s wings still cover him like a cloak against the cold.
Slowly, one wing spreads and closes over the Fox Knight’s
shoulders. “I felt it as well, somehow.” He answers. “I
cannot explain, but it was as if I was there with you, but helpless.”
In the bitter cold, he finds a comforting smile. “You helped
me that night in Bohat, and something lingered, some kind of bond…”
he sighs, “I'm glad for it. I only hoped I could have understood it
sooner, and acted quickly.” As the two knights reach the towering
domed building, the sky clears and strange constellations appear over
a dark backdrop.
 |
| Strange Constellations |
Ser Perilake, The
Gilded Knight
The Gilded Knight is
long familiar with the scars of the salt knight. Anastasz may still
be the greatest sword in the realm, as the stories tell, but all
victories on the battlefield are paid for in flesh and blood.
Thankfully, the balance of where the greater debt falls still remains
in their favour. Leaving his friend to rest, Perilake takes his own
place within the strange building, staring up at the glowing stars.
What makes them glow, he wonders, as his mind drifts off into a
darkness of its own.
A Dream
"Sir Perilake."
He hears Inga's voice over the noise of the waterfall. In the
woods, near Kranach. When they were here, it was spring, their first
together, before the journey to her family seat in Svenrik. But now
it is some strange season; the trees and grasses are in bloom, the
air rich with the scent of nature alive and fresh. But covered with
the kiss of frost, and cold to his touch but seemingly pleasant.
"My golden one, where are you?" Inga's voice calls
again, and he rises from the waters where he is bathing. In the
distance, he hears the soft whinny of the horses, the noise of his
squire leading the steeds away. She is waiting for him in the grove,
and Zoltan will be some time. He threads his way through the
branches, his skin warm even as it treads across white-tipped blades.
There, she waits for him. His light, his lady of Svenrik, her smooth
skin goosefleshed and her bright eyes clearer and more blue than the
sky... The Dream is not as it was, but it is a reminder of warmth and
home, and hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment