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 |
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 |
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 |
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