"Beauty Like A Tightened Bow" (a scenario set in Legend)

The characters are staying at the castle of Baron Albemarle. They needn’t necessarily be honoured guests; they might just be passing through, eating on the lower tables while Albemarle wines and dines some more exalted travellers. All that matters is that there is some visitor here whom Lord Albemarle wants to impress.

Albemarle’s court wizard is Olaudah, a Mungodan who typically dresses in feathers, war-paint and animal skull necklaces despite being a scholar raised the palace of his father, a prince of the Desert of Songs. Olaudah is considerably more cultured than most of the Elleslandic lords and knights around him, but he recognizes the degree to which strangeness can affright a foe, so hides his aristocratic refinement and instead plays the part of a ‘savage’.

After the meal, with night drawing in, the baron calls for Olaudah to read his guests’ palms, which he duly does, issuing them cryptic predictions in the form of riddles. Feeling that the guests are insufficiently impressed by his having a Mungodan sorcerer at his beck and call, Lord Albemarle then insists that Olaudah perform a trick he’s seen him do before, making two ancient servants imagine themselves to be young again. That’s easily achieved by hypnosis, the guests laugh at the old pair’s deluded antics, and Olaudah is hoping he can return to an alchemical experiment he has had to leave at a critical point.

No such luck. One of the visiting knights tosses an apple core into the hearth, belching to show he’s unimpressed. ‘I saw a wizard in Cantorbridge who made rain fall from the ceiling,’ he says to Albemarle.

(If one of the player-characters chooses to be obnoxious, so much the better. It will be more effective if this lesson in manners is not precipitated by an NPC. But don't force it. If your PCs are all well-mannered, the arrogant visiting knight will do.)

Olaudah gives them a self-deprecating smile. ‘My lords, the roofers of Cantorbridge are notorious for their shoddy workmanship.’

‘Oh well,’ says the arrogant knight, ‘there are true wizards and then there are mere conjurers.’

Olaudah’s eyes flash at that, though he retains his bland smile. Lord Albemarle, though, takes it as a personal challenge. ‘My man can do anything those Cantorbridge wizards can. Name anything. Come on, any miracle you like.’

One of the knights sits forward with a leer. ‘Let us see that peerless maid of Argos, whom all the world admires.’

Another nods. ‘The angry Emphidians pursued with ten years' war the rape of such a queen, whose beauty passes all comparison.’

‘Elena of Ilion, she is the one we speak of,’ says the arrogant knight who first spoke. ‘Have your… witchdoctor show us her face and form.’

Olaudah bends to whisper in Albemarle’s ear. The baron scowls, nodding grudgingly. He gives an irritated gesture to indicate that Olaudah should tell the guests what he’s just told him.

‘My lords,’ says Olaudah, ‘I could conjure the Princess Elena here, and you would see her beauty with your own eyes, but that the Church forbids necromancy.’

‘Oh,’ says the arrogant knight, leaning back in his chair with a disdainful grin. ‘Necromancy, I see. Of course. Otherwise you’d do it, obviously.’

Nettled, Olaudah snaps back: ‘I can do better than summon up the shade of a mortal beauty. What of the pagan goddesses? Not one, nor two, but three. Their heavenly beauty is as terrible as the sun at noon.’ He looks around, raising his voice. ‘If anyone is afraid to behold the faces of the comeliest of the immortals, leave the hall now.’

Lord Albemarle leans forward and takes his wizard’s arm. (No one else hears what passes between them, unless the characters use magic to eavesdrop.) ‘Is this wise?’ he whispers in Olaudah’s ear.

‘My lord, it will be but an illusion,’ Olaudah assures him under his breath. ‘But it will be vivid enough to quail the hearts and still the tongues of these yapping dogs.’

Olaudah makes the conjuration more dramatic with a deep, droning chant, a series of flamboyant gestures and lithely executed dance steps, and ends by throwing powder onto a burning brazier to release clouds of pungent yellow smoke.

Silence in the hall. After a moment the arrogant knight speaks up, though his voice sounds less assured now: ‘Is that it? I don’t see – ’

Three tall female figures, covered from head to foot in robes, are present. It seems as though they have been standing here all along, though no one had noticed them until now. Even concealed by the veils, their face and form are enough to excite both desire and fear in all the men. The goddesses glide forward gracefully, silk robes hinting at magnificent physiques, and speak in unison with voices that inspire both admiration and awe:

‘There can be only one to wear beauty’s crown. We three wait to hear the mortal’s verdict. Who will say which of us is fairest? Come to us and render judgement. We await you.’

In the same manner as their arrival, it is now clear the three are no longer here. All around the hall there are looks of ‘wild surmise’. The arrogant knight is shaken, but dissembles with loud derision: ‘Goddesses? Three wenches wrapped up head to toe like sacks of flour – not much of a trick, is it? One brat on another’s shoulders, throw a sheet over them, anyone could do…’

His voice trails off as he notices what everyone else has seen. The far wall is now open to the sky – and outside is no longer the gathering darkness but the bright light of day.

They file out, awestruck, to discover that though inside the room still seems to be the great hall of the castle, outside it’s a ship with lowered gangplank. The ship is moored at a rocky island that rises steeply from the jetty to a high peak where a temple of gleaming white stone can be seen. While the rest of the island consists of dry scrub and a few dusty trees sweltering under a merciless sun, the temple enjoys sparkling water from a spring and is surrounded by lush green foliage. All around the island, an ocean the colour of brass stretches to the horizon.

‘The sun,’ says one of the guests after a while. ‘It’s not moving!’ And indeed he is right. The sun is fixed here at the moment of noon.

They are approached by a youthful-seeming pair: Phalaena, a green-eyed dryad with hair that resembles lush reeds, and a capering satyr called Flute. The two are quite embarrassingly infatuated with each other, openly canoodling even while the characters are talking to them.

‘We are servants of the great queens above,’ they say, pointing to the temple. ‘One among you is to judge their beauty. As you go to meet them, decide who that will be.’

Somebody has to volunteer, and it’s clear that the arrogant knight is in no hurry to put himself forward. Ideally it’ll be one of the player-characters, though they don’t need to decide until they get to the temple. A steep, narrow path winds up the mountain.

What has happened 

Olaudah cast the illusion of three beautiful goddesses and then slipped away to check on his alchemical experiment, figuring it would be safe enough to leave the hall for a minute or so. What he failed to take into account was that a convincing illusion of a goddess includes the illusion of her divine power. In effect, when he conjured the three goddesses he effectively gave them the ability to create a holodeck. And it would not be a convincing illusion of pagan goddesses if they meekly submitted to a beauty parade for the titillation of mortal men, hence their turning the tables by making it a contest – the Judgement of Paris, well-known from myth if only half remembered by most of Lord Albemarle’s guests. None of this would matter if Olaudah were really back right away, but the illusion has altered subjective time for everyone in the hall. While Olaudah adjusts the heat under his alembic and mixes in a few ingredients to the bubbling mixture, seconds are passing for him but minutes are passing for the people experiencing the illusion.

This is supposed to be an adventure seed, not a whole scenario, and in any case I’d expect it to be used to incorporate ongoing themes in the campaign, so I’ll leave the rest as an open canvas. The island can be a stage for various dream encounters, a slightly sinister locus amoenus similar to the Athenian wood in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. As it’s an illusion you can contrive to split the party as they climb to the temple, giving them some strange experiences and hopefully also some clues as to what’s actually going on.

They will have noticed that Olaudah isn’t with them, but if they have a typical adventuring party’s attitude to sorcerers then it’s likely they’ll ascribe that to malice rather than oversight. Is this a ploy to strand Albemarle and his guests in a strange place at the mercy of pagan gods while Olaudah seizes power back in the real world? Work up the paranoia the way Tarantino or Sidney Lumet would.

What might tip them off that this is all an illusion? If they examine any coins, for example if Flute asks for a tip after showing them the way to the mountain path, they may notice that the coins are lacking in details – the king’s face blank, the inscription around the rim only random symbols. Books are unreadable, as in a dream. If they stop to pluck a flower that looks fine at a glance, they’ll see it has no more structure than in a child’s drawing.

They might also notice Flute and Phalaena using a phrase of endearment that the hypnotized old servants did earlier – which is who they are in reality.

After spotting some flaw, if somebody guesses that this is an illusion then they have a chance of finding their way back through to the fringes of reality where they could encounter Olaudah, hurrying back from his lab now that he is beginning to realize that his spell might have been a bit too effective. The sensible thing then would be to get him to dispel it, but if suspicion is running high – he is a wizard, after all, and a foreigner, and probably a pagan, and in the eyes of ignorant knights he might even be supposed to be a cannibal savage at heart – then there could be a fight.

Dispelling the illusion is one way to go. Another is to embrace the experience and see it through to the end. That’s trickier as you’d rather avoid the wrath of the two goddesses who don’t get picked.

First the characters have to decide which of them is going to be the judge. Obviously it’s a lot more fun if that’s a player-character. Other male characters are barred from entering the temple, but female characters are free to do so, and in fact the best way to avoid jealousy is to have the contest judged by a woman. The goddesses, having the pagan mindset that Olaudah imagined them with, don’t mind if a woman judges one of them more beautiful than the others; it’s only a man’s judgement that could annoy them.

At the threshold of the temple, a character might spot something behind a pillar. It’s a soot-blackened apple core. This is a last opportunity to twig that everything is illusory (it’s the same apple core the arrogant knight lobbed into the hearth earlier) before the beauty contest begins.

Inside the temple the goddesses are revealed without their robes – and they are as dazzlingly beautiful as only a dream-image or a true goddess could be. As Olaudah has misremembered the Emphidian myth, the three are Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite. All are tall, radiantly lovely beyond all mortal measure, and incidentally dark-skinned because they sprang from Olaudah’s imagination.

‘You may set any conditions you wish to the contest,’ they tell the appointed judge. ‘We will submit to your wishes. But you must choose which of us is the most beautiful before you leave here.’

If given an opportunity to speak to the judge in private, each goddess attempts to bribe them: Artemis offers grace and sharp senses; Athena offers wisdom and skill at arms; Aphrodite offers the knack of making others fall in love with them. But tempting as these bribes may be, the escalation of the stakes carries an implicit threat that the two disappointed goddesses will find some way to punish them.

Other than appointing a judge, how could the characters avoid having to pick one over the others? One way might be to trick them into making the choice themselves. Another might be to defer the decision to a higher authority such as one of the gods. A clever player-character may find a way to wriggle out of having to choose at all, or to convince each of the goddesses that she is the winner. That’s going to come down to improvisation, quick wits and fast talk, but if your players are anything like mine there’ll be more than one trickster in the party who is up to the challenge.

The illusion ends with clouds drifting across the sun, a reek of chemicals on the sea breeze, and then everyone is back in the great hall. Fumes from Olaudah’s lab fill the air. Anyone who was in the temple finds they are standing in the cavernous hearth. The two elderly servants are entwined like youthful lovers, and perhaps some of the characters are also in compromising positions – the arrogant knight crouching furtively under a table that he thought was a bush in the goddesses’ garden, for instance.

All’s well that ends well? If a character judged the contest then they certainly showed bravery, risking the displeasure of two goddesses, so it would be nice to let them keep a shadow of whatever bribe they were offered – a +1 on Agility from Artemis or whatever. Is that because the illusion actually reached through into a true mythic realm, or simply that the dream gives the character a new confidence? That’s for them to decide.

And there is a lasting effect on anyone who saw the goddesses unrobed – ie the judge and anyone who sneaked in for a peek. They can’t recall exactly what the goddesses looked like, but they are left with an impression of ineffable beauty. A glimpse of heavenly allure, half remembered, snatched away by the return to this world of dirt and discord and time – that is a bittersweet reward indeed.

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This originally appeared in a slightly different form as an adventure seed on my Patreon page that tied in with the post on court magicians. It's available to all followers there, paid or otherwise, along with a lot of other good stuff. Pop over and join us.

And although I said above that it's all the men present who are affected by the goddesses' beauty, I intended to specify the hetero men (and any women who are lesbian/bisexual), meaning that a gay male character could have an unexpected role to play in the adventure. Alternatively, you might opt for a less literal concept of physical attraction; perhaps the goddesses' appearance arouses the admiration of men and not women regardless of their sexuality, on the simple basis that the goddesses are not mortals and so their attributes don't have to conform to mortal notions.

An evening with the RPG Blokes

I had the opportunity recently to sit down for a natter with the RPG Blokes. Not in the same room, unfortunately, and the internet connection over Zoom gave us a hard time, but Mark and the guys cleaned up the audio to make a seamless confabulation (in the real sense, not the dopy AI developer jargon). Join us and listen in as we natter about Dragon Warriors, Jewelspider, and all things roleplaying.

And in the same week there's an interview with my Dragon Warriors and Golden Dragon co-creator Oliver Johnson. You can listen to that or read the transcript.

Far in the pillared dark

A repost from my Patreon page today. This is from the Jewelspider RPG but could apply to any quasi-European medieval setting. Jewelspider has no character classes as such; forester is just a job description. The illustration is from Gaston III's Livre de Chasse (14th century, strictly speaking a couple of hundred years late for the world of Legend) 

A forester is usually of yeoman class and at various times might serve as lawman, hunter, gamekeeper, soldier and bodyguard. Some foresters may hold a royal warrant, in which case he or she is more or less an independent agent who will be treated as a social equal by the lords of manors adjoining the forest. Others, engaged by the lords themselves, are usually freemen who might be assigned escort duty, told to bring a rare herb, expected to supply the manor with meat and furs, sent to deal with outlaws, drive off poachers, and so on – still entitled to respect like all expert craftsmen, but without the special privilege that direct servants of the crown enjoy.

At one extreme are those foresters who are primarily administrative officials, rarely venturing into the woods, and at the other there are solitary hermits with one foot in the faerie realm. But most conform to the popular image of the tough, taciturn, self-sufficient, competent woodsman:

‘He was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock arrows bright and keen
Under his belt he bore most carefully.
(Well could he dress his tackle yeomanly:
His arrows drooped not with feathers low; )
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.
A shaven pate had he, and a sun- brown face:
Of woodcraft he knew well all the ways:
Upon his arm shone a fine shield,
By his side a sword and buckler did he wield,
And on the other side a dagger bright,
Well sheathed, sharp as a spear’s point in sunlight:
St Christopher on his breast of silver sheen.
A horn he bore, the baldric was of green:
A forester he was indeed.’

The forester’s duties include providing winter feed for the deer, apprehending poachers and robbers, driving off wolves, organizing pollarding and the maintenance of paths, preventing illegal logging and grazing that would damage the vert, and ensuring that commoners’ cattle are driven out of the forest during fence month (fourteen days either side of Midsummer Night) when no man, beast or stray dog is permitted there – this to ensure the deer are not disturbed while calving.

Not every forester fits into manorial society. Other options include:

Outlaw – forced to hide away deep in the wildwood, you will have experience in hiding, survival, hunting and ambushes.

Forsaken – your local manor was depopulated by plague or warfare, leaving you increasingly isolated from contact with your fellow man. This option might suit a mystic or woodland priest.

Loner – in childhood you found any excuse to take yourself off to the forest. Your knowledge of woodcraft is self-taught.

Charcoal burner – the lowest of the low in feudal society, often working in the heart of the forest and emerging only occasionally to sell your wares.

Wodewose – the semi-mythical wild man, shunned and dreaded by civilized folk who believe you to be dangerous, depraved, pagan in your beliefs, and possibly cannibalistic.

Elf or devil?

A cross-post today from my Patreon page, in a brazen attempt to lure you from the antechamber that is the FL blog into the Aladdin's Cave of true treasures. It is of course specific to the fantasy world of Legend from Dragon Warriors; other medieval imaginaries are available.

*  *  *

How can you tell a faerie from a devil? The first thing is to ask why it should matter. The fays of Legend were once deities. They embody the gamut of human passions and, though capricious, they’re fond of wagers and contests and they are bound by codes of behaviour that oblige them to keep to the letter of an oath. (Pay attention at the back; these details could save your life.)

Devils on the other hand are not merely whimsical but outright malicious. They will lie and deceive and are so eager to break their word (unless sworn on a symbol of the True Faith) that their very contrariness is one of the few ways to outwit them.

Faeries fear cold iron and have a distaste for holy things. Devils fear faith and goodness and can be harmed and driven off by holy things.

But this world is not a place built on scientific principles. Ask a village priest if Ned from Gallows Wood (The Elven Crystals) is a goblin or a devil and he’ll tell you they’re the same thing: 'Whatever is not godly is ungodly.' What about a White Lady? Is she a ghost? A faerie? A devil? An enchantress? A pagan goddess? At this point our friend the priest may be fixing you with a suspicious eye and wondering where he’s left the holy water.

As most people take their lead in such matters from their priest, everyday folk don’t draw a conscious distinction between the fay and the diabolic. They might say, ‘Old Robin in the spinney, ’e’s no ’arm to man nor beast. Might occasionally carry off a baby, but only if it was set to be a wrong ’un.' Or alternatively: ‘If’n you see red eyes looking out at you from the ol’ barn, you turn tail and you run. Looks like a mangy cat, but that’s an imp right out of hell, that is.’

So in the acceptance of some locally cherished goblins you may sense an echo of the time when they were propitiated, whereas the devils that came tumbling along in the wake of early missionaries are shunned and feared.

Scholars are the only ones who would perceive and debate the difference. In Ellesland that means educated clergy or wizards or both. ‘The Gentle Folk are known to be shapechangers,’ says Brother Mulk of Osterlin, ‘but we might say they are more often met in a form somewhat like a man or woman, even if gnarled or covered in thorns, though also sometimes in unblemished forms of dangerous beauty. Devils enjoy appearing in the shape of a cat or toad or rooster, especially when acting as familiar to some damned soul, but they too will sometimes appear with two arms and two legs – often with the addition of little wings, horns, or cloven hooves. Bat wings, that is, bald and leathery; the Lords and Ladies, they’d favour gossamer wings if any. But none of these rules are hard and fast. The mortal form given to us by God is one they all like to copy, the only distinction being that it’s harder for devils to put on such a shape without some disfigurement to mark out their unholiness.’

'Faerie glamour is a kind of illusion, is it not?'

'No mere mirage. Faerie glamour is a weft and warp that overlays reality. If we are to call it illusion, it is illusion that fools the senses of the world. Devils, on the other hand, more usually manifest by possessing the body of a blameless creature. We have the example in scripture of the Gergesene swine.'

‘There are stories of bargains to be done with such creatures, both fay and devils.’

Brother Mulk throws up his hand as if to ward off a blow. ‘Devils bargain for one thing only, and for that they can never offer enough. It’s true that the others can be held to a deal, for their words are anciently forceful and have power to bind even themselves. Thus in parts of Chaubrette you hear tales of the sotay or sotré, a sprite that inhabits a household and takes a proprietorial pride in keeping it swept and the cows milked in just the same way that the lares and penates of the ancient Selentines watched over the family homestead. If you meet such a one, who may take the form of a wizened old man as swarthy as a charcoal burner, you must be careful to treat him with the nicest manners. Do not compliment him directly, but even more importantly do not slight his appearance or make any reference to his incongruous clothing.’

‘What about his clothing?’

Mulk admits he is only relating what he’s heard. ‘Perhaps they affect the toga of the Selentine nobles. But the strictest rule you must follow is never to draw attention to the unusual nature of the fellow.’

‘Is that why you refer to them as “the good people”?’

‘You know that the Kindly Ones were anything but. You would not call them by their older name. God is our protector, but why tempt fate?’

‘Is there no sure way to tell a faerie from a devil?’ you might ask.

Brother Mulk (no doubt wincing at the term ‘faerie’, for he is careful to respect the fallen gods even though he knows they can do nothing against the True Faith) might reply, ‘There are signs for those who would see. The reek of brimstone hangs around devils, for example, as they have always one foot in the infernal realm. And colours too may guide you. Green is often taken to betoken the elfin folk, while many take the red of licking flames to denote a devilish presence.’ He spreads his hands. ‘But nothing is certain.’

‘Except faith.’

He nods, a pensive frown on his face. ‘Except faith.’

"A Garland of Holly" (A Yuletide adventure set in Legend)

Yep, two Christmas scenarios this year. We already had Tim Harford's "The Malletta Caper" and here's a quieter and more cerebral adventure by me. This originally appeared a couple of years ago on my Jewelspider Patreon page. It's a sketchier affair than Tim's, with the expectation that the referee will shape the details to fit the campaign. Here we have a mixture of the pagan nature of magic in the Jewelspider world with the folk horror that infuses a lot of Legend scenarios. Grey heads will not fail to notice also the nod to The Avengers episode "A Surfeit of H2O", the opening scene of which blew me away when I saw it aged 8.

The honeymoon is over...

Theodor of Utherwick (29 years old, medium height, solid and dependable) should be a gentleman untroubled by cares. He has recently wed and set up a house in Cantorbridge with his young wife Epiphany (15 years old, willowy, pale, a little dreamy). He is respected for his bravery in battle, and sought after for advice because of his sober and thoughtful manner. He has prosperous interests and is lord of several manors – including, now, the village of Burstow, where Epiphany grew up.

Yet Theodor is far from being at ease. Two of his friends have died unexpectedly and suddenly. A third has become so nervous that he has shut himself away and refuses to see visitors.

How might the player-characters come into the picture? They could be relatives or friends of somebody involved. One or more of them could even be witnesses to Theodor’s and Epiphany’s wedding, which would bring the threat close to home, as we shall see.

Theodor’s story

The characters meet Theodor at his house in Cantorbridge. It is a crisp day with light, powdery snow falling to skitter in the wind across the flagstones of front path. Beyond, golden and limpid in the clear cold air, the cathedral stands above the rooftops like the ramparts of heaven.

Theodor welcomes them into a hall made snug by thick drapes and a crackling fire. ‘We always have a log from my wife’s home,’ he says, prompting a shy smile from her as she sits a little way off working at her embroidery. ‘The scent of home.’

He fills them in on what’s happened: ‘Clifford of Durnover was the first. He jumped off the parapet of his castle. They say he’d eaten bad mushrooms and they sent him mad. But not long after, Reynaud Longarm was drowned.’

‘Unfortunate. Was he a strong swimmer?’

‘He was found in the middle of a field. Stinking pools of stagnant water all around him, but this was half a mile from the nearest river.’

‘Even so, two deaths… a sad coincidence?’

‘These were found in their mouths.’ Theodor brings out a cloth and unwraps it to reveal two large husks, seed pods about the size of an apricot pit.

‘And you mentioned a third friend?’

‘A neighbour, rather. Caspar the dyer. He’s shut himself up and won’t see anyone. He gave us the covers on those chairs as a wedding present.’

‘Generous.’

‘I’m a good customer. And he was a witness at our wedding, as were the other two, so I suppose he thought a gift was in order.’

Epiphany

Epiphany sits quietly sewing throughout all this. She is a good wife by the standards of her society, where the ideal of womanhood is the Saviour’s mother: gentle, kind, modest, meek and mild.

She would not expect to be directly questioned by any of the characters, and if they do then she defers to her husband to answer. No male character will get anything more than polite remarks out of her. For anything deeper she’d have to be interviewed by a female character in private, or possibly by an elderly man or a priest who could serve as confessor. Alternatively the characters might try questioning her maidservant Joanna – but not her old governess, Sister Shila (50 years old, tough as boiled leather) who most certainly will never betray the family’s confidence.

Therefore teasing out all the details may take some care and patience.

Life stories

Epiphany was raised in the manor hall of Burstow, a village nestled into a fold in the Cullen Woods about twenty leagues north of Cantorbridge. Theodor was her mother’s cousin, and the family betrothed her to him eight years ago, when she was seven and he was twenty-one and just about to set out to Outremer.

A year later her father died in a shipwreck and her mother became deranged and had to be committed to a religious community. Her stern governess, Sister Shila, was left to bring up Epiphany until Theodor, who was also now legally her guardian, could come to fetch her.

Theodor found that Epiphany, not unreasonably, had grown up a withdrawn and otherworldly girl. With no companions except her dog, Burl, she had taken to solitary walks and long periods gazing at the books she found in an old chest in her parents’ room. With no education she had barely been able to figure out what any of the books said, but she occasionally showed pages to the local parson and in any case she enjoyed looking at the pictures.

Reasoning that his bride had to be brought back to reality by putting aside childish things, Theodor gathered up all the books and threw them out. In fact, he gave them to the priest, Father Lucian, who officiated at the wedding.

The wedding ceremony took place in Theodor’s private chapel in Cantorbridge in the presence of the old priest Lucian and four witnesses: Clifford (deceased), Reynaud (deceased), Caspar, and Theodor’s comrade in arms and best man, Kendrick of Heligston.

Secrets

Shortly after her father’s death, Epiphany came across an ancient weathered stone idol in the woods. It was nestled in a tree that had grown around it, so that the leaf-crowned countenance seemed to peer from another world. Perhaps connecting it with stories she’d half understood from scripture lessons, Epiphany thought the diadem of leaves (in fact mistletoe) on the idol’s brow was a crown of thorns and so identified it as the Saviour. She pieced together a prayer that she found in one of the books – a genuine prayer, but when recited in front of a pagan god it could equally be taken as an expression of fealty to older ways. For a while she left offerings in front of the idol, small tokens but yet enough to pierce ten centuries of stony sleep.

Years later, trying to hold onto her books when Theodor and Shila gathered them to sling out, Epiphany tore out that page by accident. She had long forgotten the idol in the woods but now was reminded of it and spoke the prayer again, this time with the force of urgent emotion, and the Wildwood Lord woke. Epiphany’s fervent prayer then was not to wed. She pledged herself instead to her ‘angel in the tree’, supposing that to be akin to the way she had been told her mother was now a bride of the Saviour.

But the passions of youth are squalls that can blow as mightily in one direction as another, and arranged marriages that start out in dudgeon or dismay can alter course towards more sympathetic feelings. Adjusting to Theodor’s presence in her life, and aware that marriage to him was her parents’ dearest wish, Epiphany came to accept the union. Perhaps in time she will even come to be glad of it. She soon forgot her prayer to the ‘angel in the tree’. But in the depths of the wood, a nature god stirred from slumber did not forget.

The Wildwood Lord considers that Epiphany has sworn herself to him. He will do away with Epiphany’s current husband and then claim her as his own. But as Epiphany has vowed before witnesses to ‘honour and obey ‘Theodor and ‘cherish and support’ him, and that conflicting vow has the force of the True Faith behind it, by the relentless logic of faerie the Wildwood Lord must first kill all those witnesses in order to free her of any other allegiance.

Clues

As mentioned above, a lone female character or a confessor could get a private interview with Epiphany and learn some of the above from her. It might be tempting to make Epiphany confident, brilliant and liberated and Theodor a bullying misogynist dolt, which is certainly what a modern 'romantasy' writer would do, but in the context of Legend's society that is neither interesting nor credible. Epiphany is fifteen. She has led a sheltered life. She has had access to books but insofar as she has any education she is largely self-taught. She agrees with the general principle that a wife should be dutiful and obedient because that’s what the Church drums into everybody.

That said, having been left to run wild for the last seven years she can be headstrong and moody, though she feels that’s wrong and she is trying to adjust to married life. No doubt her feelings towards Theodor are conflicted.

Getting Epiphany to talk about her life in Burstow should be difficult at first, but she’s artless and once she starts opening up it becomes easier. Even so, her prayer to the nature god is personal. At times she thinks it’s a sacred trust, at others a juvenile foolishness, so she is unlikely to blurt it out to a stranger. But with careful questioning she may very hesitantly confess to having half-woken in the night to see her ‘green angel’ at the foot of her bed after each killing.

The characters will also want to talk to other witnesses.

The dyer

Caspar the dyer is frightened. He was returning to town at dusk a few days ago and saw what he thought was a figure waiting near a stile. As he drew closer he realized it was a small tree covered with ivy, making it look like a person standing by the lane. But as he passed he felt a blow to the side of his head, cutting his cheek though no one was there. The next day he found green tendrils growing from under the bandage he’d applied, and now half his face is covered with ivy whose roots are deep in his flesh.

Caspar has been in seclusion for days now, praying constantly. He won’t admit his servant to his room, but sent him out to procure holy water from the cathedral. The servant is ‘Joseph’ (originally called Mahad), a Harogarnian who was liberated (if you can call it that) from Ta’ashim slavery into indentured servitude and brought back to Ellesland ten years ago. Figuring that his foreign appearance makes it risky to try filching holy water from the font, he actually brought back a bottle of river water that Caspar has been sprinkling on his foliage-covered face each day to no avail.

Unless the characters can resolve things very quickly, Caspar will be found dead in a couple of days when the plant tendrils reach his brain. The body is found with another of the seed pods in its mouth.

The priest

While talking to Father Lucian the characters will notice he lip-reads because he’s gone deaf in his old age. If they press the point he will admit that he never heard Epiphany’s vows as he was looking down at the order of service. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he hastens to say. ‘The service is a sacrament, of course, but it is just as binding without the involvement of the clergy. I simply officiated as an old friend of both families.’

The important point is that he is not a witness to Epiphany’s vow to honour and obey her husband, and so is not one of the Wildwood Lord’s intended victims. He has therefore not been plagued by visitations such as Caspar experienced. (Or is it because he's a holy man? We will never know.)

Lucian could also be drawn into a discussion of the legality of the marriage. He discussed with Theodor a possible wrinkle in the arrangement, namely that Epiphany had not started menstruating when promised to Theodor, so arguably their betrothal eight years ago didn’t count as formally binding. Still, it was her parents’ wish, which counts in other courts than that of law, and she was seven years old which counts as the ‘age of reasonable consent’ to betrothal.

The characters may intuit from this that Theodor was uncertain whether he should wed Epiphany or not, hence his discussion with Father Lucian beforehand and his request to have Lucian at the ceremony.

The torn leaf

If they ask to see the books that Theodor gave Lucian, the characters may notice that a page has been roughly torn out of one. Part of an image remains that showed the Saviour nailed to a tree, the page bordered with a decorative motif of leaves and branches. Inspecting the rest of the book, a scholar would recognize that it consists of prayers and apocrypha with a noticeably naturistic theme – not a heathen text, but one that could be read as heathen by an impressionable or untutored mind.

The best man

Kendrick of Heligston has been at his manor house and has only just received Theodor’s letter about the deaths. He is not especially given to fancies and so doesn’t believe he’s on a list of doomed souls.

The seeds

If planted in soil, the seed pods found in the victims’ mouths sprout grey-green leaves that if worn as a garland will give some defence against the Wildwood Lord’s power.

The bride has flown

After Caspar’s death, Epiphany runs away. It doesn’t take long to find out that she’s headed back home to Burstow. Sister Shila has left a note, having set off after her. Perhaps, having changed her mind now about marriage to Theodor, Epiphany has gone looking for the torn page with the prayer written on it with some notion of taking back what she wished for. Or maybe she thinks that by offering herself to the ‘angel in the tree’ (which she must surely realize by now is not the gentle and forgiving Saviour of the True Faith) she can stop the deaths.

So the wife is drawn home to her family’s country house and the husband follows – and the characters too. And the stage is set for the final act.

Yuletide in Burstow

Theodor is learning patience. Rather than dragging Epiphany back to town, he indulges her to the extent of proposing they spend Yule at Burstow Manor. He is still very far from linking his wife to the deaths, and he thinks that spending the holidays in her childhood home may help her to adjust more readily to married life.

The villagers are happy to see their young mistress back home. She has always been an aloof figure but her parents were popular and their orphaned daughter was always an object of pity to the locals. In keeping with tradition, and to Epiphany’s delight and Theodor’s indulgent amusement, the manor hall is decorated with a garland of flowers, dried throughout the year and now woven into a long wreath that encircles the beams.

Theodor sets about throwing himself into village life, supposing that is what his wife wants. He joins in a rough-and-tumble hurling match and is injured – not seriously, but Epiphany is alarmed and rushes to his side, insisting on binding up the cut herself. The characters cannot fail to see that after the rocky start to the marriage the two of them are drawing together.

A few days before Saviour’s Day it snows. The night sky is flooded with stars. Magic is on the air in at least two flavours: pagan and dark, and that even older magic of romantic love. But the latter is a fragile spell, still in the early stages of casting. Epiphany is moody, Theodor serious and still half inclined to treat her as a child. Their future would be uncertain enough even without a nature god of olden times bringing a curse down upon them.

Kendrick arrives, having sought Theodor in town. As the roads are now thick with snow, he remains as their guest for the festivities.

The prayer

‘O lord of the living world, I beseech thee, save me from the malice of those who hate me so that their wickedness gives them no power over me and they may not use me for their ends. Guide my steps that I may walk without offending thee. Free me from the hands of my enemies, visible and invisible, above and below, and bring me into thy company, that I may serve thee evermore in body and soul. Enfold me in the arms of thy love.’

The semi-literate Epiphany has garbled this, but the core sentiment of pledging herself to the Lord she was addressing remains.

The characters

How will they find out the key info in the third act, in particular the reveal that the Wildwood Lord is going to end all this by taking Epiphany's life too, once he has freed of her of her vows to another? One way is by talking to a scholar with magical knowledge (that could even be the old nurse) or, if one of player-characters is a sorcerer, by coming across a reference in his/her own books. And of course they might come across the torn page.

The key pieces of information:

• The prayer offers the speaker body and soul to the Lord. 
• When the witnesses and Theodor are all dead, there is no rival claim upon Epiphany except for her pledge to ‘the angel in the tree’. 
• The idol is in the cleft of a tree in the woods. 
• The seed pods can be used to give limited protection against the pagan god’s minions. 
• Destroying the idol or getting Epiphany to reject her ‘green angel’ will both serve to break the Wildwood Lord’s claim over her. 

Burstow has a mischief night tradition which has servants ruling masters and wives ruling husbands. If Theodor can be persuaded to go along with the game, that provides a key to breaking the fate that the prayer has cursed them with, rather as Gawain broke the Loathly Lady’s curse by granting that she should have her own way.

The Green Man

His appearance: skin pale and greenish-yellow like stripped bark, a holly crown bleeding sap. (This needn’t involve a physical manifestation to the player-characters themselves, it could be Epiphany’s description from her dreams or a victim’s dying account.)

The characters cannot harm the Wildwood Lord himself, though they could destroy any creatures ('ympes') he sends to kill witnesses to the wedding vows. The ympes look like the skeletons of small woodland creatures held together with knotted creepers, and furred or feathered with wet dead leaves. The characters’ best bet is to resist his power long enough to find and destroy the idol or get the wife to abjure him, either of which casts him out for good.

How would they find the idol? For example, they might take Epiphany’s old dog for a walk in the woods and it leads them close to where the idol is, though they will still have to poke around a bit. Destroying the idol will banish the Wildwood Lord from this area.

Of course, it can’t be that easy. Breaking the idol begins to close the Wildwood Lord’s gateway into the present mortal realm, but he doesn’t go quietly or easily. On Yule eve, the garland begins to stir, animating into a furious thrashing serpentine form made up of flower petals, vines and twigs. If your players’ taste inclines towards the old school climactic fight, this last gasp of the Wildwood Lord will give them quite a struggle. Its aim is to slay the remaining witnesses, including Theodor, and then encircle Epiphany and draw her up the chimney (a grotesque reversal of Santa bringing presents, the players may think). If it gets to that then she’s lost, and will be found pale and cold the next day, hanging dead in a tree with mistletoe and holly binding her to the trunk. The characters could fight smart if they notice the flowers and creepers become fresh; they have only to lure the garland outside into the snow and the cold will weaken it.

But a combat might seem crass. Even so, simply to have the Wildwood Lord go without any fuss or fury is a bit of a damp squib. Rather than having the garland murderously animate, his face could manifest in it, making a last demand on Epiphany’s loyalty. It’s still a climactic battle, but now the field on which the battle is fought is the young woman’s soul, and the characters must muster arguments to keep her from giving herself to the ancient nature spirit.

If the characters fail

First all the witnesses will die, then Theodor, and finally the Wildwood Lord will come to claim Epiphany as his virgin queen of winter, dying as the year must die to make way for rebirth in the spring.

If they prevail

Quite possibly the Wildwood Lord if thwarted will exact some last vengeance. Perhaps his animated garland sets the manor house on fire; pagan gods never go quietly and are often petty. But as Epiphany watches her family home burn, shivering in the snow, her husband puts his cloak around her shoulders. The characters spend the rest of the Yule season down in the village, where Theodor and Epiphany are welcomed as guests. Out of the shared strong emotion and life-changing experiences they can grow closer together and – who knows –end up as a genuinely loving couple. It’s Christmas; even in Legend we can occasionally hint at a happy ending.

The Coronet

by Andrew Marvell 

When for the thorns with which I long, too long,
With many a piercing wound,
My Saviour’s head have crowned,
I seek with garlands to redress that wrong:
Through every garden, every mead,
I gather flowers (my fruits are only flowers),
Dismantling all the fragrant towers
That once adorned my shepherdess’s head.
And now when I have summed up all my store,
Thinking (so I myself deceive)
So rich a chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the King of Glory wore:
Alas, I find the serpent old
That, twining in his speckled breast,
About the flowers disguised does fold,
With wreaths of fame and interest.
Ah, foolish man, that wouldst debase with them,
And mortal glory, Heaven’s diadem!
But Thou who only couldst the serpent tame,
Either his slippery knots at once untie;
And disentangle all his winding snare;
Or shatter too with him my curious frame,
And let these wither, so that he may die,
Though set with skill and chosen out with care:
That they, while Thou on both their spoils dost tread,
May crown thy feet, that could not crown thy head.

Green Man images above by Llywelyn2000 (CC BY-SA 3.0) and Disdero (CC BY-SA 4.0) respectively.

A magic moment

If your interest was piqued by news about my forthcoming Jewelspider RPG last time, there's more today. Much more, in fact. I've been working away at the magic system, and finally it's been unveiled to all those patient Patreon backers.

Jewelspider is set in the world of Legend (the same setting as Dragon Warriors) but it's more of a realistic take on Legend's medieval origins. This is the world as the people inhabiting it believe it to be. Magic is real, but it isn't a matter of careening fireballs and glitzy special FX. Typically a spell takes minutes, hours or even days to cast, but the outcome is much more significant than simple artillery.

The theory is that an evocative and flavourful magic system will mean that every spellcasting attempt is an adventure seed in its own right. To achieve that goal I'm eager for feedback from the Patreon backers (that wisdom of crowds thing) and after that I'll be releasing the game, first as a PDF and then in print form.

In brief, this is how the Jewelspider magic rules work:

The Nature of Magic

Magic in Jewelspider is a subtle art, often requiring tools and time to manifest. The core of the system lies in reality's reluctance to be altered by magic; overt magical effects are challenging to achieve.

Spellcasting Mechanics

Mastery Levels: To cast a spell, characters must possess mastery in the relevant type of sorcery.

Skill Use: Most spells are cast using Reasoning, though some can be woven from artistic expressions using Artistry. 

Intrinsic Difficulty: Each spell has a difficulty level that must be met or exceeded for successful casting.

The Seven Magical Laws

Each of these modifies the difficulty of casting.

• Contagion: Using personal items like hair or nails can influence spell difficulty.
• Subtlety: Spells cast without witnesses are easier to achieve.
• Deferment: Delayed effects are simpler to integrate into reality.
• Proximity: Closer targets make for easier spellcasting.
• Impermanence: Temporary spells are easier than permanent ones.
• Invitation: Spells accepted by targets (even unwittingly) are more potent.
• Sympathy: Artistic mimetic components (e.g., a feather for a levitation spell) can enhance spell effectiveness.

Tools and Time

The effectiveness of a spell often depends on the tools used. Rings, Diagrams, Books, Apparatus, and Laboratories each provide varying bonuses and require different amounts of time to use, from instantaneous to several hours.

Success, Failure, and Partial Success

Success: If the casting effect equals or exceeds the difficulty, the spell works as intended.

Failure: No effect occurs, though mishaps are possible.

Partial Success: Unexpected, often uncontrolled effects occur, adding a layer of unpredictability and excitement to spellcasting.

Counterspells and Wards

Defensive measures like Wards and the innate ability to resist spells by other sorcerers add depth and strategy to magical duels and encounters.

If you want to dive into the full details and join the conversation, head over to my Patreon page. Your support helps bring Jewelspider to life, and you'll get exclusive content and a behind-the-scenes look at the development process. Or just join as a free member, which still gives you access to a whole lot of early posts and ensures you'll get updates about publication.

(The image at the top is from Robin of Sherwood. As if you couldn't tell.)

Stranger than fiction

For Legend games I’ve always liked taking a seed crystal of historical fact (or anecdote) and growing an adventure around that. When a friend of mine told me a story about Notker the Stammerer and a stolen relic, I had the basic set-up for “A Box of Old Bones” right then and there.

Real history offers plenty of inspirational snippets like that. How about these, taken from a review in The London Review of Books of Martyn Rady’s book The Habsburgs?

“Werner the Pious was the first fabricator in the family, forging a charter that confirmed him as the hereditary abbot of the local abbey (where the Emperor Karl’s heart rests today). But this was small potatoes compared to the heroic efforts of Rudolf the Founder, who had his scribes concoct five interlocking charters claiming that previous emperors had confirmed the Habsburgs as hereditary archdukes of Austria, bolstered by letters supposedly written by Julius Caesar and Nero.” 

“Cymburga, the Polish mother of Frederick III, renowned both for her beauty and for her ability to drive nails into planks with her bare fists; Frederick the Slothful, who travelled his realm with his own hen coops to save on buying eggs; the Habsburg knights who had to cut off their fashionable long toe-pieces when forced to fight the Swiss infantry on foot; Margaret of Parma, another illegitimate child of Charles V by a different serving wench, who grew and carefully trimmed a moustache to provide her with an air of authority when her father made her governor of the Low Countries.” 

“The slaughter of thirty thousand in the Lutheran stronghold of Magdeburg led to a new word being coined, ‘Magdeburgisierung’. Invaders bombarded cities with shells of poison gas, a fetching compound of arsenic and henbane. After the war, France and Germany signed the Strasburg Agreement of 1675, the first treaty to ban the use of chemical weapons.”

There are ideas for Legend there almost in whole cloth. But they’re trumped by another of Notker’s accounts which is pretty much a ready-to-run adventure:

“In one particularly bad crop year, a certain greedy bishop of Old Francia rejoiced that the people of his diocese were dying because he could sell the food from his storehouse to the survivors at exorbitant prices. Amidst this climate, a demon or spirit started haunting the workshop of a blacksmith, playing with the hammers and anvil by night, much like a poltergeist. The blacksmith attempted to protect his house and his family with the sign of the cross, but before he could, the demon [Notker describes it as ‘pilosus’, ie hairy] proposed an arrangement of mutual benefit: ‘My friend, if you do not stop me from playing in your workshop, bring your little pot here and you will find it full every day.’ The starving blacksmith, ‘fearing bodily deprivation more than the eternal damnation of the soul’, agreed to the demon’s proposition. The demon burgled the bishop’s storehouse repeatedly, filling the flask and leaving broken barrels to spill on the floor. 

“The bishop discovered the theft and concluded, based on the excessive waste, that it must be the work of a demon rather than a starving parishioner. So he protected the room with holy water and placed the sign of the cross on the barrels. The next morning, the guard of the bishop’s house found the demon trapped in the larder. It had entered during the night, but, because of the holy protections placed by the bishop, was unable to touch the stores nor exit again. Upon discovery, it assumed a human form. The guard subdued it and tied it up. It was brought to a public trial where it was publicly beaten (ad palam cesus). Between blows, it cried out: ‘Woe is me, woe is me, for I have lost my friend’s little pot!’ “

If we read that with a modern sceptical eye we can work out what had really happened, but the motif of the devil and the blacksmith is common in folklore, and the world of Legend is the Middle Ages as the people at the time believed it to be, not as it really was. That said, I doubt if any demon or goblin in my game would be quite so easy to deal with.

This is a repost of a piece on my Patreon page, proceeds for which will support the artwork (by Inigo Hartas; sneak peek at the top of this post) for the Jewelspider roleplaying game which is due for publication later this year.

"The Three Wanderers" (a Yuletide adventure set in Legend)

A treat my gaming group have come to expect (though hopefully never take for granted) at this time of year is a new Yuletide adventure by the multifariously talented Tim Harford. With Tim's permission I share last year's with you. Without further ado, then, here is:

THE THREE WANDERERS

On a windswept ridge in the Bleaks, visible from miles around, are three huge uneven black boulders, each at least four metres in diameter. Locals call these vast stones the Three Wanderers and will not approach. They say the three were fiends who haunted the hills in olden times, murdering travellers until they picked on the wrong victim, St Afric, and he turned them to stone.

More educated folk, of whom there are few locally, scorn the superstitions but warn travellers that those boulders are tombs, and that what was buried should not be disturbed.

Anyone who does get close to the boulders will see that there are crevices in them, perhaps just wide enough for a person to squirm through. Each crevice, however, is blocked by bars of iron, rusted but sturdy, and a chain with a silver cross is attached to the bars on each of the three rocks. It is hard to make out what, if anything, lies deeper in the crevices. Characters who shine a light down them may see a glimpse of bone, or sacking. Perhaps they will see movement – a rat, perhaps, or grass snake?

What lies within? One tale describes three sorcerers from Kaikuhuru, travelling west in search of the newborn Saviour. Some say they followed a silver moon that moved through the sky contrary to the motion of other celestial bodies. Others say they used an enchanted needle, a bone splinter hanging from a strand of a princess’s hair. Whatever the truth, they were led astray by some mischievous imp, and ventured to the wilds of Ellesland instead of the holy land. Dressed for the desert, they wandered in the northern rain and hail, vainly seeking the saviour until they perished from exposure.

Far from home, vengeful and bewildered, their spirits continued to wander the Bleaks until, centuries later, a Cornumbrian saint bound them and laid them to rest in a tomb that would contain their wanderings and their parched enchantments.

Such is the tale. What, then, when the characters approach the Three Wanderers to find the silver crosses missing, and the iron bars ripped out – from the inside?

Dramatis Personae

Crespin Thune – A wizard of no great accomplishment, but with a plan to use his limited talents to acquire the three legendary gifts of the Kaikuhuran wizards, and with those to rise in prestige and power.

Beatrice – a fallen woman. Beatrice is a serving maid (and prostitute) who works at Athgeld’s Inn, a traveller’s stop running to the south of the ridge. Crespin has paid her to serve the Saviour’s mother in his little play.

Sir Thunrulf – an aging knight, lord of Beeley Manor.

His cook, Pessimus Broil, is a blubbery mountain of a man.

Martin Marigold is the innkeeper at Athgeld’s Inn. He is famous for his hospitality, although the prices can be steep, especially for the unwary.

Grauves de Courtai – an upstart knight from Chaubrette. Crespin is paying him for assistance, but has also forged a letter purportedly from Baron Aldred declaring Grauves de Courtai the new lord of Beeley Manor. Grauves has six well-armed thugs in attendance, Hubert, Gaston, Anton, Charles, Hal and Fred.

The local devil, called Hob o’ the Well by locals. Hob is nine feet tall, with spindly arms and legs; when he drops into a crouch, however, he can conceal himself into a surprisingly small space, like a spider in the corner of a web. Hob has several uncanny abilities, including the power of illusion and the power to command animals, plants and the local weather. However he is vulnerable to the cross, and his stealthiness is sometimes betrayed by a faint reek of brimstone.

Old Katy Catkin, who earns a meal and room to sleep in exchange for cleaning and other chores around the inn. She works less and less and appears to rely more and more on the charity both of Marigold and of passersby. She is the most likely source of gossip concerning Hob o’ the Well and may also share gossip about Beatrice and Crespin (who has been paying with silver for her to attend him in his room). Katy has heard Crespin bragging to Beatrice about his plans and, unlike Beatrice herself, she has enough familiarity with folk magic to recognize the makings of a spell in their act of theatre.

Crespin’s plan

Crespin plans to break the locks that keep the three wanderers bound. He hopes to lure them to Athgeld’s Inn on Christmas Eve, where Beatrice will display her “baby” – actually a ghastly little scarecrow of daub and straw, with sky blue little robin eggs of eyes. Crespin has cast a spell over the “baby” to make it appear lifelike. This deception will, he hopes, induce the three wanderers to hand over their gifts to the infant they think is the Saviour. He can then use the three gifts as potent instruments when casting future spells.

The Wanderers

The three sorcerers are long dead, but their spirits live on, carrying a thousand years of rage and frustration. If addressed in the right way, they may recall their original pilgrimage to pay homage to a new spirit of hope in the world.

Calcifer retains the desiccated spirit of the Kaikuhuran desert; if roused to anger he strikes with hot sand and lightning. His visage is swaddled in dry sackcloth.

Shazz Ul Haq has grown a new eye each year since arriving in Ellesland. He now has nine hundred and ninety five, and to glimpse them is to go mad.

Grupus has adjusted best to the climate of Ellesland. He has become a master of mist, mire, and darkness. He is the most likely to stray far from the rocks and the party may encounter him while exploring.

The gifts

Calcifer’s gift for the saviour was a small handful of sand from the desert, in a box of ivory, a symbol of the endlessly shifting sands of Kaikuhuru and of his fealty.

Shazz Ul Haq had brought an orb of diamonds, each diamond showing a different vision of what may come to pass.

Grupus’s offering was an embalming unguent in a silver pot.

These treasures lack the awesome power that Crespin imagines and craves – their significance was largely symbolic. However, they have some value both as magical talismans and as saleable treasures.

Locations

Beeley Manor – a decaying manor house with a small study, a feasting hall, kitchen and larder downstairs, and a master bedroom and three small bedrooms upstairs. The house is fortified but vulnerable either to a determined assault or to an inside job, since there is a front door, a back door and a kitchen door.

Athgeld’s Inn – a large hostelry with a generous common room, a parlour with several snugs (where Grauves and Crespin prefer to have their conversations), a sweltering kitchen and half a dozen upstairs rooms. The Inn also has outhouses, storehouses, and a stable.

Saint Afric’s chapel – a tiny chapel on the steep slope above the road and beneath the great stones that locals call the Three Wanderers. It was Saint Afric who bound the ghosts of the three sorcerers and imprisoned them in cracks in the rocks. The chapel door is jammed – rust or ice? – but may yield to force or to patient prayer. Inside, a candle flame flickers, although there is no sign of a caretaker and everything is covered with dust – it seems to have been neglected for years. A cracked fresco shows a three part scene: three great kings following a man with a crescent on a fishing rod; the same three figures with demonic visages; Saint Afric brandishing a cross, with the three figures dismayed and prostrate.

A sufficiently successful roll on intuition suggests that the paintwork around the cross is of a different quality. Chipping away at the fresco reveals a silver cross concealed within the plaster. It has, it seems, been unearthed and buried once before. A grey hair is wrapped around the join of the cross – a relic of Saint Afric himself?

Hob’s Well – locals know of the well, and water taken from it is said to have a restorative quality provided that a suitable offering of flowers or food is placed by the well, thanks are given, and implicit permission is sought by a declaration of good intent. Without those measures the water has a bad-eggs aroma and unpleasant warmth, but will do no harm.

The well is unusually tall, more like a chimney or a little tower than a well, with the lip seven feet above the ground. To draw water requires a little agility, or fashioning some kind of perch on which to stand. Looking down the well reveals a crescent moon, reflected from the heavens. What is strange is that the crescent moon is there, day and night, whether the moon in the sky is new or full.

At the bottom of the well is a loose stone, and behind it, a sack with the three ancient treasures in it. The sack, oddly, is undecayed. Anyone brave enough to dive into the water can retrieve the moon too (the permanently shining silver crescent with which Hob lured the three scholars astray) but they may have to reckon with Hob or the local fauna – perhaps a savage pike, or a plague of worms and leeches, or an irate owl, as the referee prefers.

The Wanderers - the three black boulders described in the introduction.

Timeline of events, if the party do not intervene

Grauves and his men have demanded entry to Beeley Manor and been refused by Thunrulf and his steward. Grauves claims that Baron Aldred has appointed him lord of the manor in Thulrulf’s place, and has sworn to return with a Warrant of Possession signed by the baron.

Thunrulf sends his steward to Athgeld’s Inn to discover more. The player-characters could enter the adventure either as Thunrulf’s guests or as travellers at the inn – or both.

At the inn, there is an argument between Grauves and Crespin. Crespin sends Grauves and his men up to the rocks with a promise that they will only get the letter when they’ve done their job. The party may overhear this argument, which takes place is Crespin’s room.

Grauves and his men go up to the rocks. Crespin has equipped them with an iron spearhead of ancient Selentine design, enchanted so that it can prise the silver crosses off the iron bars.

Only five of the men return, and they are in a state of terror, having encountered Shazz Ul Haq. Grauves himself is among them, having got separated from the others in the snow; thus he was spared the harrowing encounter with the ghost.

Anyone going up to the rocks now will find the iron bars have been pulled away from the inside.

Grauves presents the three crosses to Crespin as proof of his deed, claims his forged letter, and ventures out to Beeley Manor to try to claim it from Thunrulf. Other men may go missing every time they venture out in the dark.

On Christmas Eve the three magi, now at large, will close in upon the stable at Athgeld’s Inn, to meet Beatrice and Crespin and the “baby”.

Secrets that the party may discover

The Three Wanderers are ancient sorcerers from a thousand years ago.

They were led astray by Hob o’ the Well, who put a silver moon on a stick and stole their gifts.

The moon and the gifts are concealed at the bottom of Hob’s well. The silver moon might be used to lead the sorcerers away towards the holy land.

Crespin has forged a warrant declaring Grauves de Courtai the rightful lord of Beeley Manor.

Pessimus Broil plans to do away with Martin Marigold and become innkeeper (he fell out with Marigold years ago when he worked at the inn).

There is a sacred relic concealed behind the fresco of Saint Afric’s chapel. It is one way to cow the three sorcerers.

Crespin’s magic is unlikely to fool the three sorcerers, but his enchantment to give the “baby “ a semblance of life may be more potent than he anticipates, given the forces assembling at Christmas Eve.

Motivations

Sir Thunrulf wants to retain his manor and his dignity, but is also duty-bound to protect travellers through his manor from harm – including the residents of Athgeld’s Inn.

Beatrice has been promised money by Crespin but will not risk her life once danger threatens.

Crespin hopes to fool the wanderers and secure their treasures.

The Wanderers are barely sentient now; they are malevolent after their long imprisonment but may be calmed by Beatrice and the baby.

Grauves is hoping to take possession of the manor; if thwarted he is likely to try to make trouble and resort to ordinary theft and assault.

Hob o’ the Well is bent on devilish mischief (the high flavour of mischief that does not balk at causing death or lasting injury) and highly amused by the Wanderers, although there is a risk he oversteps himself. His is only a little local devil, after all, and they are mythic ghosts.

Pessimus Broil hopes to leave Thunrulf’s service and take over at the Inn, although he has not fully thought through how this will be achieved. Murder of Martin Marigold is not impossible. He might also try to strike a bargain with Grauves.

Katy Catkin likes to gossip, knows a lot, and will easily be persuaded by some coin (or perhaps flattery or even earnest curiosity). She may relate some of the legend of the Three Wanderers. She may also point out that, although abandoned, Afric’s chapel has long seemed inviolate and protected by the Saviour.

There's yet another Yule one-shot scenario over on my Patreon page. Tim's are better, I think; he always manages to weave just the right seasonal magic. Agree? Then you should take a look at his books. Perfect Christmas gifts for the thinking people in your life:

and for kids: