Water babies

The kappa of The Eye of the Dragon, which eventually found their way into Dragon Warriors, owe very little apart from their watery habitat to the creatures of Japanese folklore. For one thing they live in the sea, whereas Japanese kappa haunt ponds and streams. Not to mention the unhealthy obsession with mortal posteriors, as in the illustration above where a kappa is looking at an bow trap baited with a corpse whose arse is positioned directly under the arrow tip.

The way it came about was this. I probably first came across kappa (the original variety) either in Richard A Lupoff’s Sword of the Demon or the roleplaying game Bushido. As the setting of The Eye of the Dragon is vaguely Graeco-Egyptian, at least architecturally, and kappa is a Greek letter, some circuit tripped in my brain. That combined with The Tempest’s “of his bones are coral made; those are pearls that were his eyes” and gave us the DW kappa.

For our Tetsubo book (I won’t recap the story here, there are enough old posts about it) Jamie and I naturally had to include to genuine Japanese kappa, supposedly spawned from the ghosts of the Heike after the clan’s destruction at the sea battle of Dan-no-ura.

According to the Morokoshi Kinmō Zui, these creatures resemble a small child or monkey with a back entirely covered in scales, look like a tiger when resting on the sand, and have long claws that they keep hidden in the water. But folk tales, like dreams, are elusive and protean; another description claims the kappa has the body of a tortoise, the limbs of a frog, and the head of a monkey. Just to confuse things even more, the Suiko (a Bugaku theatrical mask) depicts the creature with flat ears, a pointed eagle nose, and a coxcomb covered with tiger's skin.

In the river of Kawachi Mura, a kappa was once caught in the girth of a horse. After being rendered harmless by spilling its fluid, it was forced to sign a bond promising never to attack a man, woman, child, or beast again. Another tale tells of Rokusuke of Keyamura, a retainer of Taiko, a strongman who captured a kappa. In prints he is seen surrounded by a number of these creatures.

Poems by Sugawara no Michizane were held in great esteem in Kyushu as protection against the kappa. Before departing for exile in Kyushu in 901 AD, Michizane cast a final glance at his plum trees and composed the following verses:

“Kochi fukaba Niwoi okoseyo Ume no hana Aruji nashi tote Haruna wasurezo.”

The sources translate this as:

"When the eastern breeze passes, load her with perfume O blossoms of my plum trees; even though the master is far away, never forget the spring."

According to legend, the poem was so powerful that one of the plum trees uprooted itself and miraculously flew to Chikuzen to be with him. This tree became known as Tobi Ume, or the "jumping plum tree". In exile, Michizane was crossing a river when a kappa seized his horse’s bridle and tried to drag him underwater. Michizane sliced off the creature’s hand. The mummified hand can be viewed to this day at the Kitano Tenmangū Shrine in Kurume, Fukuoka.

That’s all a long preamble to the Tetsubo entry for kappa, which (like the baku and gaki) I have converted to Dragon Warriors rules.

Kappa

Kappa are amphibious goblins that inhabit the rivers, lakes and ponds of the Ikaido islands. Honourable but vicious, they prey on the blood of land-dwelling creatures -- not just mankind, but also cattle and horses. Their favourite sustenance, however, is the blood of human children. They drink this through the rectum, so if a drowned corpse with a distended anus is found this is always blamed (on the whole justifiably) on the kappa. These creatures are ferociously proud of their martial ability. They will sometimes challenge a person to single combat, and if the kappa is bested it will undertake to teach secret skills to its opponent. It is important to be very exact about the terms of a duel, as kappa are sticklers for the letter of an agreement and if they can gain any advantage (such as by insisting the duel take place underwater) they will not hesitate to do so. Kappa are not communal. Always encountered singly, they are the Oriental equivalent of the kelpie of Elleslandic folklore: a genius loci, really a water sprite rather than a simple water-dwelling animal.

Physique: Kappa are spindly beings rather like monkeys, except that they have no fur but instead are covered with silvery-grey or yellow-green scales, like those of a fish. Their hands are webbed and, in some cases at least, a carapace like a tortoise’s shell protects the kappa’s upper body. Kappa have a bowl-shaped depression in the top of their heads. This is used to carry water when the kappa emerges on to dry land, as otherwise it would quickly lose its strength.

Behaviour: Kappa fear fire, which desiccates their bodies. A kappa faced with brandished flame must roll 6 or less on d20 or give ground. Any fire-based attack which strikes a kappa, whether or not it inflicts damage, dries its body; it loses 1 Health Point and suffers a cumulative −1 from ATTACK until it can next immerse itself.

Special Rules: Kappa breathe underwater and are excellent swimmers. Either through sorcery or stealth, they are seldom seen on their excursions to human settlements. Renowned for their fondness for cucumbers, they can be bribed or distracted by an offering of them; the kappa resists the temptation only if it rolls 17 or more on d20.

They are able to survive short forays onto land by means of the hollow on their heads, which holds water to sustain them. If this water is spilled, the kappa quickly becomes too weak even to move. It is possible to trick a kappa into spilling its water simply by bowing: kappa are so polite that they almost invariably bow back. Roll d20 against the kappa’s Intelligence of 6; on a success it realises the danger and keeps its head level as it bows, otherwise the water spills out and the kappa can be caught. (As with most creature vulnerabilities, players should not have their characters make use of this ploy without first checking to see if they know it. Obviously anyone can read it here, but the Tetsubo rulebook is unfortunately not available in Yamato! A character must be versed in Shinto doctrine and make a successful Intelligence check at difficulty factor 13 to remember this weakness and exploit it.)

Kappa invariably know Unarmed Combat, Kawashi, Koppo, Atemi-Waza, Heal Wounds and Surgery (skills defined in the Tetsubo rules), and in most cases they are better at these skills than humans. They are also innate spellcasters, casting without gesture, incantation or ingredient — though their magic, like their strength, fails entirely while the water is spilled from their heads. Each kappa has 3d4 Magic Points and commands the following: Curse, Lesser Healing, Command, Tangleroots, Peer, and Illusion (all as the Sorcerer spells of those names, at the usual Magic Point costs); Wave Mastery (as the Water Elementalist spell; a kappa uses it to part or still the waters of its pool, 2 Magic Points); and five lesser dweomers of its own, each costing 1 Magic Point and lasting until a Spell Expiry Roll: marsh-lights (a drift of pale flames that wander where the kappa wills, luring or misleading travellers by night), the zone of cold (a clammy chill within 10m of the kappa, numbing fingers: −1 from ATTACK for all within), the zone of silence (no sound carries within 10m of the kappa), the reek (a concealing fog rises over water within 50m) and dousing (every open flame within 15m gutters out).

As Tetsubo is not going to be out before next year, anyone looking for a good RPG of the Sengoku and early Edo period is advised to check out Stray Crows from Portmortem Studios. The Kickstarter is launching soon and there's a free preview on DriveThruRPG.

The bells, the bells!

Chime Born characters are those whose time of birth marks them out from others. In the north-western parts of the world of Legend (especially Ellesland, Chaubrette and Kurland) this is believed to confer special abilities. Roll 5d6 during character creation and consult the table:

Technically the character must have been born within the sound of church bells, not merely at those times of day, which implies they were born in or near a town, monastery or large village where the bells would be rung at regular times.

Given the rolls required, characters like this will obviously be very rare, but I agree with Damien Walter that the value of role-playing rulebooks is not only in deciding what happens in a specific game, but to tantalize with all the possibilities that might occur. Glimpses of other possibilities or future games; the hint of the bulk of the iceberg floating darkly below you. So there will be some folkloric touches like this that may never apply to your PCs personally, but will nonetheless colour how players see the world.

I originally considered the Chime Born feature for the Jewelspider RPG but it ended up on the cutting-room floor, at least as an overt game mechanic. It smacks too much of 18(00) strength in the old days of D&D -- a footling detail that isn't worth including if players are really just going to accept the vagaries of statistical chance. But I expect the Chime Born to get mentioned somewhere (perhaps in a scenario or in the magic section of the rulebook) even if they're not a PC option, and they could work very well in Dragon Warriors if not in the lower-fantasy version of Legend that is the setting of Jewelspider.

Figures on a hillside

‘Who comes must love lone

places,

Where long-forgotten bone

Lies in the old spaces.’

Fans of the work of English fantasy author John Whitbourn won't want to miss the chance to lay their hands on The Ghosts and Scholars Book of Landscape Figures. This is a hand-numbered limited edition hardcover featuring a selection of weird tales involving chalk giants and other ancient entities slumbering in the hills. Mr Whitbourn's contribution may (so he threatens) be his last short story. We must hope that's not so, but collectors will want to snap up their copy just in case. Forget about NFTs and crypto; give it a year or two and these books will be worth more than their weight in Saxon gold.

As for prehistoric (or sometimes more recent) chalk figures -- abiding through the centuries, they evoke a sense of the numinous even in a thoroughgoing materialist like me. They can be variously seen as guardians of the sacred, warnings to intruders, or just marks left by those lived before us to say, "We were here!" In the hands of these skilled writers they lie across the threshold where folk horror and psychogeography meet. I haven't been able to resist using them in my own work, both in the Dragon Warriors scenario "Wayland's Smithy" and, more frivolously, in this letter to the Royal Mythological Society in Mirabilis, the comic I created with Leo Hartas and Martin McKenna.

"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.

Do you really want to live forever?

Even back in the '80s, a career as a fantasy writer was half an excuse to read up on myths and folktales and get paid for it. In preparing my Jewelspider RPG I've enjoyed many a deep dive into folklore. Inevitably my copy of The Golden Bough gets a lot of use and here's a particularly choice snippet from Frazer that deserves to get used in Legend somewhere:

'In legends and folk-tales, which reflect the ideas of earlier ages, we find [the] suspension between heaven and earth attributed to beings who have been endowed with the coveted yet burdensome gift of immortality. The wizened remains of the deathless Sibyl are said to have been preserved in a jar or urn which hung in a temple of Apollo at Cumae; and when a group of merry children, tired, perhaps, of playing in the sunny streets, sought the shade of the temple and amused themselves by gathering underneath the familiar jar and calling out, “Sibyl, what do you wish?” a hollow voice, like an echo, used to answer from the urn, “I wish to die.” A story, taken down from the lips of a German peasant at Thomsdorf, relates that once upon a time there was a girl in London who wished to live for ever, so they say:

“London, London is a fine town. A maiden prayed to live for ever.”

'And still she lives and hangs in a basket in a church, and every St. John's Day, about the hour of noon, she eats a roll of bread. Another German story tells of a lady who resided at Danzig and was so rich and so blest with all that life can give that she wished to live always. So when she came to her latter end, she did not really die but only looked like dead, and very soon they found her in a hollow of a pillar in the church, half standing and half sitting, motionless. She stirred never a limb, but they saw quite plainly that she was alive, and she sits there down to this blessed day. Every New Year's Day the sacristan comes and puts a morsel of the holy bread in her mouth, and that is all she has to live on. Long, long has she rued her fatal wish who set this transient life above the eternal joys of heaven.

'A third German story tells of a noble damsel who cherished the same foolish wish for immortality. So they put her in a basket and hung her up in a church, and there she hangs and never dies, though many a year has come and gone since they put her there. But every year on a certain day they give her a roll, and she eats it and cries out, “For ever! for ever! for ever!” And when she has so cried she falls silent again till the same time next year, and so it will go on for ever and for ever.

'A fourth story, taken down near Oldenburg in Holstein, tells of a jolly dame that ate and drank and lived right merrily and had all that heart could desire, and she wished to live always. For the first hundred years all went well, but after that she began to shrink and shrivel up, till at last she could neither walk nor stand nor eat nor drink. But die she could not. At first they fed her as if she were a little child, but when she grew smaller and smaller they put her in a glass bottle and hung her up in the church. And there she still hangs, in the church of St. Mary, at Lübeck. She is as small as a mouse, but once a year she stirs.'

Here's another example, this time not from folklore but from fiction (Conrad's Nostromo):

'The sailors, the Indian, and the stolen burro were never seen again. As to the Indian, a Sulaco man—his wife paid for some masses, and the poor four-footed beast, being without sin, had been probably permitted to die; but the two gringos, spectral and alive, are believed to be dwelling to this day amongst the rocks under the fatal spell of their success. Their souls cannot tear themselves away from their bodies mounting guard over the discovered treasure. They are now rich and hungry and thirsty—a strange theory of tenacious gringo ghosts suffering in their starved and parched flesh of defiant heretics, where a Christian would have renounced and been released.'

And that in turn reminded me of the wizard Cob in Le Guin's The Farthest Shore, who makes himself unkillable but not in a good way. His body is covered in wounds, he gets stomped and burnt by a dragon, and crawls off helpless. And (gosh, this archetype is everywhere) there's also Kroenen in the Hellboy movie:

Even the scientific pathways to immortality don't sound very appealing. For player-characters, then, immortality is a case of be careful what you wish for.

The Devil is a gentleman

Midsummer is a good time to talk about the Devil. I don't mean the Biblical fellow. (Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub... They're not even the same character, are they?) In English folk tales he has another persona, as Sybil Marshall reminds us:

"The medieval folk-concept of the Devil, as distinct from that preached by the Church, is of Rex Mundi - large, dark, and handsome, infinitely attractive, a jolly fellow full of pranks and merriment and still displaying some of the attributes of his counterparts in pagan times."

In older English legends, the Devil tends to be a ferocious adversary, often scaly or horned, whose main function is to make saints look cool. And making those early British saints look cool is quite a task.

When we meet the Devil in English folk tales, though, he usually comes clothed as a squire or, if he's feeling particularly wicked, maybe a monk or a parson. In this guise he has a little bit of faerie about him, and seems to borrow the aspect of Odin or Cernunnos rather than God's erstwhile favourite angel. He enjoys a challenge - building a bridge in a night, a riddling contest, or even a simple wrestling match. He is a trickster, sometimes so cunning that he outwits himself. If you are familiar with the TV show Once Upon A Time, this is pretty much the character of Rumpelstiltskin, only without the Hollywoodized origin story.

Saints are far too boring to appear in any decent folk tale, all preachy and chinbearded as they are, but many an English hero named Jack shows his mettle by outsmarting the Devil. Souls are sometimes wagered, and in the wager the Devil's greed will usually see him come off worse. I'm sure we're supposed to sympathize a little when, returning a farmer's wife, he gripes that...

“...I've been the Devil the whole of my life
But I never knew hell till I met your wife.”

I'm not just rambling, honest. There's a point to all this. If you cast your mind back to midwinter, at the end of the Legend scenario "Silent Night", I put in a throwaway line that had Mitch Edgeworth justifiably raising an eyebrow:

"At midnight on Christmas Day, the Devil comes to Crossgate Manor and offers to play a game of chess for a favour."

Clearly this was to be a story seed for the referee to extemporize a minor epilogue incident, perhaps with a single player, to contrast with the desperate danger and action of the preceding few hours and possibly to set up an ongoing relationship in the campaign. The Devil might enjoy having one mortal friend to play chess with just as much as Morpheus is fond of an occasional glass of wine with Hob Gadling.

Mitch did preface his comment by saying that he's not a role-player, which explains the confusion. Encountering the Devil over chess might very well develop into an interesting ongoing storyline, but setting up the idea in a scenario takes no more than one line. In real games, half a page of notes are ample for running a session of several hours, and scenarios like "Silent Night" are written up only to explain to somebody else how that adventure might be run. In our own game, the denouement came in the forest, not in Crossgate Manor, and the key to defeating Duruth and his knaves was completely unexpected and yet perfect. It arose out of nowhere, a story created from the participation of the group where the best parts have no individual origin. Which, in a nutshell, explains why I am a role-player.

The picture, by the way, is Pan, not the Devil. Image copyright Ian Greig and used here under Creative Commons Licence.