None can say that life in the Greenweald is a calm or easy one. Even without the undead reaching to grasp Resinderholz in their cadaverous clutches, it is not a realm absent of shadows awaiting weakness, man-made, monstrous or otherwise, to pick and pick at until a pestilent void is left behind.
Across Eisen cobblestones drip with Blasserstreit-infected blood, spreading with them a plague that seems to be as cemented into the Weald’s nature as their stoic dispositions. In the forests and towns, monsters, both those masquerading as men, and those more blatant with their presentations, wander through darkened canopies plotting, patrolling, and indulging in their primal priorities. And throughout the Sableheart, the wind echoes with the cacophonies of green-fleshed fae, their raucous writhing joined by clanking carapaces and undulating undergrowth.
But perhaps, as the final stones, syringes, and scalpels find their homes in the freshly finished Schloss Mortis there forms the dawning sun the Barony so desperately needs. Perhaps.
I Will Treat Fairly, or Not at All
On the eve of 226, the greatest outbreak of Blasserstreit was tearing through eastern Resinderholz like a howling beast. Across the Sableheart and Ravensreach the cries of death and despair were heard. These cries called forth the Crows, whose cold calculations and steady hands reached out to fourteen havens that had succumbed to the disease. With scalpel, flame, and poultice they descended. But each Haven was a story unto itself.
Witchallow
Witchallow stood on the brink of a pyre when Doktor Helena Gerlach arrived, the Wealdsage Vistile locked in his cabin, the townsfolk ready to cleanse both plague and discomfort in one blaze. With words and authority, she brought the mob to heel and claimed her patient from their fear. Vistile, foul-tempered and ungrateful even in fever, was treated rather than burned, and the sickness that might have consumed the grave-town was cut short. In the end no smoke rose over Witchallow, only the usual quiet hush of stone and soil. The Haven returned to its strange, uneasy peace, proof that sometimes the hardest fire to quench is the one lit in frightened hearts.
Greypeak Ruin
At Greypeak Ruin, Doktor-Apprentice Jannika Katzenjammer fought not only the fever in the patient's veins, but the quiet rot of coin and privilege. As Blasserstreit crept through the foothills, the Haven began to fracture medicines bought and hidden, hope reserved for those who could afford it. Jannika stripped the hoarded vials from private hands and set them back into common use, declaring that survival would not be auctioned. Many still died, but they died beneath the same judgment: need, not wealth. In that bitter equalising, the apprentice’s mask ceased to be borrowed and a Doktor was forged.
Norewalz
The soldiers at Norewalz held the damned line, and their memory won’t brook any legends to the contrary. Through the season it served as a staging ground for counter-offensives against the undead pressing into Resinderholz, its soldiers marching out beneath banners and returning beneath stretchers. There were whispers of sickness among the ranks, but none ever took root, at least, so the official papers bearing Doktor Luugnav’s seal attest. Whether the plague was truly contained, or merely buried beneath discipline and silence, may never be known. Now the fort-haven stands quiet and empty, its watchfires cold, its halls holding only the echo of boots and the memory of warriors who did not survive.
Curkenplatz
At Curkenplaz the danger did not rot away in the open, it lingered in shared mugs and open doors. Doktor Eeric Harper saw what others did not wish to: that the tavern, heart of the Haven and keeper of its coin, was also its greatest wound. With heavy word and steady resolve, the doors were shut and the road turned away, silencing the trade that had long defined the place. Coin faltered, families drifted, and the once-bustling stop along the Baron’s Road fell into an uneasy quiet. Yet the hearth has not gone cold entirely, it burns on the strength of a Doktor’s promise that survival would not end at quarantine, and that Curkenplaz would see the winter through that same Doktors work…
Dunnmerdy
At Dunnmerdy, love burned like tinder.
The Dagmars and the Siegberts had drawn their sick inward, believing blood and loyalty could hold back a plague that cared for neither. Instead, their homes swelled with fever and panic until the town itself stood on the brink of ruin. Doktor Brigitte Helbrecht did not argue with inevitability; she answered it with fire and steel, ordering the houses burned and cutting down those who burst from the flames. The screams carried far across the wool fields that night, but the sickness did not. When it was done, Dunnmerdy still stood, and the Doktor wept not at all.
Graveline Cross Wayhouse
Graveline Cross became the artery through which the war around Eisen bled, flowing into this once-tavern for final reckoning.
From its crowded halls passed hundreds, soldiers of the Legion of the Blackheart Bear, even the Bordevarian 1st Banner, all laid low by claw, steel, or fever. But Blasserstreit is a subtler enemy than any army, and in its later stages it turned fear into fury. When six infected soldiers seized hostages and tried to break from the triage tents, it was the Doktors and their mercenary captains who answered the crisis. Words were offered first; steel followed when panic would not yield. The breakout was stopped, the line held, and Graveline Cross endured, still a place of blood and mercy, but no longer a place of hesitation.
Draycrozt
What happens in Draycrozt, stays in Draycrozt. Excepting the toll on the soul. Excepting the secrets held close. Except the blood on his hands. No one died here, no one succumbed to that dreaded disease. But all is not well in this Cattle-Haven. But to speak openly about it, would be to break an oath.
Those that remain
Reports are still coming in from further afield, from the Havens elsewhere. They have been given supplies and skilled healers. All we can do is hope.
Game Information
Following the extensive works by the people of The Greenweald and The Concord at large, the massive outbreak of Blasserstreit in eastern Resinderholz has been restrained and largely defeated. While there are certainly still some patients in almshouses, funerals to be had, and corpses that hid themselves away in hollows and cellars, the danger is passed.
This was due to the immense skill of the Crow Doktors and the will of the Barony to overcome this challenge. This was not an easy task and the Weald should be proud of this achievement. Across fourteen havens Crow Doktors made tough choices, sacrificed parts of themselves, and made sure that the Blasserstreit was stopped wherever it occurred.
Pick Another Profession or Finish Your Apprenticeship and Teach.
Ninety-six years after it was abandoned, The Schloss Mortis has opened its doors once again. The sprawling complex of laboratories, lecture halls, gardens, and surgical chambers buzzes with activity like a hive. A small gaggle of administrators has had to reach out to the Civil Service in Wolstad to assist them on their first day as would-be-Crows flock to the black-walled house of learning, hoping to find meaning, knowledge, power, or some monstrous amalgamation of the three.
But spaces are limited, with a faculty that could be measured on all the digits of a well-preserved cadaver, ‘The Mortis’ can only take on so many hopefuls, and the cost of doing so means that only the most dedicated and prepared are allowed entry. The looming threat of the Blasserstreit outbreak is seldom far from anyone’s thoughts, giving all the proceedings weight and fear.
But when all is said and done, and the admission papers filed away, there is a sense of sublime hope that goes unspoken. For the first time in nearly a hundred years black and gray clad students walk the road from their lodgings in Wolstad to a school of medical learning. The sharpest scalpels in Resinderholz turn their gaze towards healing the world, not simply surviving it. Even with a cohort size of thirty, it is symbolic of a changing in fate, a righting of fortune.
Beyond education, reports flood in from across the Barony. Distant Crows calling out their willingness to work as a part of the larger murder. From small Haven’s to regional alms houses in Krezenberg and Eisen, the reports come in. Supplies held, expertise earned, and apprentices tested. A community of medical professionals pulls itself from the shadows where it had held on for so long. While the people of the Weald are not an outwardly hopeful folk, there is a spark of it here that is felt across the Barony.
Game Information
The reconstruction of Schloss Mortis has been completed, granting The Concord a center of medical knowledge unheard of before, and granting the Crow Doktors of the Weald a sanctum, allowing the return of their Guild.
The title of ‘Krahenmeister of Schloss Mortis’ has been created and will be elected this season, although it will not have any income this season as the university's garden establishes itself.
All characters with the Crow Doktor archetype, who are based in Resinderholz and have the Apothecary skill automatically know the ‘Al-Asah’s Antidote’ recipe.
Thrash, Cry, and Die
“Beasts of your own making.”
The already dim noise of the tavern ceased entirely. Everyone knew what the stranger was referring to, their tale had been told often enough on their journey. Even worse, none could truly feel comfortable refuting the weary traveller. It had been something that The Baronies had struggled with for what felt an age, and it was not far-fetched a circumstance.
“Killed the monster, sure enough, but left bigger ones running around in its place, eh?”
The mood was shifting, and none could even look in the Lerona Mereians direction. He knew it, and it did nothing to quell his fury and bitterness. His voice began to rise.
“Is that what you value here in this dreadful place, Mon Amis? Truly? Savage creatures acting on your own behalf?”
He was on his feet now, swaying ever so slightly as the intoxication took hold.
“Not a single one of you care, eh? That’s just life here, is it? You’ll endure? HAH! What a load of absolute shit. You’ll let your own be killed just as well as others, and don’t blink an eye. A curse. That is what it is. That is what you have allowed to fester.”
He was spitting his words with a venom that he knew would get him beat if he were anywhere else. He didn’t care anymore. He knew he would get no reaction from these dour people, and he had drunk his fill. But he would not leave empty-handed, morally anyways. He would leave them with a curse of his own.
“I’m sick of this. Let your sacrifices happen. Keep your dark secrets. I won’t, and you’ll be damned if I'm staying here a second more. I’m not risking my life before any of your so-called ‘sages’ when they were the ones tried to kill me. Wealdsages. Hah!”
“Wealdsavages more like.”
-=-=-=-
Dorothea examined the arrow embedded in the tree trunk, wisely choosing not to touch the thing with her bare hands. It was a crude thing, poorly whittled and badly fletched, but crafted nonetheless. Its strangest quality was its size. Even from where she was standing, a good two feet below its mark, she could tell that this was no ordinary arrow fired from an ordinary bow.
“Dan..ger.”
Fleischlingvalt did not jump nor cry at the low, purred words that came from the dark of a tree behind her. This was The Eisen Orchard. In the past few years it has been inundated with strangeness from the surrounding Weald, but this particularly feline strangeness was familiar to many. She glanced back at the shadows, and saw the gleaming eyes of something far larger than it was six months prior.
“How dangerous?”
“Ver…yy. Ba..d.” The unblinking, unnatural stare still unnerved Dorothea, but she had come to trust in the instincts of this creature of the wilds. For so long as it protected The Orchard, or whatever it was actually doing here, then the thing known as Gren would be trusted. No Houndspriests have said otherwise at any rate, she thought to herself.
“Can you protect us from it?”
When a reply was not immediately forthcoming, but the stare remained, she knew the answer. She raised a hand to her temple, massaging it as she thought on what was to be done. Looking back to the arrow itself, she thought there very well may not be much she could do at all.
She silently and privately prayed, there in the darkness beneath the Thunderoak.
-=-=-=-
“What, me?”
The Bordevarian commoner looked genuinely shocked at the task they had just been given. It made sense to ask them, but it was the asking itself that was the part that felt most strange.
“I get why yer’ asking me to do it. I'm speedy, like. But yer’ not sane if i’m bout’ to just run on out to The Tier and get turned to a cushion.”
“A ‘pin-cushion’, I believe you mean.” A dry reply, one that cared not for the surrounding complaint.
“Sure, still not doing it. What’s yer’ excuse?”
The other Bordevarian, for all intents and purposes the senior gatherer present, shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. Everyone had seen the size of the arrow that had put a hole through Abel’s neck. No one wanted to step out and risk getting the same. No one had even found where it came from.
“Can’t really blame our Weald-mates for this one, can we.” Came the limp reply. “Here comes one now. Spheres, I hope they got more bravery than us when it comes to arrows like that.”
The approaching gatherer’s face portrayed none of the wished for courage. Neither did their next few words give any relief.
“Samuel is dead. His heart is pinned to a tree on our side of The Tier.”
Game Information
No strangers to monsters in their woods, the people of Resinderholz look to the most present of these threats with wary attention.
In the West, a beast terrorizing The Gap has been felled by Wealdsages under the lead of The Sage Superior, but the cost has been great and its consequences unforeseen. Survivors begin spreading tales of forceful sacrifices of innocent bystanders caught in the magic, their lives traded for that of the beast’s. Whether there is truth to the claims is impossible to say, but the anti-Wealdsage sentiment that it poses is not one unfamiliar to the people of Resinderholz.
There will be information regarding this sentiment for various Greenweald Titleholders.
Meanwhile, in the East, an elusive yet dangerous killer has been stalking the lands near The Eisen Orchard, and it remains unchecked. Despite its local protector, a strange Weald-beast known as Gren, the notable presence of the Hirschkind becomes impossible to ignore for those who work The Eisen Orchard. Some begin to fear for their lives, others begin to consider if staying is the best course of action. Still, none have seen the beast in the flesh.
Regardless, the slowly growing lack of workers, in addition to a missing store of harvested Thunderoak, has seen a reduction in the amount of Thunderoak available this Season.
In the borders of The Weald and Weiland, Rickon’s Tier has suffered from rumours, sightings and events mirroring the struggles of The Eisen Orchard, though separated by a significant margin of time. The scare created by the strange arrows was a most unexpected and frightful occurrence for the workers of The Tier, and as such has resulted in no production this Season, as no one wished to risk the possible dangers. Production is not expected to resume if no solution is found.
There will be information and decisions regarding The Hirschkind for The Champion of the Baronies, The Deed Holder of the Eisen Orchard, The Sheriff of Carningsfield and The Groundskeeper of Rickon’s Tier.
Gaze Into Mortal Souls with Inscrutable Eyes
On the fifteenth of March, Ritter Olivia Reslau died defending Eisen. She was a part of a large block of Ritters and Ritter-Apprentices whose heavy armour and strong shield arms were holding a main promenade that led from the docks to the town centre. On the flanks of the force, it was her chainmail aventail that was grabbed by a rotting ghoul claw that had emerged from a barricaded house. When the creature's rusted sword slid up her side and then through the gap in her armour at the underarm, Ritter Olivia Reslau bled green, not red.
She fell to the ground, her body seizing, her skin shifting from pale, to bloodshot, to asphyxiated purple, to sickly green. One eye liquified itself as a suppurating pale green gel replaced it. In the chaos of the combat, the only thing the corpse of the creature that had been Ritter Olivia Reslau, daughter of Hanno and Teresa, was successful in doing was tripping over the Ritter ahead of her as he retreated backwards.
When the street cleared and the dead were retrieved, the creature was mostly dissolved. A houndspriest was summoned and the matter was quickly hidden from public view. But fifty people had fought in that battle, and more had seen Reslau’s corpse being rushed to the chapel off the main square, not the triage points around the town. This was a rumour that stood no chance of being contained.
A mold-walker, a Shadura, or some other shapeshifter, had been imitating a Ritter who had been teaching at the College of War for nearly eight months. A woman who had a husband and child. What did the Unknowable Ones want with the Ritters of Eisen? What had they already attained?
Who else may be nothing but swampwater and lies beneath an all too thin layer of human skin?
By Summit-time the commonfolk from Wolstad to Krezenberg are shuttering their doors, blessing their Hearths even at home, and questioning every interaction. Markets grow quieter, more hurried, and every messenger is viewed with scrutiny.
After all, are you who you say you are?
Game Information
Reports of Shapeshifters among the population of Resinderholz have once again reared their ugly head. In this difficult time neighbours begin to suspect neighbours and the hearthfires burn bright. Much of this is painful paranoia, but at least one Shapeshifter has been discovered, garbed in the armour of a Ritter…
As of yet, the danger is primarily one caused by paranoia, rather than any truth, but who knows what the truth is.
All Player Characters who are Minor Shapeshifters are reduced to bleedout when they are directly exposed to a Greenweald Hearthblessing ritual.
All Player Characters who are Major Shapeshifters suffer 1 Damage when they are directly exposed to a Greenweald Hearthblessing ritual.
There will be decisions relating the appearance of Shapeshifters among the people of Resinderholz for the Chapter Kaptain of Chapter Kristov, The Sage Superior of the Broken Vale, The Ritter-Kaptain of Eisen, and the Baroness of Resinderholz.
Purge Thy Mortal Grossness
It is known that The Weald operates on its own whims, seemingly in opposition to the wants of the Concordians that reside within it: settlement of havens full of homes and hearthfires leads to the shadows around them growing ever darker and more persistent; foraging of herbs and mana by dim lantern light encourages invasive noxious weeds that kill the grazing fauna of the area; strong Houndspriests provoke the voices that whisper to Wealdsages in the dead of night to drip words of silver from lips of crimson. If The Weald is given an inch, it will take a mile in whichever direction will create the most strain - this is known by the wisest Sage and the youngest child alike.
The Concord have given the Fae Queen plenty.
Concordian coins and crafts melted down and forged anew to arm her growing forces. Essencite gathered from Concordian mines added to Rakoric picked by Concordian hands, to protect them from harm. Blacksap spread over the opening of cells to accelerate the pupation of the warriors within. All made possible by the gifts of the Concordian denizens of the Sableheart.
And in return, they suffered no frightful fate. No awful recompense. No successful strikes from the undead to cave in the skulls of every man, woman, child, and beloved pet that resides within their now peaceful homes.
She does not lie. She gives. She provides safety. Protection. A warm and caring embrace, the den of thorns and combs whispers as it grows.
WIth precedent set, it is no surprise that the ‘taxation’ on those of the Sableheart - of her home - does not abate in any way, shape, or form. If anything, as the season becomes cooler and damper, and the forest becomes darker and sharper, the call for offerings grow more and more rapid. Warriors with waspish carapaces waltz into Havens with requests of Crystal Mana, while Boghoffens kindly relieve the gathered townsfolk of their Herbs and Hartswood.
Before only some of the populace - the more superstitious or wary of the Wealders - were leaving offerings for the Fae Queen and her forces. However, as the fae become more comfortable in the growing flora surrounding each and every Haven, and the Havens themselves become more difficult to see through the brambles and briars, this is no longer the case.
No one wants to be the only family in the village with nothing to offer the Wasp Knights when they arrive to collect their dues. No one wants to be the reason that the town’s food spoils, or their well’s water is sapped away by the thicket that now surrounds it. No one wants to be the doom of The Sableheart when the Baroness Wealdsage has told them to give all that they can to save the Weald, and the Fae Queen is offering protection in return.
So, as the Sableheart grows greener and greener with Boghoffens and flora alike, and their ruler readies to travel to meetings, as all monarchs must, a new ‘normal’ is found for those that live within. A status quo that none, surely, would be so foolish as to shatter.
Game Information
The Fae Queen’s forces, following their rallying in the Sableheart, have grown stronger for their patience. Whilst once inhabiting a small portion of the forests, their influence has spread thanks to the generosity of the denizens, with many donations being offered to The Fae Queen this past season. For their collective compliance, all Herb Gardens and Wildernesses within the Sableheart have produced as if one tier higher this past Season.
However, these donations are expected to continue into the coming Season, with each investment being expected to offer Crystal Mana, Herbs, and Hartswood as taxation for living in such a prosperous, verdant land. Information on this ‘taxation’ will be provided in the character packs of those with investments in the Sableheart.
As the Fae Queen’s power has grown, so too has her influence on the environment that she resides within. This has resulted in the Sableheart gaining the following trait as the Weald is overrun with brambles and briars.
| Trait | +Cas. Inf. | +Cas. Suff. | Special |
| Throne of Thorns | - | +10% | This trait does not affect armies belonging to the Fae Queen.
Movement into this territory costs one extra movement point. |
Additionally, through the powers of the Plenipotentiary, the Wealdsages of the Broken Vale have called forth the Fae Queen. There will be a conflux addressing her at this coming Summit, however the magnitude of this interaction has grown since its inception. It will take the form of a Skirmish for 20 Greenwealders, the responsible party for which will be the Sage Superior.
I Stumble for My Path is Doomed
The Chapter Kaptain departs Krezenberg, a small cohort of warriors at his back. They are Houndspriests, many of them novices or adepts. They are well equipped, with supplies to carry them deep into the woods, and weapons to make their mark when they arrive. The goal is simple, strike deep into the Harbringer’s Nightmare, and carve out whatever they can. In his heart of heart, the Chapter Kaptain hopes to save those of his Chapter he has sent there in the past, those who never returned.
-
In the city of Wolstad, a respected Houndspriest steps off the Abbey’s promenade and wipes a hand across his sweat-beaded brow. He does what he can to save the souls of the people that surround him, and always manages to draw a crowd of respectable size. But as time goes on, he wonders if it is all for nought.
-
In the distant Sableheart, a lone warrior-priest clutches his shortsword and swears into the night. The Boghoffens were everywhere, and the Carnivorous Maze of Waldorf an der Hecke that was his to protect drew them like flies to honey. He was scarred and tired, unsure if he could continue to hold the line alone.
-
In the distant north, not far from the border, a Doktor swears and throws down his tools. While the fire of change burns within him, the scattering of his brain and the fumbling of his work looms large. He has seen so many trials and tribulations faced by the heroes of The Concord. How can he sit here in Heimstad and wait for them to rise again?
-
Along the Crusaders Road, she checks her equipment, and checks it again. Her Adept's trial passed, and once again the High Historian was free to take up the blade to strike down the enemies of The Concord. As she travelled east to travel south, she could not help but look north, at what once was.
But fate is not an idle thing, it does not sway on the wind and whims of chance, it does not fall uncaringly like rain. It is a thing wrought by skill, corrupted by malice, and struck home like a lover's betraying blade. The Veil of the Grieving Woe stands no longer, but that Harbringer Stand tore fate asunder to defend its cursed flesh.
The Chapter Kaptain returns, supported on a litter by two other Hounds. He does not stir, to the faces of those he passes in Krezenberg, he does not breathe. They sequester him in the Abbey and none are allowed to see him, save for the Doktors that come and go day and night.
-
The priest in Wolstad stumbles to the ground clutching his eyes as visions of an empty world crash down around him. His screams fill the square and people don’t know if they should rush to help, or flee in terror.
-
As the Houndspriest rests, the maze that he guards schemes to undo him, to spread and to bring woe. With only the briefest moment of inattention, the hedge lashes out at him, drawing him into its folds, and communing with the Fae, calling them to his form.
-
In distant Heimstad, The Doktor slumps to the ground outside his cabin. The haven is silent, not abandoned, but near enough to. Were it not for the guard that answers to his call, there would be no one here. Coincidence, chance, circumstance, and malady had driven them away in short order. Or was it him?
-
Along the Crusader’s Road, she stumbles, alone. Her armour broken, her sword dulled. Her task was done, but she was shattered. Her word was kept, but her mind was burned. As her wounds fester, and her steps become ragged, she is alone, as always.
Game Information
Numerous Greenweald characters are suffering from a traumatic wound ‘Doomed’. This wound was inflicted by the Harbringer Stand ‘The Veil of Grieving Woe’ as it was destroyed a year prior. This wound continues to fester, bringing pain and ill fate down upon each of these characters.
Chapter Kaptain Volker Klein has returned from a mission to scout and harm the Harbringers Nightmare. The mission killed many, and has heavily wounded the Chapter Kaptain. It is unclear if he will survive. There will be information for the Chapter Kaptain and the Krahenmeister regarding this.
Ulric Fellstead has succumbed to a burning set of visions prescribing doom on the populace. A well-known figure in Wolstad, characters who frequent the city may have heard rumours of ‘The Priest from the Square going mad and scratching at his eyes.’
Connor Hedge, a Houndspriest from the depths of the Sableheart has been severely wounded by his investment and has endangered local Havens as the Fae Queen moves against The Concord. There will be additional information for him and decisions for the Sage Superior regarding this.
Heimstad in the northern parts of the Ravensreach Wilds has suffered an exodus, leaving Hansel Von Heimstad alone. There will be decisions regarding the fate of the Haven for Hansel and the Baroness of Resinderholz.
High Historian Wenche Vanatoure has been heavily wounded during her downtime action, and may suffer permanent wounds. Moreso, some of her time scouting against the Onyx is unaccounted for…
There will be decisions regarding ‘Doomed’ for the Baroness of Resinderholz, The Krahenmeister of Schloss Mortis, and the Council of Six.