For many realms, there is a certain acceptance of suffering. There is a knowledge that life is what it is. People get sick, people die in war, people give in to avarice. But in The Weald, much of society is dedicated to fighting back against the acceptance of this darkness. Over the history of the Baronies, these attempts at improving and protecting the lives of Wealders were led by their Guilds. Which is why when the Baronies collapsed during the War of the Molten Moon and the Plague Crisis, the people of Resinderholz found themselves so disadvantaged.
But all is not lost; the Heroes of Resinderholz and The Concord work to return these Guilds to past glory, and perhaps there will be a time in the future where all of these great Guilds once again stand strong. Steps towards this destiny have already been taken, and their rewards taken in hand.
No Longer Quiet Into That Good Night
It is not every day that The Baronies’ Drummondite heritage is put on display for all to see, but the reestablishment of the last Houndspriest Chapter is surely worth some amount of ceremony.
The people of Krezenberg turned out in droves; banners of green and white were hung from the second stories of homes and despite a seasonal chill, the town's two taverns pulled their tables out into the street and food was served from breakfast till supper. Houndspriest Apprentices, used to being the butt of practical jokes from the townsfolk since the Chapter moved from Wolstad, found themselves guests of honour, invited into homes for biscuits and beverages, or cheered loudly on street corners. Those few full Houndspriests not wrapped up in the business of the event were treated with an elaborate level of haunted respect, with families offering them tokens of favour for their duties performed or requesting their hand to bless the private shrines within their homes.
The true ceremony was held on the footsteps of the Old Krezenberg Abbey. Once a dour building of woven ivy over dark stone, the façade was cleaned by the diligent hands of apprentices, new doors were hung, and a fine wrought iron fence was brought all the way from Eisen. For today, townsfolk wandered the grounds, watching apprentices move through swordfighting forms, listening to tales from veterans as old as the stones of the Abbey, or taking a chance to hear a rite in the same temple as their protectors. When midday’s sun had finally scared away the worst of the frost and people began to discard their heavy woollen cloaks, the aged Vina Frederov pushed herself to the top of the sandstone stairs that lead to the Abbey’s front. The ancient Houndspriest had been confined to a wheeled chair since the year's start, but the energy of Arcadian that raged within her refused to have any of her three apprentices push her forward. Her voice still cut through the air like an axe through a harpiye’s neck.
“The Valleyfolk call it the Age of Heroes. The Andashi call it the time of The Concord. The Lerona Mere call it simply ‘Time’. But here in the Baronies we are still held in this fall. This collapse that has seen all we held dear reduced to cinders and whispers. We are still lost in the night.”
A hush befell the crowd, an uncertainty if they had misread the intent of the day.
“But no longer. With this, one of my last breaths, I name every single damned Houndpriest with the solemn duty to see that this realm falters no longer. That this realm grasps destiny with a gauntleted fist and cries ‘No longer!’ No longer will we cry out in fear! No longer will we give the darkness to those who would use it against us! No longer are we alone in the night! No longer will the Baronies be the plaything of destiny! We will reclaim our birthright and reclaim hope for our children!”
The woman slumped back into her chair, breathing hard and raising one hand over her head. Despite her role as a teacher and leader, her hand was still adorned with a shining silver gauntlet that glittered in the midday sun. Applause rolled through the crowd like distant thunder - even Hans Rakkenbach, present to give his respect to the new Chapter Kristov, added his hands to the celebration, the few Houndspriests that joined him still wearing the red and green of the Chapter-that-would-have-been.
As day turned to night, the celebration turned from fete to farse as the taverns did a roaring trade. But the Houndspriests were nowhere to be seen. The gates of the Abbey had been closed and fine new doors sealed shut. Inside, Chapter Kristov held court while Novices patrolled the grounds. The Tome of Sacrifice was placed atop the altar, dust covered and locked shut. The weakened Vina Frederov pushed her brass key, one of only three cast, into the lock and for the first time in decades, the tome of Chapter Kristov was opened. Her words, delivered as a whisper, echoed about the space until they sounded in the ear of all assembled.
“And now we must make it so.”
Game Information
With a solid cohort of Houndspriests and a sanctum in the form of the Old Krezenberg Abbey, Chapter Kristov has been reconfirmed and will be the first of the old Greenweald Guilds brought into the time of The Concord. Houndspriests from across Resinderholz journey to the Abbey to swear their oaths anew in this new pursuit of safety for the people of the Weald.
The title of Chapter-Kaptain of the Old Krezenberg Abbey has been created. This title, open to Houndspriests from Resinderholz, will be the leader of Chapter Kristov in Resinderholz, and by extension, all Houndspriests in The Baronies. The Chapter-Kaptain will have numerous important decisions to make over the course of the Summit, particularly in regard to the future of the Chapter and the threats arrayed against both The Concord and The Baronies.
Hans Rakkenbach remains in Resinderholz, but has returned to a life of monster-hunting and ‘doing what needs to be done’. He can be contacted through the ‘Call Winged Messenger’ ceremony for any who would wish it.
Due to the newly forged focus and camaraderie of the new Chapter, many new Guidlers are being formed. Any new Houndspriest Guilders that are created before or during the Summer Summit will receive a stipend from Chapter Kristov containing supplies and currency.
A Gift Given Cannot Be Lost
The man moved through Krezenberg. Those that saw him would recall seeing someone, perhaps someone they felt they knew but could not place. A man was definitely there, they recalled speaking to him; some would even swear that they invited him in, but he declined politely. He had pressing expectations out to the west, but he was thankful for their words. As day turned to night and the cold mists of winter filled the streets his memory would fade, just as his blood foretold.
He moved through to the west, passing by camp and Haven until he stood before the Harbringer he had chosen. A blade-straight fir, absent needle or branch, but adorned with a spiralling chain of bone and sinew. For a league in any direction any creature larger than a shrew was entangled by living chains and dragged into the earth until its bones broke against the soil. But the man was untouched. It regarded the Harbringer with pity and no small amount of annoyance.
“Is this you Kavinex? Crafting filthy toys for the children to play with?” It wiped one hand across the nearest exposed chain, the bone underneath shivering like a pleased housecat.
“Or perhaps it is the Green One? Showing the low ones how to forge a battlefield worthy of your next campaign.” It lashed out with its boot, cracking the chain and sending black-red blood spilling across the ground.
“No matter. From west to east, north of the stone markers and south of the sea, this land is mine. So, it was said, and so it has been. You can take your chosen ones, your shamans and your…” Its words flowed away like leaves on the wind as it looked around at the horrific scene of an abhorrent living prison, given form through stolen magic.
“….your heretics.”
It turned to face the Harbringer, laying one hand on the withered and cracked trunk, one fingernail tracing the lines in the desiccated bark.
“But I will have my agents as well, as I always have.”
The fingernail pried open the bark, revealing an inner heart void of lumber, but instead composed viscera and hungry spurs of cartilage.
“And I am a very benevolent master.”
The Harbringer Stand shattered; at perfectly marked thirds the corrupted Carrionwood was split by the invisible blade of a giant, showering the field in splinters and screams. Across the league around the broken behemoth the chains pulled themselves from the earth and tried to slither away, banished snakes fleeing a saint of the darkness. When the cacophony had diminished, the broken sections of Carrionwood had arranged themselves into an arch with a nearly imperceptible shimmer between them, imitating the curtain on a great stage hidden in the woods.
It was gone, as easily as it had arrived, for a Sovereign’s work is never done.
-
Wealdsages across Resinderholz receive a message over the later weeks of winter, and it is a most unexpected revelation; a Sanctum has been given to the Sages of Resinderholz, a place for them to meet and share knowledge, protected from the world and the world protected from them. As the Summer Summit draws near, nearly every Wealdsage travels to the ‘Broken Vale’, passing through the archway using magic known to them and arriving at a clearing somewhere far away. Shrouded in perpetual moonlight and a gentle breeze, the Broken Vale appears as little more than a clearing in some calm region of the Weald, unbothered save for the whispers in the trees and the blinking stars above.
As it becomes clear that this gift is not fading with time, the Wealdsages of Resinderholz scramble to ready themselves. A Coven has been called and for the first time in many years it will need to be founded. There will need to be Sage-Superior, there will need to be Covenant. These final decisions will surely fall to the Heroes of the realm, if those who carry the burden of Wealdsage can be called Heroes.
Game Information
Through methods unknown to most, a Sanctum for Wealdsages has been built in Resinderholz. Between this and the number of Wealdsages present among the heroic contingent, a Wealdsage Coven will be founded at the Summer Summit.
All Wealdsages will be permitted a vote in the election of the ‘Sage-Superior of the Broken Vale’. Wealdsages should expect to make numerous important decisions regarding their archetype, Resinderholz and the Weald. The Sage-Superior should expect to make a very important decision regarding the Sages of the Broken Vale.
Each Wealdsage is welcome to personally identify as a member of the Broken Vale through adorning themselves with the image of an archway made of shattered timber. While not every Wealdsage needs to declare themselves a member of the Coven, as the only Coven in Resinderholz, it does represent and speak for all Wealdsages. The Sage-Superior is recognised as the foremost Wealdsage in Resinderholz, worthy of respect and deference from all other Wealdsages.
I Am Dying, But the State Remains
As much as the people of Resinderholz are overjoyed to see the return of Houndspriests and are maybe even a little relieved to see the Wealdsages standing in strength, they cannot pretend that the Guilds are anything but a shadow of their former selves. The Huntsmarshall’s Bureau is a vestigial attachment to the Baronness’ household. The Crow Doktors, few as there are, slave night and day against illness and injury, lying to themselves that there is help coming. Ritters drown in a paperwork deluge of their own making; they tear themselves asunder between the next generation of their order and the needs of the here and now. All is not well.
Vinitia Pontus exists as a failing of the Huntsmarshall’s Bureau. A foreign agent, espousing teachings and Spheres-knows what else, and there simply aren’t enough Huntsmarshalls to watch her beyond intimidating visits. With the Baronness’ household now based in Krezenberg, the influence of Lerona Mere, and the sparsity of Huntsmarshalls, Wolstad is slowly changing. The Concord’s fourth-largest city slips into the shadows of its steeples, a temple to avarice growing in manmade darkness surrounded by the darkness of the boughs. But even this exists as rumour, as a looming curse, for there are not enough Huntsmarshalls to attest to it.
The clinics, hospices and camps of the Crows never rest, lantern wicks burning as low as their patience. When they fail, these same wicks burn the funeral pyres, a blazing testament to their limited resources and never-ending work. Crow Doktors occasionally imagine a world where they can journey The Concord, treating the diseases of poverty in Lerona Mere, of arcana in The Tribelands, or of frost in the high places. But such dreams are the waking dissociations of someone supported by char and Andashi coffee on a nineteen-hour working day. The dead and the living begin to blur, and no surgery ever truly ends when the scenes live behind your eyelids. Crow Doktors can be found across Resinderholz, but with no Sanctum and numbers too few to meet every illness, it is a dangerous time in Resinderholz. They were not ready.
It is not surprising that the Zekartaal struggle to quarantine the Blasserstreit as much as the people of Reinderholz do. But through application of flame and steel those unlucky enough to be infected can be shepherded south, becoming the concern of your enemy; a crude form of poisonous warfare.
There were three-hundred of them. Fewer now, but depending on who you ask, this may not be for the worst. Some are raiders, their own blood being let upon the ground, but others are members of the war tribes, their crafters, their healers. Cursed by Blasserstreit in their home, they had been herded south until they came upon Krezenberg.
First they were attacked by the people of Krezenberg, a crude attempt to repulse the invader. All this did was bring the true danger into the town proper in the form of bloody blades and wounds of their own. Now the northern reach of Resinderholz rots from within and without. An emergency clinic attempts to stop the spread within the city while a ramshackle camp of the enemy perishes on its doorstep. There are not enough hands to solve or strangle either problem.
For the Ritters of Eisen, even with a war looming before their very eyes, they drown beneath a deluge of parchment. There are not enough teachers to support the apprentices they have, and many are turned away, finding other employment. The College of War is regularly raided by The Legion of the Blackheart Bear, the needs of the war pillaging the future for the present. While the College had grand dreams upon its founding some years prior during the oversight of the Bloody Baronness Saskia, it appears it may have reached too high for its means.
The solutions to all these concerns may not be simple, but the tools are known. The Guilds of the Weald are its greatest strength and perhaps its only method of survival. But as The Concord languishes in poverty and disunity, it is likely that the people of Resinderholz will have to gather the coin and resources to bring these groups to the fore. Be it funding a Sanctum with private funds, encouraging new apprenticeships, or ensuring that those with the knowledge return from the fray. Just as their ancestors did, the people of The Baronies will find their solutions through faith and fire.
Game Information
The weakness of Resinderholz’s other Guilds is leading to problems across the Barony, some of them acute, some of them chronic.
The lack of Huntsmarshalls and the lack of a functioning Huntsmarshall’s Bureau is opening Resinderolz to spies, criminals and worse within the Barony. Were there a formal Bureau then investigations into individuals such as Vinitia Pontus would be possible, but alas, such is not the case. Wolstad is becoming a place where anything can be bought for the right price, and violence on the street is not limited to Boghoffens, although this has not yet reached catastrophic levels - rather it is a looming danger. There will be decisions for The Senate, the Baronness of Resinderholz and the Champion of The Baronies in regards to this. Characters with Businesses in Wolstad will receive additional information.
The lack of Crow Doktors or a functioning Crow Doktor University has weakened the Barony’s ability to respond to outbreaks of Blasserstreit or other diseases, let alone assisting the other realms of The Concord with their maladies. In particular, the arrival of a group of Blasserstreit-infected Zekartaal on the outskirts of Krezenberg risks turning into a complete outbreak. There will be decisions relating to the Krezenberg Blasserstreit situation for the Baronness of Resinderholz and the Champion of The Baronies.
Crow Doktors may opt to be affected by the following roleplaying prompt:
Long hours in surgery and composing treatments blur together. You struggle to stay awake and sometimes the faces are etched in your mind. When you treat individuals or discuss treating individuals you frequently get names or identities confused. You often replace them with the names or circumstances of patients from your past who affected you the most.
The Ritters of Eisen, while holding a Sanctum, have lacked the numbers to properly form a Guild or maintain their ambitions. Attempts to complete the Concordian Encylopedia of Arms have become stalled, lost amidst the piles of paperwork and steel in the College. The College of Arms has also reached out to The Civil Service to facilitate its apprentices. Ritter Teachers and their apprentices will be asked to report on the first night of Summit by a Civil Service agent, who will provide these Ritters with their stipends.
However the lack of Ritters has consequences beyond just the Guild. The Legion of the Blackheart Bear relies on Ritters to form its officer corps. Ritters which are in short supply. From this season until a Ritters Guild is established, The Legion of the Blackheart Bear only recovers 10% of its maximum strength during a season where it takes a defensive action and is not engaged. There will be decisions relating to the Ritters in The Legion and the actions undertaken by The Legion last Summit for the General of The Legion of the Blackheart Bear.