The law of the forest of retribution; for each threat mitigated, two will inevitably take its place. For as much as Resinderholz may wish otherwise, life in the Weald does not wait for warfronts to close, and the tough choices that befall us hit all the harder in times of crisis.
For the first time in decades, the Baronies sits on the cusp of all five of its Guilds being functional once more. But not all of Resinderholz’s hallowed halls are filled with noise.
In some stretches of the Weald, the woods are quiet for the first time in years. In other parts, the forest shrieks at all hours of the day. The Wealders must wait, in equal parts peaceful and paranoid, to see what these strange silences and songs will bring.
What hopes and horrors, both fresh and long-forgotten, await the Greenweald Baronies?
Your Missives Are Fat Mice
“Now, amico mio, 'attack' is a pretty strong word, don't you think? I mean, birds just don't go around attacking people without reason, you know what I mean? You probably scared them, that's all.”
Concordian Postal Workers Kollwitz and Bonetti had crossed paths as the Baron’s Road forked into the Crusaders Road. Marco Bonetti, self-diagnosed with chronic wanderlust, had agreed on the secondment to Resinderholz, and was still acclimating to the persistent presence of Wealder paranoia, apologies, and superstitions. Kollwitz, who refused to be addressed by anything other than such, seemed to be in a state of disarray as she described the nonsense involving a flock of birds.
“Look!” Kollwitz pointed over Marco’s shoulder. “They have been following me since the Eisen River.”
He turned and looked up at a large beech tree, branches stretching towards the road. Two birds, with pin-sharp beaks sticking out of black iridescent feathers, perched looking down upon the two Postal Workers. ‘Even the birds here are still and serious,’ Marco thought to himself.
“Starlings.” Kollwitz said, as she straightened the cream-coloured cap that had been sitting askew on her head. “They’re so quiet. Usually you’d hear them-”
Almost on cue, a chittering began. Marco turned from the beech tree to the woods around them as the odd mix of melodic and almost ancient-sounding birdsong seemed to encircle the pair. More and more starlings appeared as the song swelled, until the branches were thick with the dark perching birds. Despite the energy it must take to make such a ruckus, each bird stood still, eyes fixed on the two postal workers.
“Bonetti, we should leave!”
Marco could barely make out his acquaintance’s panicked words; they had both brought their hands to their ears as the song became nothing more than a chattering screech. The ringing in his head was so disorientating that his vision blurred. Marco forced his hands from his ears as he felt a sudden wetness, his fingers coming away stained by the blood trickling from his ears.
“Run!”
Marco and Kollwitz collided in the confusion before sprinting alongside each other north along the Baron’s Road. Though they tried, they did not have enough hands to shield their flesh from the onslaught of swooping talons, the swarm of birds following close behind the pair. It would not be until they were within sight of the last fortified waystation pre-Eisen that the shrieking birdsong finally let up.
An hour later, Marco was released from the on-duty surgeon with the worst of his wounds washed and dressed. Outside, he found Kollwitz sitting alone on a waiting bench, staring off into nothing.
“Mon ami,” Marco started gently, assuming that the lingering ringing in his ears must match her own. “We should check in with the Civil Service now. We have to report the missing mail.”
Kollwitz pulled herself to her feet and paused before she turned towards the exit, “My friends call me Elke.”
-=-=-=-
“May the wind whistle through the trees, and lift your wings and words into the sky…”
Priest Leiprecht’s voice was measured and his fingers precise as he folded the letter one way and another, carefully creasing and pressing the page into its final shape.
“May these words meet their intended, and strengthen the bonds of those who call and those who will answer…”
He slowly stepped away from his Altar and the lectern before it, clutching the letter in his hands as if it would attempt to escape, and walked towards the open window. As he turned, he did not notice the candles of his Altar to the Masses flicker.
“With blessings, with wings, carry this message. In The Spheres’ Light, We Pray”
Leiprecht held his hands to the window and opened his palms to reveal a white sparrow, with feathers speckled in ink-black and slate-grey. It stretched its little paper wings and fluttered from the Priest’s palms into the open air.
Despite this Ceremony being one he was most often called upon to perform, Leiprecht still felt his spirits lighten slightly as he watched the white sparrow begin its journey. He often enjoyed watching these letters fly out of Krezenberg, watching until he could no longer see-
A whistle, sharp as an arrow, and the white sparrow was gone.
Leiprecht clutched the windowsill and leaned out, looking first to the sky, then to the tree line, and finally to the ground. Staring back up at him with two – no – five unblinking coal-black eyes was a wanderfalke, a falcon. A single tuft of a white feather clung to the corner of one of its two beaks. Beneath its talons – no – talon-like fingers, were wisps of shredded paper.
The falcon shot back into the sky with barely a whisper, leaving Priest Leiprecht to mutter prayers into his shaking palms.
-=-=-=-
Ritter-Apprentice Decker had never been called to their Ritter-Kaptain’s office before today. With each passing minute that he stood in the hallway of the Eisen College of War, he made another attempt to flatten the two swords embroidered on his belt flag and to straighten his shoulders.
“Enter!” Decker jumped to attention at the voice behind the door.
His own Mentor, Ritter-Teach Enkevort, stood to one side, revealing their Ritter-Kaptain sat behind an immense oak desk. One could not possibly make the distance from one side to the other in a single lunge, which, occurred to Decker in that moment, was probably an intentional choice.
“I hear you have something to report, Two Sword.”
“Yes.”
His Kaptain raised an eyebrow. In the corner of his eye, Decker caught his Mentor’s jaw clench.
“Uh – yes Kaptain! I welcomed the Postal Worker Claudine, she carries the mail from the Baronial Quarters to the College you see, and she told me she was swooped by a rotmilar.”
“A red kite?”
“Well, we call ‘em rotmilar where I’m from.”
The raised eyebrow climbed higher.
Decker swallowed, “The bird ripped off her ear, Kaptain, she looked a right mess when she got here. I sent her to the College Healer right away.”
“And you’ve come here to report that I should be concerned about… a bird?”
“Oh, no Kaptain, you see, the rotmilar, it took all her letters. All the missives from the Baronial House.”
Decker remembered to straighten his shoulders just in time for the clip around the ear that came from his Ritter-Teach
“Lead with that!”
Game Information
Seemingly intelligent and vindictive birds have been sighted hunting Winged Messengers and harassing Concordian Postal Service workers across The Sableheart and The Ravensreach Wilds.
Due to the inability to send consistent orders, these hindrances have rendered the Ritter Kaptain’s Power of Armsmaster non-functional.
In addition, The Sableheart and The Ravensreach Wilds have gained the following Trait:
| Name | Casualties Inflicted Mod | Casualties Suffered Mod | Claim Mod | Special |
| Aerial Hunters | -5% | +5% | - | This trait only applies to Concordian forces. |
There will be decisions and further information for the Ritter Kaptain of the Eisen College of War and the High Priest of Cervitas.
Letters addressed to Characters and NPCs in The Sableheart and The Ravensreach Wilds, cannot be guaranteed to make their intended recipient, and if they do, may arrive damaged. Call Winged Messenger is better protected than the Civil Service Protected Post, although neither are perfect.
Players based in The Sableheart and The Ravensreach Wilds are encouraged to only read Winds of the World from these regions or nearby to reflect the lack of information reaching them.
On Rotted Wing and Severed Head
For the last few years, the residents of the Sableheart have had little time to relax. The everpresent threat of the Fae Queen and her army of Boghoffens, Metzhoffens, Wasp Knights, and the thousands of other Fae under her thumb was constantly on the minds of Wealders both within and outside the territory. Even those havens who gave tithe were not safe; the Fae Queen’s demands growing with each passing week.
But news spreads fast when it regards the twice-yearly gatherings in the little town in Lerona Mere, and the news of Baroness-Wealdsage Grasshoff striding into the Concordian Senate holding aloft the Fae Queen’s severed head, still dripping foul ichor, spread fast indeed.
For the people of the Sableheart, many suspected well before the news reached them. The boghoffens that had both terrorised and ‘protected’ the Havens of that part of the Weald vanished seemingly overnight, leading many to worry that a greater storm was approaching. As the days passed however, and a greater amassing never showed itself, the reality began to settle in.
The Sableheart was violent and strange before the Fae Queen showed her face, and that has not changed. A group of reckless youths charge into a banshee’s nest, only to be rudely surprised when she still awakes. A careless family, emboldened by the news from Passage forgoes locking their windows, only to find their young daughter missing when they wake, small muddy footprints the only sign of her kidnapper. Nevertheless, the Fae Queen and her insectoid legions are nowhere to be seen, and the everpresent weight on the chest of the Sableheart begins to lift.
Her boghoffens were gone.
She was dead.
And yet…
Deep in the forests, those havens that had given openly and greatly still bore signs of Her gifts. Rumours of children with strange, malformed insect wings continue to filter out of the darkest Weald, stories of honeycomb patterns breaching from beneath the skin, and spontaneous magical boons both foul and fair.
Whether these are simply the leftover remnants of the now-dead Sovereign, or something more sinister, remains to be seen.
Game Information
Following the execution of the Fae Queen at the hands of Concordian Heroes, the presence of her Fae forces have vanished from the Sableheart almost entirely. The territory loses its ‘Faeblooded’ and ‘Throne of Thorns’ traits.
Wilderness investments within the Sableheart have produced slightly more over the past season, as the vanishing of this threat allows for further exploration into the Weald proper.
Houndspriests may opt to be affected by the following roleplay prompt: They were supposed to be unkillable, and yet we killed them. Why make bargains with the forces of the Weald, when they can’t survive our steel? Act decisively, and do not compromise or bargain.
Wealdsages may opt to be affected by the following roleplay prompt: One of our own slew a Sovereign. The whole reason that Wealdsages exist is that that shouldn’t be possible. Why should we bargain with things we can simply slay? You are prone to either downplaying or overselling your abilities as compensation for these worries.
There will be information and decisions for Lyaune of Einfell Hollow and Leuthar Maus regarding the lingering influence of the Fae Queen.
The Strange Beliefs of Bumpkins
Lucrezio was not a fan of travelling to Obregon. He wasn’t a fan of its root-filled road that bothered his back so. He was not a fan of The Crescents dry and cruel winds. He was not a fan of Obregon’s verticality that bothered his aging knees, and while he was a fan of having a broadhead arrow pointed at him by a notably filthy looking Wealdsavage. But, ever the student of commerce and well versed in his role as ‘robee’ his hands were raised. As were the hands of his most useless granddaughter and ‘bodyguard’, Vilezia.
“Your co-operation is most appreciated in this matter, Master Merchant.” That was the quartet's apparent leader, a tall man with broad shoulders, a dark gambeson to match his dark moustaches, a small sash on his belt bearing three swords, and a very real sword in his hand, that he was quickly returning to its well-worn scabbard.
This bandit leader gestured to the back of his cart. Judging by the rustling that broke from the underbrush behind the cart, Lucrezio assumed there were a few more ruffians than he had supposed. He cast a baleful glare at Vilezia who was performing the artful ballet of not looking at her grandsire or at her sword, which sat in its scabbard, as useful as a quackless duck.
“But good sir, surely you seek only riches that could be carried easily and swiftly away!” Crooned Lucrezio as he held up a respectable coinpurse, hoping that he could pay off these filthy folk before they found their way to the cases of fine dark liquor hidden under the bolts of cloth, or before they stood too close to him. In response, the bandit leader merely smiled magnanimously and grasped the reigns of their blind ox.
“You’d think so, but no. You see you have unpaid taxes ‘good sir’, and the Baron sent us to collect them before you could escape the law.” Came his chiding reply, Lucrezio boggled in incredulity so intensely that his moustaches nearly fell from his face.
“Well-a now my amico, I have paid my taxes thrice-over this season. The state of emergency robs my children since it has already robbed me!” He retorted as clearly one of the brigands discovered his hidden wares in the back. The warrior before him kept his smile and made a ‘hurry up’ gesture with his free hand.
“Aye, that you have. You’ve paid taxes to your Lerona Mere masters, and to the silly Concord, but not to the leader of these lands. Not to the Baron.”
“And who, pray tell, is the Baron of these parts you faccia da culo!?” rebutted Lucrezio, catching a whiff of the cutpurse’s stench. The man's response was cold as sharp steel, and delivered with the utmost sincerity.
“Baron Maximillian Hanselvacht, Baron of Jagerholz, and Rightful Baron of Resinderholz.”
-=-
As the State of Emergency establishes itself as a true circumstance and not an Autumn fever dream to be undone at the nearest moment of opportunity by a backpedalling senate, matters in Resinderholz are not much worse for wear. While the constant threat of invasion on the northern and eastern borders of the Barony are certainly cause for concern, much else remains well.
While never particularly wealthy, commerce has continued largely unobstructed within the Barony, particularly wandering up and down the Baron’s road, and off into Carningsfield and the Madre Campo. The completion of the Mortensen Manor bodes well for law-enforcement, if the Huntsmarshalls are still thin on the ground. The faith still burns strong here and even the magicks of the Weald have been quiet in their hollows. It appears that the state of emergency has given the people of Resinderholz, and their leaders, a chance to strive for more stability and power in their lives.
Truly, the only matter of note in these times is that of the ‘Baron of Jagerholz’. A web of nearly a dozen havens along the southern reaches of the Hunters Wood have repulsed Concordian tax collectors, have been waylaying travellers along The Gap, and have even named a new Baron. While not seen in public, this false-baron names himself Maximillian Hanselvacht, claims all weald-lands south of Wolstad as his Barony of Jagerholz, and proclaims that he is the true great-great grandson of Baron Aidel Hanselvacht.
Regardless of the truth or lies of any of these matters, Baron Maximillian has gathered a cohort of warriors and commonfolk around him in these southern Havens and presents a difficulty for The Concord and the Barony.
But at least the Weald is quiet…
Game Information
The Baroness of Resinderholz has used the powers granted to her by the State of Emergency to support the people of Bolsterlee. More information on this will be available in the appropriate Winds entry.
Thanks partially to the Weald being thoroughly tamed this past season, the appropriate care of the Concordian councils, and the might of Greenweald heroes, matters within Resinderholz are not at their most subversive.
However, a spate of Havens from The Gap through the Hunter’s Wood appear to be withholding taxation, and attempting to separate themselves from the Barony of Resinderholz, if not The Concord as a whole. This treason has primarily resulted in reduced taxation for the Hunter’s Wood territory this season.
There will be additional information regarding Baron Maximillian for the Baroness of Resinderholz, The Senator of the Tribelands, The Senator of Lerona Mere, and the Champion of the Baronies.
There are no additional traits in Resinderholz from the State of Emergency this season.
Bureaus and Beauties
“No no Hans, that was the second Grand Inquest.”
The snort of disbelief echoes throughout empty halls that once were full of life. The work had taken the better part of the season, but the Mortensen Manor was finally returned to the time when its namesake walked the grounds. The flask passing between the two workers provides the warmth that the unlit fireplace in the entry hall does not.
“Do you mean to tell me the Senate ordered another Inquest in the same city to look for the same people that they just failed to find? And instead of finding gang leaders they just happened to find some Artebazzani?”
“That’s about the long and short of it, though they did also discover that they’d executed the Capo they were looking for during the first Inquest without realising it.”
Twice the Huntsmarshalls had flocked to the city to investigate the criminals of Wolstad, but in the absence of Senate funds they were dispersed once again. The proud eyes of Lydia Mortensen survey the library as the workers fill the last of the shelves with intelligence reports and legal precedence, awaiting the Guild she created to make use of the collected knowledge.
“So after all that it was the Baroness who went and found the fuckers anyway?”
“Her and a handful of Huntsmarshalls, yes, once they had established they weren’t in Wolstad anymore. I think they ended up finding them somewhere in the Sableheart and dragged them back to Wolstad.”
The last remnants of moss and webs are cleared from the guest rooms in the cellars below, temporary accommodation for sources while information is extracted. It would be all too easy to forget about a guest if you were being inattentive, or lax in keeping notes updated. Despite the best efforts of weeks of cleaning, one wall tucked in the corner of the cellars remains stained. Oxidised iron lies nestled in a ring of pockmarks around the wall, likely the result of arrow strikes.
“One of my friends in the Central Service told me that the Baroness mutilated one of them during the journey, and got arrested for it once they arrived in Wolstad.”
“I suppose any Huntsmarshall who saw that would end up reporting it. Maybe she never meant to get away with it in the first place, just a wealdsage taking her due.”
The quarters are set and ready, awaiting staff to operate the Manor and travelling Huntsmarshalls to find lodging along the road. Until the Heroes of the Greenweald knock upon the doors, it is the Manor’s caretakers who have their pick of the rooms.
“Speaking of, I heard the Sage Superior got done for murder. Isn’t that an executable offence, Elena?”
“It is, but I’m pretty sure it was only a charge of murder, brought forward by the Captain of the Watch. The conviction ended up being for mayhem, or something of the like.”
“Wealdsages are fuckin’ weird, huh?”
“They are, but someone has to do the work, right?”
The sound of a candle being blown out echoes throughout the empty halls.
Game Information
Construction of the Mortensen Manor has been completed, but no formal Guild exists to populate the new Sanctum. Should the Huntsmarshalls number ten or more at the start of a Summit, the Bureau will be reinstated, and Huntsmaster elected at the beginning of the following Summit.
Until such time as the Bureau is active again there will be no income generated by the Manor, as Huntsmarshalls continue to be spread thin across Resinderholz. Threats like the New Butchers of Wolstad may continue to arise as minor stirrings have more time to become large problems before they can be attended.
Huntsmarshalls may opt to be affected by the following roleplay prompt:
No one is above the law, not even the Baroness. Your Guild is small, but is still capable of great things. Whenever you see illegal acts, you are inspired to follow the case through to its conclusion, regardless of the source.