Regardless of wishing or wanting, the Boghoffens that threatened Passage last Summit continue to be a thorn in the side of The Concord. Whilst not waging outright war against Concordian citizens, their attacks have begun to wear down the people of Lerona Mere and The Greenweald if not in body, then certainly in spirit.
Worse still, is the ever-present sensation that worse is yet to come. A feeling that sits in the back of the minds of almost all who have had the displeasure of facing these foes this Season. There is a green-tinged storm looming on the horizon, and what kind of terror they will rain down is still unknown.
What do they want?
And what are they willing to do in order to get it?
May I Finally Feel Pride?
I have never really felt I belonged.
The great streets of Legend City raised me, taught me what to strive for through our great Revolution. The people around me, my chosen family, supported me through those hard times and even the easier times that have followed. Yet I have always felt I could not live up to them; not their expectations but their very selves and what they have done for me. I know they care for me, but I feel a pain within my very being that I was not greater for them.
I tried so many things. The call of a Free Captain was not one I could stomach, as the cold of the sea wind would ache my bones as often as the sway of a ship would take back my lunch. I reached for the courage of a Bravo but I fell short as often as I dropped my practice blades. As much as I could dream of the most unique of visions, no matter how hard I tried I could not pen them to paper or canvas or give them voice as a Liberartiste should. I fumbled my cards and coins alone in the dark and magic would not come to me no matter how hard a kind Mountebank tried to teach me. And Spheres knows that the draw of the Priest’s Needle would be too much of a burden for me to place on another’s skin.
But I tried. I really did, with everything I am as the Spheres demand of me. It just…. Well it wasn’t right. I could not fit into the moulds of my people and it created within me a disappointment in myself that my family did not share but I could not believe that they did not. I felt a failure, no matter what corner I turned. I just didn’t belong.
And I still believe this. I cannot sit here and think to myself that I am any better now than I was six months ago, despite this cap I wear on behalf of The Concord. Through my years I can admit that I became good at matching faces to names, a useful skill but not on its own. I can walk from place to place well enough, and The Civil Service sought me out so I think that I must have done something of note? Or maybe they are just as desperate as I am. Maybe I shouldn’t think about it anymore.
My satchel is full of letters written by Heroes greater than me, my crisp cream Civil Service Courier cap is pristine and new, and my boots are ready for the long walk across the Realms. Passage is behind me by about an hour, and as I continue to walk I feel better about it all. Each step reminds me of my new purpose. Each step I can begin to dream that maybe I was wrong, maybe my thoughts are dark but my future is bright.
Maybe The Civil Service is where I belong after all. I can put my hope in that.
I did think that this was to be a rather lonesome task, but I think I see my first traveller up the road. A short fellow, perhaps Graced by Lumos and of the Baronies based on their garb. Though, I don’t recall ever seeing an Alatar with green tinged ears…..
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The Heroes of The Concord prepare themselves for a simple patrol of Lerona Mere, planning to slay the creatures of the Weald that dare to attack Passage and its surrounds at the recent Winter Summit. While the numbers of the Boghoffens are considerable to the populace, they are certainly low in scale when compared to the military might of the heroic forces. And so plans are laid for three Heroes to meet and discuss the best way forward in dealing with this laughable threat.
These plans would never come to fruition.
One of the Heroes, with the largest military force and a linchpin to the patrol, would never appear. The remainder, people of the very Weald from which these foul creatures came, would only be able to watch in horror as the Boghoffens pillaged and stole from the people of Lerona Mere. They would watch from a distance as those of the Madre Campo were so brutally injured, some killed, by beasts that would gleefully laugh at their misfortune and pain. Foolishness was wisely thrown aside, as the Heroes realised that there was nothing they could do with their number but sacrifice themselves for the people of Lerona Mere - a sacrifice that they knew would bear no fruit.
And so they simply went home.
Game Information
Through a lack of military might and numbers, the Boghoffen threat present in Lerona Mere remains. The Boghoffens are nearly given free reign over the Madre Campo, harassing those that call it home and taking anything that is not nailed down or locked away. Many people are injured as they try to defend their homes, belongings and very selves, but the threat is too large for an unorganised force to deal with. Of particular note during these terrible times is a Boghoffen raid on a well-defended vineyard in the middle of the night, resulting in dozens of dead Bravos who were stripped of their weapons and armour, leaving behind everything else.
Passage, notably located very close to the Madre Campo, is under threat by the Boghoffens in Lerona Mere. While no outright attack has occurred, their presence is not rare for the citizens who call Passage home. It is possible that any number of Boghoffens could appear at any time during the coming Summer Summit, their intent and goals still unknown to the larger Concord.
There will be decisions relating to the defence of Lerona Mere for The Champion of the Revolution, The Champion of the Baronies and the Senator of Lerona Mere.
Many Investments within the Madre Campo are damaged by the pillaging of Boghoffens.
A Beginning or an End
In Wolstad, the Boghoffens are quiet. They are certainly not silent - there are still frequent occurrences of bodies being left on the southern side of The Baron’s Road, stripped of all their belongings, and arranged in positions contortionists could only dream of. But, compared to their typical screeching and cavorting, this is an uncomfortable change.
A lack of noise - of action - in The Greenweald is rarely a peaceful one, and this perceived lull is no different. Rather, it is more the quiet of a house of mischievous children once their parents have gone to bed - a quiet of lying in wait.
They steal, maim, and kill with the same gusto as they did last season, there is no doubt about that. They slink in like cats in the rising sun, out from the edges of The Sableheart, and leave havoc behind them on the fringes of the city. But never in the centre. They never even venture past The Baron’s Road, or into The Hunter’s Wood on the other side, seemingly content with their patch of panic.
Indeed, every night as dusk begins to creep over The Weald, they begin to skulk back into the green, occasionally stopping to breed fear in those thinking themselves safe by hearthfire. By true nightfall, they are gone, leaving the city free from their cruel songs, discontent in their wake.
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Another type of quiet sits over the swarm close to Lake Ladure.
Where the Boghoffens had been attacking, taking out couples sitting by the shores and passing soldiers in equal measure, they are instead falling short. Where they once would have been clawing out with green-tinged fingers to tear flesh from bone, they are instead reaching out with sun-bleached flesh, the green being swallowed by white like leaves taken by mould. Where they once would have been dancing with glee, mocking their victims, they are instead curled up upon themselves, almost every distinguishing feature leaching into the ground beneath them until they are nothing but a bone-white stump, rooted in the soil.
It does not take long until the Greenweald shores of Lake Ladure are littered with many such stumps, the fae eaten away at by the land that used to feed them. When the remaining Boghoffens disappear back into The Sableheart, it does not come as any great surprise - whatever malady has afflicted them, perhaps the density of The Weald may offer them reprieve.
The silence they leave behind is welcome and worrisome in equal measure - the poisoning of such putrid creatures is appreciated, so long as no thought is put into how it could have possibly occurred.
After all, Boghoffens are not the only fae close to Eisen; where the cat-like protector of The Eisen Orchard used to be entirely coated in pitch-black fur, white hair now spreads like rot.
Game Information
The Wolstad Swarm of Boghoffens remains where it has been for the last season, stalking the south-east edges of Wolstad. Although still attacking the fringes of the city with enthusiasm, there is a faltering nature to their strikes that causes concern in the denizens of the city: they have the power to assault the city en-masse, and yet are choosing not to, for reasons that yet elude The Concord.
A small number of investments in Wolstad have been damaged; a threat of the power levelled against the city.
At the same time, the Lake Ladure Swarm have retreated into the bowels of The Sableheart after being damaged by an ailment, as have other fae in the region.
There will be decisions to be made by the Deed Holder of The Eisen Orchard, the Champion of The Baronies, The Chapter Kaptain of Krezenberg Abbey and The Sage Superior of the Broken Vale.
In the Woods Somewhere
Imbued with the growing gifts of Panoply, the previously closely-packed trees of The Sableheart have nearly coalesced when the contingent of Concordians begin their cautious entry into its depths. Where there once was huddled clusters of trees upon frigid, icy ground, there are now thorned branches twisting and trembling as they form walls of briars between each knot of trees, their roots gouging into the slick, muddied ground. But, such is life in The Weald, and if muddied boots and torn flesh is what is needed to rid The Sableheart of their pests, then so be it.
On any given day, it is difficult to cut through the growths of The Weald, to carve a path through its boughs. But in this Winter Season, it seems nigh on impossible; for every branch that is cut down, every grasping limb that reaches out to claw at the skin of The Concord, another grows back in its place. Rather than cutting a trail that they can follow back, it seems that this group of ex-soldiers, archers, and hunters, are instead creating small patches of safety in the vastness of The Weald.
Not that it matters; safety in The Greenweald is always an illusion quickly shattered, and a path home is not needed for most who venture this far into The Sableheart.
This much is clear when their rearguard begins to dissolve, like rotted flesh buried under putrid soil. The swelling profusion of The Weald swallows their screams quicker than they can burst from their mouths, as tongues are torn from between teeth, and limbs are cut from torsos by unseen assailants.
The Concordians attempt to fight back, to turn their blade from The Weald to its denizens, but as the grasping hands of Boghoffens tear more and more of the Concordians from their herd, and their patches of safety become smaller and smaller, it is clear that this fight is one already lost. The Boghoffens are playing with them, as a cat plays with a mouse before swallowing it whole, or as a vicious child plays with a bug by tearing its legs off one by one.
Even when they do manage to find a brief moment to steel themselves after cutting down the attacking fae, the shoulders of King’s Rangers and Greenweald soldiers aching from the effort, it is not long before they return in force, seemingly stronger for all of the greenery around them.
The Concordians do not have the number to endure. They do not have the might to truly fight back. They do not have the hubris to continue this game whose victor seems to have already been decided. And so, with dwindling numbers and dwindling hope, those that remain begin the hard journey back to civilisation, attempting to ignore the cackling laughter that follows them home.
Game Information
Due to a lack of numbers and military strength, the Concordian investments sent to eradicate the Boghoffen force within The Sableheart were unable to do so, with many individuals losing their lives in the effort.
Those that do return from The Sableheart report that the Boghoffens seemed marginally stronger than those reported in Passage; perhaps from the closeness to their home, or perhaps due to the boon that touched all plant life within The Concord. Perhaps if all of the promised forces had ventured forth, this strength could have been overcome, but as it stands, this fortitude was simply the final nail in an already-built coffin.
All investments involved in the attempt at subduing the Boghoffen swarm in The Sableheart have been damaged.
Wealdsages from The Sableheart who made contact with The Fae Queen last Summit will have additional information and opportunities in their character packs. Wealdsages whose investments are in The Sableheart but did not make contact with The Fae Queen may attempt to reach out to Wealdsages who did. As it stands, The Fae Queen is only speaking to one set of ‘new’ courtiers, as detailed below.
Thorough Bush, Thorough Brier
If one were to listen carefully enough, to search beyond the typical howling and screaming that the fading daylight brings to these woods, one may notice some interesting noises.
The sonorous stomping of muddied bare feet upon grass and bark. The cacophonous chanting of high-pitched, revelrous voices singing inane songs. The clanking of borrowed blades upon newly-obtained armour.
If one were to look closely enough, to see past the dark shadows of thorny growths that the swelling night brings to this forest, one may observe an interesting sight. A court of whimsy and woe in equal measure.
This court does not restrict itself to the dour, dark colours of the Weald, nor the bright, braggadocious brocades of their southern neighbours. No - in this court, one may dress however they please, unconstrained by convention; a creature proudly wearing the torn insignia of a lost Hunstmarshall stands arm-in-arm with another bearing the no-longer-golden pauldron of a recently-dead Bravo. Both are regaled by the gestures of their friend in a crisp cream courier cap, highlighting the streaks of blood artfully added during the hat’s acquisition.
Behind them, swinging a sickle wildly, is another Boghoffen, making a mockery of the farmer who tried to stop them. In the centre of the mass, one takes a running jump at a scratched shield, symbols of the Spheres no longer on display, before being buffeted into the jeering crowd.
The jeering quickly stops, however, when She enters. The silence that follows, broken only by Her echoing footsteps upon stiffened bark, is not one of pure fear, nor of total submission. No, The Fae Queen’s Court respects Her as any apprentice respects a master.
She does not play along with their tricks and their japes, not because She does not like them, but because She has played them all before, when the great oaks were mere saplings. She does not sing along with their songs and dances, not because She does not appreciate their artistry, but because She has sung them all before, when only the wind whispered through the trees.
Her Court respects Her, because She is all that they were, all that they are, and all that they can possibly hope to be.
And so when Her voice resounds through the clearing, as sweet as honey and as clear as dew, they listen.
“Congratulations,” She says, smile wide and eyes cold. “You have shown your might and ill-manners against our foes.”
A great roar of celebration rises up from the crowd assembled before Her, like a writhing swarm of wasps buzzing and cracking.
She raises a hand, and the din quiets in practised celerity. “But, we cannot sit idle - the people of this concord clearly know our strength. We must claim our home before it can be snatched from us.” In one hand, She brandishes a piece of paper, crinkled and worn, but clearly still adorned with illustrations of Boghoffens drawn in the spirit that only a child can muster. In the other, She lifts an envelope, already sealed, addressed to the children of The Academy.
“Now, we must meet with the true Heroes of The Concord.”
Game Information
The Boghoffen forces that were swarming across the borders of Lake Ladure have gathered together with the others deep within The Sableheart, forming a great mass within The Weald.
At the behest of their Fae Queen, a letter has been sent to The Academy, offering an opportunity for the children of The Concord to treat with her directly at this coming Summit.