by Gavin Bennett (Changeling: The Dreaming | Fiction)
Of Winter and Storm, of Fire and Dream:
The Faerie Powers of Bergen
�Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice
Fortune depends on the tone of your voice
So let's sing while we still can
While the sun hangs high up above
Composing our songs, of love,
Wonderful songs, of love��
Divine Comedy, Songs of Love.
In a fortress above the world, above the mists of the city, he watches. He sits alone in his dark hall, waiting for her servants. They go about, into the world, and they watch and learn. He waits, and he contemplates what they see. The hall is dark always, save for the special times of the year, when the Dancing Lights flicker through the Winter sky. One flame burns always in the hall, and none shall extinguish it. It has been burning for 5,000 years.
Its time will soon be done.
Ragnorak is coming.
The Wolves, it is said, who chase the carriages of the sun and the moon, will finally catch up, and devour the sun. Or perhaps, Jormundgandr the Midgard Serpent will rise from the Sea, and eat the sky. The Fimbulwinter will come, and Loki will be released from Hell, and ride to war on a ship made of dead men�s fingernails. Loki and Heimdall will fight, and both will die. Thor will slay the Serpent and in doing so will die by poison. Then the terrible Sons of Fire will come again, and all will be destroyed.
He knows all the old stories, all the prophecies, and all the things to come.
The Sons of Fire he faced before, with their songs and their terrible wings, and their swords flaming with a light made by the Creator of all.
Around the world witches and magicians, on voices of magic and computers whisper of the end. The dark skinned actress woman in Montreal, the broken ghost hunter in New York, the scholars in far China. They all speak, and he listens.
He is the Robber King; he walks the streets at night, in dreams, and waking. None note him pass, but as he walks, sleepers stir, and children cry at night. He walks the streets of the ghosts, and into their shadowy world, and down, and down, until he reaches the realm of Ice, where, beyond all things, the souls of the dead wait for the last day. None know of these journeys, but it is whispered that he keeps ghosts as servants, many, many shackled grey shapes who do his bidding in the fortress and beyond, in the city.
12 Knights stand in his fortress, strange, terrible beings whose eyes burn with fearful blue fire, who are prey to dark battle-lusts. No invader has ever gained the entrance to the fortress. None ever shall, until the last day.
Above, at the jagged pinnacle of the fortress, the faerie women keep their loom. There is a thread here for everyone who will ever enter that fortress, as a guest, a spy or a foeman. They spin, and make prophecies. When they are not at their loom, ghostly servants do their work.
This land is his demesne. This city is his also.
The peaks of the mountains are high and sharp to mortal eyes, but look again, look harder, with your heart, and the blood of the Twilight Realm�. Now, see, there! Look! It�s a castle, carved from the very mountain itself. A sharp finger of cold stone ripping ragged gashes into the clouds. A strange blue fire flickers within. Beware the master of that place, for he must not be trifled with.
The Alfar and the Changeling of Bergen, an overview:
High above the city, on the peak of Fl�ien, and down into the depths of the city, the Faerie powers of Bergen make their homes. They have been there for a very long time indeed. Separated by time and history and the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean, Scandinavia�s Faerie powers are similar, yet in many ways, completely different to the Fae dreamers of Concordia. Here, they remember that they were old powers, who ruled the world once.
Their existences beggar many questions. How much do we really know anything? Consider what you think you know about the Fae. Oh, I am sure, you have heard about the Changelings, of the High Elves return, of the terrible things they do to mortal souls. Banality, Glamour, you have heard of all of these things, have you? It�s not the full story, by any means. There are other types of Fae dwelling yet on this earth other than the Changelings. In Bergen, old cousins of the Sidhe rule the city.
In the soaring spine of mountains that form the backbone of Scandinavia, the Alfar, the lords of the night and the wind make their homes. They have been there for a long time. They never left. When the darkness came, when the Shattering came, they simply drew deeper inside their strongholds, and they watched, and they waited.
They are very old.
They remember a time before memory, the eldest among them remember the making of the world, or so it is said. They ruled these lands, the children of the stars and twilight, before the accursed Aesir deceived them. The walked the chill earth as man, and shadow, and monster and wolf. Men worshipped them as spirits of life and growing things, and of death and the dark of winter.
Who were they? Who are they now?
Some say, they are one of the races of Lilith; others that they are Fallen Angels; other still that they are spirits of the dead who gathered such power in the dark lands below the world that they were able to transcend to a new state, lordly beings, beautiful and cold and ancient.
It matters little.
The ancient lords, who ruled over the Fenrir, they are the guardians of the mountains, of the icy tundra far to the north, of the deep, dark waters of the Fjords. They love these cold lands, and each sunrise, they look upon the world with young eyes.
The exact lineage of the Fenrir and the Alfar is unclear, but some have said that the Fenrir are the last of the Aesir, or some tribe who made up the Aesir. Certainly, Fenrir Galliards know of old, old songs, of battles on the ice before humankind came to Scandinavia. But Fenrir Theurges and Galliards know that the old gods, if such they were, still dwell close. Some speculate that Loke was a fae of some sort. Others note that when they call the Horde of Valhalla, the Alfar Knights ride forth to aid them. The Fenrir Lord �yvind Foeslayer Thunderfist is whispered in some quarters to have had dealing with the distant, and mysterious lord of the mountains, in return for magical favour. They are more correct than they know. Thunderfist, and every Fenrir king and Chieftain before him has been taken to the mountain on the night before his crowning by the Alfar and there must pledge fealty to the Lord of the Mountain.
Thunderfist grows old; the Alfar know that war is coming, and they must stand firm, and force the Fenrir to honour their ancient oath. The Robber King is no fool, however, and knows that this time, the times have changed, and subduing the Garou nation to his will, cannot be an easy task. But he bends all his resources towards that end. Through intrigue, manipulation, and bribery, he will succeed. He must, otherwise, his Norns whisper, the Northlands will fall.
The Alfar and the Sidhe
The Sidhe and the Alfar are kin, but the Sidhe had few holdings in the Northlands, save some small embassies and freeholds scattered throughout the lands. Iceland belonged to the Sidhe for a while, and the Alfar and Sidhe fought over it in times past. The Sidhe have no natural dominion in the Northlands. The survivors of the war were offered shelter under the terms of the Law of Silence. The Alfar, for their part, were pleased to see the Noble Sidhe return, but they do not trust the newcomers. The Sidhe, once forgetfulness stole over them, have an inkling of former enmity, but they do not know why. Both groups live in peace.
For now.
However, the Fenrir remember, remembering well the reasons for the strife between the two. They remember what befell their pups at the hands of House Eiluned in times past. The Fenrir and the Alfar broke the Sidhe to their will then, but the damage was done. Now the Fenrir hardly see any difference between the Sidhe and Alfar, and between Commoner and Noble. The Fae, they know, are dark and strange things, and must not be trusted.
It is on this axis, that the future of the Northlands hinge. If the Alfar can unite Fenrir and Sidhe and commoner and troll, then perhaps maybe, just maybe, that when the dark comes down out of the north, then perhaps Bergen can be saved, and perhaps even Norway.
The Commoners
Following the resurgence, some American commoners came to Scandinavia, driven by strange dreams, and omens. They were offered shelter under the terms of the Law of Silence. The Alfar wonder what force brought them here. Other Commoner Kithain have been dwelling in Scandinavia since time immemorial, but their ties to their American cousins are weak, to say the least.
The totem spirit Loke called on by the Fenrir is suspected by some to have been a Pooka of some sort, although, again, like everything else about the Fae and the Northlands, that is more myth than fact. Redcaps do live in the cold wastes, and have done so for a long, long time.
Commoner Changelings, by Tribe:
Boggans:
The Boggans do not exist in the Northlands of old, and those that live here now, are those who have wandered into the region in the days since the Shattering. Those who have travelled into the mountains are always waylaid by the dwarves, and are never seen again. One survived, came back to Bergen, long enough to talk of the beautiful dwarrowdell and the things he saw there, and how the Dwarves were not dwarves, but�. He died then. The Boggans who do live in Norway tend to keep to the cities, and the lowland farms, and stay there.
Eshu:
Eshu have wandered in and out of Scandinavia since time immemorial. Treasured as news bringers, fortunetellers, storytellers, and plain old exotica, they are usually well received, which, it must be said, proves much about the power of stories. It is said that the Eshu met many of the Alfar and Fenrir who accompanied the Vikings on their epic voyages around the world. Eshu storytellers claim to know of Viking landings as far away as New Zealand, and the Cape of Good Hope. The Eshu swear these stories to be true, and claim that the Alfar keep a gift from the Patupairehe in the Citadel. Eshu rarely stay long in the region, but all make a stop at the Glass Freehold on their way.
Nockers:
Again, Nockers are few and far between here. Like the Boggans, they have an old fear of Dwarves. Some suggest that the Nockers are actually some lost bloodline of the Dwarves. The Nockers refuse any knowledge of this matter. However, very strangely, one scholar has drawn a very weird parallel between Tolkien�s tales of the �Noldor� elves, the Nieblungen and Svartalfar of the Ring cycle and the Nockers themselves. The Nockers however see this as utter foolishness, and refuse to discuss it. They utterly refuse to discuss it. The truth may lie hidden in the region, and strangely, the Nockers do not investigate. Perhaps they are afraid of what they might find�.
Pooka:
These tricksters are everywhere. With the exception of the one remembered as Loke, the existence of whom is greatly in doubt, the Pooka have had little influence in the region, save to have caused a great deal of amusement, a great deal of trouble and a great deal of chaos, on occasion, and sometimes, all at once. More serious scholars do, however, note that Loki Skywalker, child of Giants and Gods, a trickster and evildoer incarnate may have been the father of these northern pookas. None of that lineage still live, however. No they don�t they couldn�t. There is no way. Isn�t there? Most Pooka do not stay long in Bergen, but when they do, they can typically be found in the Glass Freehold, or at one of the minor freeholds scattered around the city.
Redcaps:
The terrible slaughter of the Unseelie Redcaps of Glasgow has served as a warning to these Kith. Although never one to back down from a fight, the one the Knights let live whispered the worst indictment. The Alfar were unscathed. The Redcaps did not have a chance. Even to the dumbest of the Redcaps, the message was clear. Don�t go there. A few very old Redcaps do wander the northern wilderness. They are rarely encountered, but one is said to have wiped out a Fenrir pack on his own�.
Satyrs.
Far, far from their native Attican lands, the Satyrs do however; go wherever there is a party to be had, and the Glass Freehold does, on occasions, throw some really cool ones. Those encountered in Bergen are blow-ins.
Sluagh:
The Sluagh have always been here, always. When the city was first built, they were there; indeed when the first humans came, they followed. The winters, the dark and cold nights of the year suit them very well. And Bergen is now the centre of much politicking, and many, many secrets are being told and kept. And that means business for the Sluagh is very, very good. So good, in fact that the Sluagh are calling in help to keep track of it all, sending to friends and family in the United States, Great Britain, Russia and beyond. They keep several freeholds of their own, but their exact locations are unknown.
Trolls:
What discussion of the fae powers of Bergen and Scandinavia could be complete without the Trolls? But the Trolls here are a long ways distant from the Trolls of foreign parts. Here they are nobles, oathbound to the Alfar in times past, and ruling over huge domains of their own, in the mountains and the stony valleys. Forget everything you know about them. In ancient times they were Giants subdued by the Alfar nobles and Fenrir warriors; in later times, they stood against their terrible kin. In Scandinavia they are nobles, they are warriors, and they are loremasters of the highest order. They are not commoners. Do not treat them as such. (See Below)
A brief note on the other Kiths of Scandinavia:
The Alfar:
The Alfar are the Norse Sidhe, or High Elves. Calling them the Sidhe is a misnomer, however. They are related, by distant blood and origin to the Sidhe of the Celtic lands, but they are rather different. They are similar in many ways, but the Alfar are bound somewhat closer to the land, to the Earth itself. They have warred with the Sidhe in times past, although such tales are lost to posterity. The Alfar did not depart with the Shattering. They worked their terrible magics, and wrapped their havens with shrouds of clouds and mist and snow, and there they hid, and there they hated, and there they continued to rule.
The Trolls.
The Jotuns or Trolls are the kin of the Giants of old, who were subdued by the Gods in ancient times, who wait, yet in the darkness, for Ragnorak. Only some of the Jotuns were subdued, however by the Alfar and Alfar. This is something they remember keenly. The Jotuns of Scandinavia are kings and Thanes in their own right. This is something American visitors would do well to remember. The law of Silence binds them from warring with the Sidhe, and the Trolls respect the Alfar. However, the Jotunds are but weak remnants of the giants of old, and they await the coming of Ragnorak, knowing that their terrible forefathers will return to destroy the world. Some see this as their glorious hour, still to come; others know that this would mean the end of the world, and all things on it. They hope that they can prevail on the other faerie powers to aid them in the destruction of these ancients. Some drew further into the mountains, into their ancient Thanedoms, and others still sought out the Nidavellir, the Ring-Wrights and offered their services in return for protection. Yet more departed to arcadia. The world was getting old, they said, and the old times were passing. The Wyrm was stirring, and the land was becoming corrupt. Sorcerers among them offered certain charms and tokens to the Fenrir before they withdrew, charms made with huge rituals made at the roots of the very mountains.
The Dwarves:
The northern kin of the Boggans, it is said, or perhaps the Nockers, the grim and dour and hardy and greedy Nidavellim created huge dwarrowdells below the earth. Indeed, it has been suggested that the Dwarves are a separate Kith altogether. Others point out, how, in Norse Mythology, the Dwarves, the Nidavellir or Nieblungen, where considered to be the Svartalfar. Perhaps their common appearance as short, stocky, bearded earth spirits is an illusion. Perhaps their true form is very different�. The dwellers of the dwarrowdells do not wish to submit to biological examination however, and the mystery remains.
Relationships with others:
Outsiders:
Outsiders, the less than flattering term applied by the Alfar to other Fae of Europe or North America, are welcome in Bergen, if they behave themselves. They must swear by the Law of Silence. They must not provoke the Hidden Ones or upset the delicate political balance between the inhabitants of the city.
The Order of Hermes:
The Chamberlain of the Citadel is rumoured to belong to House Merinita of the Order of Hermes. The Alfar tolerate them, as long as they do not cause trouble. The Alfar expect the Order to stand for the city when the darkness comes, although whether this will happen or not is anyone�s guess. The Alfar, however, do not forget the betrayal of House Bjornaer.
The Verbena:
The Verbena are welcome in the city, as they have been present in one form or other since time immemorial. The Alfar have had their share of problems with them, and this does hamper their relationship with the fairy powers.
Church of Unadorned Light:
Their hellish Dominion and the sounds of their church bells drove the Fae away from mankind, into the hills and the wildwoods. The angels they serve cast their kingdoms down on the Night of the Quietening. Even now, their power can destroy the Changelings. Fear them, fear them well. They must be watched, carefully.
Technocracy:
The New World Order have been an ineffectual force in Bergen. The Alfar are simply too powerful and too subtle. Indeed, certain of these so-called Mages have been slowly and imperceptibly corrupted by the Robber King. Some have even entered into secret correspondence with the Order of Hermes to discuss this, a fact gleefully reported by the Chamberlain to his master.
Fenrir:
The Fenrir are deemed to be old kin, and therefore to be helped. But time has not been kind to either faction, and the old compacts have been broken. The fae must work extra hard to heal the rifts with the Get of Fenris. But if the rifts were to be healed, if they were to stand together� what a glorious battle they could fight against the darkness, before the end.
The Fianna:
These Fae-blooded Garou are useful tools. Their ways are bound too closely to the Sidhe, however, and they cannot be trusted. Use them wisely, the Alfar think, and they will fight well, when needed. The other Changelings of Bergen welcome them whole-heartedly. Some fae wish to see these Prodigals return to the fold altogether�.
Silver Fangs:
The Alfar believe that the Silver Fangs share a kinship with the Sidhe of old, akin to that of the Get and the Alfar. The Alfar have long sought to drive the Fangs forth from the lands, and now, at last they have, but the damage done by their machinations may be irreparable to both the faerie powers and the Garou nation.
Gangrel:
The Valkyries walked these lands in ancient times, drinking the blood of the slain on the battlefield. The Fenrir and the Alfar saw them for what they were, terrible, demonic creatures, and fought against them. But the Gangrel survived. The Alfar suspect that their Queen works again, attempting to throw down the mortal kingdoms of the entire region. But younger Gangrel, the Alfar note, have proved honourable and useful in the past. Certain have even sworn to the Law of Silence.
Wraiths:
The Restless dead, in the aftermath of the fall of Stygia cast about for guidance, and the Robber King has decided to offer it. He can walk into the dark lands of death, and he does not know, as yet, how to aid the Restless. The Eiluned have had dealing with the Restless, for other reasons. The Restless and the Fae do not deal with one another very much, although that looks set to change.
Story:
The story so far:
If you have been using any of the Northern Lights Chronicle stories, the following has happened. The Sidhe and the Werewolves of Canada have made an alliance. However, during the negotiations, strange, demonic creatures attacked the meeting. The characters were then embroiled in the somewhat shadowy court politics of the Montreal fae. Worse, it is becoming clear that isolated grottoes and freeholds were being slowly, but surely, overwhelmed and their inhabitants massacred. The characters were sent to investigate the doings of a group of dark Mages moving in from New York, where they were ensorcelled, and humiliated. The character�s stock amongst the hierarchy of Concordia is at a very low ebb indeed.
But one thing is certain. War is coming, and forces are gathering against the Fae.
Other things are moving in the night. The Jade Emperor who rules the land of the dead in the areas close to China has become aware of the movements in the arctic night. Through proxies, he is attempting to set his enemies against this new threat, in the hope that they will prevail. It would be a bonus if they were to be weakened.
House Merinita of the Order of Hermes has begun a desperate investigation, a race against time, using all of its resources, and contacts. But those resources and contacts are being killed.
Whispers are abroad about the return of the Foamhr, ancient, forgotten Giants of Irish legend, who are in the service of a terrible, demonic force, named the Red Lord.
And now, in the city of Murmansk, in Russia, something has invaded the city. But this time, this time, it was not a one sided massacre. The city�s fae and Fenrir Garou fought, even taking horrendous losses, stood their ground. Both sides are awaiting the resumption of the conflict. A massive Fae army are gathering on the Kola Peninsula. The Sidhe of St. Petersburg plan to march to the city and relieve the defenders, while using a part of their forces to swing around behind the enemy position.
The Duke of St. Petersburg is the mightiest of all the Russian fey princes. He resisted the powers of the Baba Yaga herself. His deeds are mighty, and stretch back millennia.
Some whisper that he is the last hope for the North.
Fae Geography:
There are two major freeholds in the city, and a third far out into the mountains, all of which form part of the dominion of the Robber King. There is the mighty fortress on Fl�ien, seat of the Robber King, from which, the Robber King rules. There is the deep dwarrowdell in the mountains, and finally, the city centre�s Glass Freehold, the haven for expatriate Changelings.
The Glass Freehold:
In a small sidestreet off Torgalmenningen, under the quaintest �olde worlde� wooden sign you have ever seen, is a fairly modern coffee shop, called the Latt� Glass. The staff are friendly, the atmosphere is nice, the d�cor pleasant, and the coffee wonderful. However, if you know what you are looking for, that is only half the story.
The Glass Freehold is one of the oldest urban Freeholds in northern Europe. It was established, not by a Fae, at all, but one of the Lhiannan vampires of ancient nights. Her domain was a small shop in the burgeoning town. Certain horrific things happened there, and when the Ventrue destroyed her, they neither had the knowledge or the skill to close that tear in the skin of the world. It is reported that a Sidhe Mendicant of House Eiluned, found the terrible, haunted building, and made it a Freehold by means of her dark sorcery.
In modern days, the Glass Freehold has been torn down, and rebuilt but the magical heart of the domain is still there. It is now a popular caf� with the university crowd, but the fairly small caf� is much bigger inside than out, if you look with the right attitude. It is a well-liked place, a known hang out, with a fairly relaxed atmosphere. The young people rarely notice anything strange, but some, the sensitive ones, often claim to feel cool, icy fingers brush by them; others claim to have had strange dreams after being there too long.
To the Fae, it is the first place foreign Changelings come to when visiting Bergen. The Freehold was the site of one of the battles between Alfar and Sidhe in 1969, as House Eiluned fought to regain control of their old haven. In the end, the Alfar, after the Solstice 1969 battle on the North Cape, the Eiluned lords compromised on the Freehold, and accepted the overlordship of the Fl�ien citadel.
The Eiluned run the freehold, both as an open house, where fae of any group can come to talk and be safe, and as a research centre. The three Sidhe who hold the Freehold title, are all sorcerers, and strive to unravel the mysteries held back by the Mists, and to divine the true nature of what they fought on the Ice, 30 years ago. They also seek to hide the dark and blood history of the Freehold.
Description:
The Caf� is reasonably large, and can seat roughly 30 people with ease, perhaps more in a pinch. The caf� is designed on two levels, with a raised platform on the right-hand side of the door, which has couches beside a large bay window looking out onto the street. On the main level are more seats and a counter. To the left, near the counter, is doors to the toilets, and another door to the staff locker room. Past the staff locker room, with fae sight, is a curtain, which leads into the Freehold itself.
Unlike many freeholds, what you see in the fae area is all quite real. The Balefire burns in a huge hearth, and dweomer candles flicker, but the huge dining table is real, as are the gorgeous antique chairs. It looks, for all the world, what a rich man�s 17th century drawing room would look like. Tapestries and paintings cover the walls. A huge, and very expensive Persian rug sits on the floor. An old oak door leads up to the next floor, where the guest bedrooms are kept. To stay here, the guest must swear, under pain of Geas, the respect the Law of Silence, and pay for the privilege. This can take the form of dross, of information, a story, a favour, or a magical item. No fae is ever turned away; the Robber King has decreed this, and the Changelings respect this. If the fae has nothing to offer, she can be geased to do something for the Freehold in the future.
The third floor is closed to everyone save the three Eiluned who hold the Freehold title. What goes on up there, no one knows. No one much cares to find out, either.
The Glass Freehold represents the main meeting place for the Fae in Bergen, but the main centre of power is the Fl�ien mountain citadel. This Freehold is not the demesne of anyone with real political power, now matter what airs the Eiluned take. It is completely under the control of the Robber King, as he is called, and none dare question the (very few) dictums that come down from the mountain.
People:
The population of Fae who pass through the Freehold varies greatly. There are a fairly large number of Fae in the city, and many Garou know the Caf� to be a �safe place� somehow. The only visitors who ever see the darker side of the place are the few Euthanathos Mages who have ever passed by, or the Restless Dead themselves, who are hardly customers. The source of the Freehold�s power is a Nihil. The dark energies dripping from that wound in the world fuel the Balefire, which nullifies much of the sick energy, but not all. Those who know the ways of death and the dead feel odd �vibes� from the place. The local Sluagh like it for just these reasons however. And since they are paying customers, know really cares.
The Caf� is basically run by one of the waitresses, a pretty girl of vaguely foreign descent called Ayesha. She seems to have come from �all over.� She keeps the place neat and tidy, and somehow manages to defuse most of the potential fights before they start. There is a strict no-violence policy here, and she can call in the mortal police and not a few Trolls to straighten things out if anything happens. Ayesha seems to be always there, bustling in and out, making sure it all runs smoothly.
The Freehold, if such it could be called, is run by the three Sidhe, lead by one named Lady Sorcha. The others, Andreas and Jessica do her bidding. Somehow, between the four of them, Sidhe and Eshu, they manage to run a very successful freehold.
The no violence policy only extends to physical or magical violence. Many Changelings, especially North Americans, who have drifted into the area, resent the Noble�s dominion of the city, and region. Commoner revolutionaries often pass through; trying to stir up the tide of resentment against the arrogant, corrupt nobles. These hotheads believe the Eiluned and the other Sidhe in the town to be the rulers of the area, and see them as easy targets. It has been Andreas� task on many occasions to show these outsiders the error of their ways. Once, (in 1993) a large Unseelie group of Redcaps and Nockers from Glasgow ran through the town to �liberate� it. They posed such a threat that the knights of the Citadel had to ride down to battle with them. The battle lasted 30 minutes. They allowed one of the outsider�s number to live, so he could tell others not to try the same. The others were hung from the gallows in the Citadel, their lifeless bodies food for the crows. It did not escape the notice of the Eiluned that the crows that feasted on the bodies were normal crows. They could see into the enchanted world. Curious�.
This instance also halted a planned attack by Unseelie Sidhe from the United States, who had somehow learned of the Alfar�s continued existence. Even so, the Caf� is a hotbed of intrigue, small politicking, and information dealing. Ayesha tolerates this, but refuses to become involved, although wandering Eshu sometimes try to buy the secrets she knows. They go away, never empty handed, but never much richer in secrets either.
The Citadel
To mortal eyes, the summit of Mount Fl�ien is about 4000 feet lower than it is to Fae sight, for carved into the very mountain itself is the huge and ancient fairy fortress of Krassknausheim. The Fl�ien Citadel, as it is more commonly and prosaically referred to be the Changelings of the area is huge. Its lowest dungeons are a mile below the earth, at the very roots of the mountain itself. Its highest Eyries surmount the very clouds. There, at the top of the world, its ancient builders created an observatory, one that looks out into the starry firmament, and somehow, into a realm known as Caelum, the starry realm of Arcadia. From there, it is said; you can see the distant light of Heaven, and the upper most branches of the World Tree.
There are several like it, still standing, in the Northlands, and others like it dotted around the globe. Most stand empty or owned by darker powers, but the Fl�ien Citadel still stands, and still belongs to the Children of the Moon.
It is one of the last refuges of the Alfar, the cold Northern Kin of the Sidhe. These high elves of nobility and bearing, or wisdom and knowledge, of sorcery and terror, still rule over their ancient lands from afar.
It may only be seen on a clear, moonless night, in winter, when if you look up at the mountain in just the right way, you can see a shadow across the stars, and if you look hard enough, you may see, or believe you see distant, twinkling firelight in that deep shadow. Others say you can see the Citadel during Auroral displays, or as a vague apparition on the clearest �nights� of midsummer.
It is unknown how many of the Alfar make their homes there. The Sidhe of House Eiluned who run the Glass Freehold have had dealings with about twenty, but there could well be more. Few outsiders are welcome. The Glass Freehold is to be considered the main Freehold for the city; the law of Silence decrees that only in direst peril will the hidden gates of the Citadel be opened. Those few outsiders who have passed within, are bound by powerful Geasa to never betray their lord, or the location of those gate. The magics invoked by the Geasa are so strong, that not even the claws of the Fomori or Tzimisce could pry the secret loose.
The fae of the city do not advertise the existence of the Citadel, fearing that it could attract too much interest from the Hidden Ones, or the Fomori and their allies. Many do not even know of its existence outside rumour and speculation. But some have seen the terrible warrior-knights in the streets, or learned of the pronouncements of those named Norns, or indeed, read the Law of Silence in the Glass Freehold, and guessed at the power that still dwells in the city.
But nothing in this world lasts forever, and the veil of secrecy so long protecting the Citadel cannot last much longer. The Hidden Ones have paid heed, and are, even now, preparing to seek it out and when they find it, to destroy it. Worse, still, old shadows are gathering in the North, reaching down to cut away the veil of magic and forgetfulness surrounding it.
Its origins are lost to the mists of time. It�s future is uncertain. The Norns prophesise terrible doom not long coming.
Others:
There are a few very small Freeholds scattered around the main Bergen area, but they are quite insignificant, ruled over and lived in by small politically insignificant motleys. There is said to be a very large underground city, ruled by the Svartalfar or Dwarves, somewhere in the deep mountains, as well as other Alfars strongholds, carved, like the Citadel out of the mountain itself, but little, if anything, is known about them, especially to the denizens of Bergen.
The Dreaming in Bergen.
If you look at the city with Fae eyes, it appears to be a strange dance of dark and light, with ancient magics flickering, light lightning, from earth to sky, and from city to mountain. A strange howling can be heard on the winds, and the sound of many wings thundering across the sky. Streets seem older, somehow, a fact that will immediately stand out to American fae. The stones of the city, the stories of the city are old, older than anything in the United States, save the Nunnehi strongholds. In winter, when its gets really, really, dark, the town, in the Dreaming, has an odd air of waiting. Under an Auroral display, some of the streetlights seem to flicker in unison with the sky.
The Plot:
Prelude: The characters have a vision of a terrible battle of ancient days. A mighty column of Sidhe knights is massacred before their eyes. The enemy, storm giants of the mountains, ambush them during a terrible, unnatural blizzard. The Sidhe are no match for the giants.
Act One: The characters witness a terrible incident in the Second Accordance War. A group of Redcaps attempt to press home their advantage, and kill the characters. Harold, the House Scathach paladin, rescues them. He does not, however, offer them much in the way of safety. House Scathach is gathering, in Norway. He tries to convince the characters to come along.
In Bergen, in Norway, a large number of fey have gathered. They are warriors, mercenaries, criminals, scholars, and politicians. They know that war is near.
At the end of Act One, the characters encounter the Alvar themselves.
Act Two, sees the fey of Bergen invited, for the first time in millennia, into the secret halls of the Robber King. There they receive word about the progress of the march on Murmansk. The Alvar are preparing for war. Several of the fey nobility attempt to recruit the characters to their side. The nobility are jockeying for position. They seem to regard the coming war as an opportunity for plunder. But, down in the city, things are happening. However, in certain of the councils, things are being revealed, if the characters are sharp enough to listen carefully.
Act Three sees the character asked to investigate a murder. In the process, they come face to face, for the first time, with the Foamhr. The encounter does not go well. At the end, a messenger brings terrible news.
Scene One: Dream Sequences.
Describe the situation. Offer no explanations.
It�s a dark knight, on an exposed mountain vale, somewhere deep in the mountains. A fierce blizzard shrieks in from the North. It is bitterly cold. A moon flickers in and out of the rushing clouds above. Snow piles in front of them.
A long column of Sidhe knights, on horseback, wends its way across the vale. The knights are not chilled by the breeze, but they are tired, terribly so. Many are wounded. But they shine with pride. The column seems to emanate a certain warmth and light, even in the dark and the cold.
Some sing. The song is a quiet song, a song of home and warm places.
It is a bitter, hard march across the mountains, but the Sidhe are unbowed.
A shout goes up.
�Jotunds!� someone screams. �Jotunds.�
Rocks rain down from the mountainsides above, and then, with a terrible, unnatural crackling, the blizzard seems to turn on the Sidhe. It batters them, casts them from their horses, and blinds them with snow and wind.
And then, in the darkness, the characters can see them:
Tall, silhouettes, shadowed against the snow, silent.
�The enemy is upon us!� one of the Sidhe knights yells, drawing his sword. �To arms!�
The Sidhe prepare themselves. Even in the dark, in the blizzard, even cold and hungry and wounded and tired, it is still a glorious sight.
�Giants!� one of the Sidhe says. �You have come to a place of terrible death!� Fey archers pour flaming, magical arrows into the ranks of the oncoming Giants.
But, without warning, boulders start raining down on the Sidhe ranks. Sidhe magicians try to stop them, but some get through. Sidhe knights die.
Then, in the confusion, the enemy is upon them.
The Jotunds slice through the Sidhe lines� like a hot knife through butter. Sidhe nobles, millennia old, fall to the claws and the ice swords of the giants. The snow is stained red with blood. Everywhere, the steaming bodies of the fallen knights. Some of the giants fall, a pitiful few, but for the Sidhe� it is a massacre.
The Jotund�s claws are made of some terrible granite hard ice. With casual flicks, they decapitate warriors. Their fists smash through shields. They wield magics that kill Sidhe wizards.
Slowly, but surely, the giants get closer to the characters. A few Sidhe attempt a rally, but they too are cut down.
Then they are upon the characters.
*
Make the characters fight this one, with dice.
Jotund stats:
Strength: 8, Dexterity 7; Stamina 9; Intelligence 6; Wits 4.
Alertness 5; Brawl 5; Melee 6; Stealth 4. Willpower 9; Glamour 5. These Jotunds have Titan�s Power, as delineated in changeling: the dreaming.
Description: Up close, the giants are beautiful. They are not the huge, towering monstrosities of myth, but rather humanoids of perhaps 8 or, at most 9, feet tall. They are strongly muscled, but they carry themselves with a grace, a predatory grace, that could rival the Sidhe.
Special Attacks: the Jotunds have claws, long thing, 3 feet long claws made of some terrible ice from some place where the sun has never shone. These claws do 3 extra levels of aggravated damage on contact. Use rules from claw attacks from Changeling the dreaming.
The battle:
The Jotunds are silent, they are deadly, and they are dreadfully intelligent. They do not fall for any small tricks the characters play, and their magic falls against the Jotund, and shatters like glass. They are terribly fast, and their claws make them the ultimate killing machines.
Allow the characters to try to survive. But cut each and every one of them down, killing them.
One or two may survive.
�Take the women,� one of the giants says, in his poetic, quiet voice. �They will serve in the breeding pits. Any of the squires too; we need more slaves.� There are a few screams as the giants finish killing the surviving knights.
The characters die, their immortal blood staining the snow. As the giants withdraw, taking the squires and female knights with them, the sky clears, opening onto a beautiful moonlit night.
As their life fades away, the more observant characters may notice that the stars are not the familiar ones of the northern sky.
*
Then they wake up. They are bleeding from mysterious wounds, and in pain. But they are in their beds.
That was no dream:
The characters have just had a joint vision of an ancient battle in the time before the last ice age. If the characters meet to discuss this, they may realise that the stars were in a pattern that corresponds with the positions of the constellations of the time before the last ice age (say, 11,000 years ago).
Scene Two:
The characters are in their hometown, unemployed (in both mortal and fey senses of the term), largely in disgrace, and without much prestige.
The news from everywhere is bad. Even the weather is bad. Late summer heat seems utterly deadening. Crime is high.
In the world of the fey, things are worse. The Second Accordance war continues, in fits and starts. Stories of terrible atrocities, on both sides, are filtering through.
Queen Laurel is continuing her attempts to force secession, but, perhaps most damningly, no one seems to care.
Things suck, basically.
Have the characters meet. Thunder flickers across the city, as they sit and have coffee and generally try to talk to one another. Do your best to make the atmosphere strained.
Try to make the characters converse. Then see if you can get the conversation to become more relaxed; they are all friends after all, and have been through some terrible things.
Then, they hear a shot ring out. Then another.
Then, there seems to be a firestorm of shots, screams, and something else� someone is using magic close by. It feels like a prickle on the back of their necks.
Then:
�Please� please� not my child� noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!�
Then silence.
If the characters investigate:
They come upon a hideous scene. In a small side alley, a Sidhe noblewoman, a grump, lies, dead, her body mutilated and torn. The smaller, broken bodies of Sidhe childlings lie beside her, her children. They are thrown on the ground, like rag dolls.
As they observe, they see a group of bikers draw close. It is obvious to anyone looking, with fey eyes that these �bikers� are redcaps. They look at the characters hungrily. There is twice the amount of bikers as there are characters. They are heavily armed. Chances are the characters aren�t.
Underline the tawdriness of the scene. There is no glory here, just a quick, painful death, in some pointless conflict.
The redcaps get closer and closer. What do the characters do?
�This was nothing to do with you,� one says, getting closer. �Just some Sidhe bitch getting what she deserved. There�s a war on! But you, you gotta get all cosy, don�t you? Gotta come down here, and look upset, dontcha? Well, we don�t like that.�
What happens next is entirely up to you:
The characters could fight.
Average Redcap:
Str: 4, Dex 3, Stamina 3.
Wits 2, Intelligence 2. Willpower 4, glamour 3.
The redcaps carry an assortment of weapons, handguns, iron pipes, crowbars, knives and swords.
This would be a nasty, vicious, bruiser of a fight. And the characters are outnumbered. Try to press home to the players that they are about to be killed for some pointless skirmish of the accordance war which has nothing to do with them. Yes, something horrific has happened, but horrific things have been happening all over�
Make this fight as bloody, as gritty, as unglamorous (in both senses of the word) as possible.
Or the characters could run away.
The Redcaps won�t follow. If the characters seem to be minding their own business, that�s fine by the Recaps. They will laugh at the characters after they leave, but take no further action.
Scene Three: A trip abroad.
The next big moment in the storyline involves the characters travelling to Bergen, in Norway.
Now, this presents a problem. How does one get them to Norway, of all places? The most obvious argument is that the player�s characters are involved in this crazy stuff, and their characters have been kicked and manipulated and lied to and injured by an enemy heretofore unseen. Now they have a chance of getting their own back, to start moving events in their own direction. The other argument is that there is no real story without them attending the meeting described below.
The characters arrive in Bergen on a bright, fall morning, travel sick and jet lagged. In the airport lobby, a young man holds a printed sign with their names on it. He is a tall, sophisticated, blonde man.
Andreas:
Andreas is a Sidhe noble, and a messenger and diplomat between the various fae factions in Bergen. He is perhaps the only honest fey the characters will meet in Bergen.
Image: A tall, pale, skinny, blond haired young man. He has something of a CK fashion model to him, but his penetrating intellect always shines through. No one, but no one, would dare call him a bimbo. He is graceful, and dresses well. He wears casual business suits typically, but he can sometimes be found in jeans and a sweatshirt. Many suspect he models himself after a young Patrick MacNee of the old British TV show, the Avengers. It�s an amusing, but oddly insightful. He doesn�t do it deliberately, but watch him, and there it is.
Andreas greets the characters openly, genuinely glad to see them. He speaks English with the old, famous, BBC accent. He is graceful, gracious, kind and genuine. He comes across as a very decent guy.
�Welcome to Bergen,� he says. �I am so happy that you are here. You are, by all accounts, heroes in the truest sense of the word. We need heroes. We need them so badly.�
A Mercedes limo waits for them outside. The driver is an ensorcelled mortal, who remains utterly silent. Andreas sits beside him, the characters get to sit in the back seat.
After a few moments of awkward silence, he begins.
�About a year ago, we started losing contacts with the northernmost of our freeholds. Initially, we didn�t care so much, I am ashamed to say. When I say �we� I refer to my superiors. Contact between freeholds anywhere is always a problematic thing. We do not keep a directory of these freeholds; we don�t have their phone numbers, or their email addresses. We just know that there are a few there. We don�t talk much. Then they stopped talking. The first one we noticed was a place near Kirkennes. The Duke there was a distant friend of one of my bosses. He wasn�t answering his phone. Around Christmas last year we sent a few guys north to see how he was. They didn�t come back.
This went on. We didn�t know what to do about it. My superiors� concerns are not of this world, my friends. They are sorcerers, and their concerns lie in the realms of the occult.
But� it is clear now, that a good half of Norway is under enemy control. We do not have allies to call upon. We have old rivalries with our brethren in Sweden. Of Finland we hear nothing. Denmark is torn by internal strife. Britain is doing its best to prevent such.
It is a lot more complex than that. We are being hunted, actively, by mortal sorcerers. In Britain, we are at war with these sorcerers. The same tensions that are tearing at Concordia, as you call it, are tearing at Europe. But now, we have something new to deal with. �
Eventually, the car pulls up outside a very �Starbucks� style caf�, down a rather dark back alley. Inside, a large, rather smoky environment, filled with mortals, smoking and talking.
�Here we are,� Andreas says. He leads them through the crowd, into a small, un-noted storeroom. In the storeroom is a door, and the door leads to a spiral staircase, leading upwards, the walls and stairs laid in marble, a skylight bathing the chamber in chill, buttery, daylight.
At the top of the staircase, another door. The door leads into a huge reception room, far bigger than the dimensions of the building should allow. There, on a comfortable chair, waiting for them, Lady Sorcha waits.
Lady Sorcha:
Lady Sorcha is the duchess of the freehold, and claims the city of Bergen and all its surrounds as her own.
Image: Tall and pale and beautiful, with a halo of red-gold hair, every inch the Sidhe noble. She wears beautiful designer dresses, even when working. She has an easy smile, and her actions belie her age. She appears to be in her twenties, and most see her as a Wildling. But look into her eyes, and see the old, old obsessions and hurts and longing there. Her true age becomes apparent then.
Sorcha walks towards them in greeting. She asks them some trivial questions, but let the characters suspect that they are being probed on a deeper level. Then, she says. �It would appear our enemy is a dire, and clever one. I am sorry that one such as you would be so disgraced.�
She pauses then.
�Let it be known,� she announces to anyone listening, �these are knights of Arcadia, true and fine! Our enemies have tried to shame them, hurt them, and dishonour them. No such dishonour shall be recorded against them, in my demesne, or in the demesne of my friends, or any who would be my friend.�
She smiles at them, almost smugly.
�Feel any better?� she whispers.
Chapter 2
Scene 1:
It�s been a few weeks. The characters are encouraged to rest, to sleep, to allow their wounds to heal. They are treated like lords, and the heroes that they are. Fey weapons will be replaced and mended. Characters, who wish to spend experience points on new spells, or abilities, can. Allow the characters to know that they are somewhat safe.
Storytellers who enjoy more random roleplaying experiences, can narrate out nights on the town, and inter-relationships between characters and others.
However, soon, they start hearing rumours of a grand council of war being called in Bergen, with lords from Scotland, Norway, Russia, Sweden, Denmark, Poland, Germany and Canada, in attendance.
As the plans continue, the characters start finding themselves on the outside of various committees meetings. Their opinions are not really required, but because of their status, people will talk to them, and ask them their opinions.
It seems that the freehold is not big enough to hold all the various dignitaries, and Sorcha is planning on renting a mortal hotel for a week, at great personal expense.
Then, after some days of this, there is a huge excitement in the freehold.
A dignitary has arrived from the other freehold in the city. The oldest freehold in the city, and one of the oldest in Europe, it is the ancient fastness of Fl�ien.
And he has asked to see the characters.
They are ushered into the reception room.
The man who awaits them is a tall, handsome man. He is not a Sidhe, but rather a mortal of fae blood. He comports himself with utter dignity. His bearing is military, and somewhat stiff.
�I am pleased to meet you, at last. I have been following your adventures closely.� He shakes their hands firmly. �I am here on behalf of my lord, to invite the Lady Sorcha and her subjects to hold their consultations in the home of my lord.�
Scene Two:
Several days later, Andreas takes the limo, and goes with them to the hill of Fl�ien. They park along a walking trail, and Andreas leads them into a copse of trees on the hill.
Inside the trees, he leads them to what looks like a well. He touches the roof of the well, and the roof opens, revealing a set of stone steps leading down.
The steps open onto a small courtyard, illuminated by eerie light from the world above. A fey sits by a fountain in the courtyard, slumped, in a half doze.
�Your highness,� Andreas begins.
�Welcome,� he says. The figure stands up. He is tall, almost as tall as a troll, with old, tired eyes. He shakes each of the characters hands. �I am the Robber King. That�s what they call me, down there. As for my true name� it�s long forgotten.�
He walks away, making a brief gesture for the characters to follow.
�You have been having dreams, have you not? Terrible dreams?�
He waits for them to respond.
�Those are my dreams. I sent you dreams of my own, memories, worries. I needed agents in the world. I needed you. I am truly sorry for all your hurts, all your pains, and all your frustrations. I have been foolish, and plans and stratagems I thought would foil my enemies� those plans failed. I simply do not know what to do. I grow up. I grow so old. I dream of Arcadia. I want to dwell there, a little, before Ragnorak.�
Then he continues.
�The werewolves, they call themselves the Fenrir, believe me to be the Old one-eyed God. I am not. I am merely� merely a minor viceroy. But, I cannot be here much longer. Someone needs to be me when I am gone. If I perish in the coming war, I want you to promise me that you will see to it that Fl�ien yet stands.�
Then he dismisses them.
The Great Consult.
This is a huge gathering. There are literally hundreds of Fey in attendance. It has been a year since the strange events in the North have begun, and few have done very much about it. Those who have done something, have usually failed. The enemy is too strong.
But now, the Alfar of Norway are planning on taking the lead. The Sidhe of St. Petersburg are planning an assault of Novaya Zemyla. The Alfar hope to watch and wait and then, aid their brethren to the North.
Guests, dignitaries, and interested parties are coming to Bergen; mages, werewolves, and fey. The characters are there as guests and dignitaries, but also, they are expected to act as guards, too. The hospitality of the fey of Bergen comes with a price.
Fill this scene with some rather tedious jobs such as accompanying some of the guests from the airport into the city.
The Guest list.
Elaine:
One of the so-called Trueblood, a fey child born to mortals. Three years ago, Elaine lost her lover to the Foamhr. She has been pursuing them ever since. (See �Into The Dreaming Country� on ELN). She is a tall, and beautiful young woman, but she is quiet, and somewhat shy. Her back is covered with scars received at the hands of a fey sorceress�s minions.
Mark Boillot �Lycidas�:
Mark�s arrival will be separate to that of Elaine. They do not speak, anymore. He is an actor, in mortal life, a well-known figure of the west end stage, but he is also a Magus of the Order of Hermes. His mother was of the Sidhe. Utterly beautiful, dashing, charming, and disarming, he is very good company. He is also exceptionally manipulative, and has no problems sending allies to their deaths, for the greater good.
Michelle:
Michelle is a young woman from Toronto, born of Chinese origin. She is, however, almost completely Canadian, in manner. Michelle is a messenger from the Nyan of China, and ultimately, the Lord of the Yellow Springs, who rules the land of the Chinese dead. She is, like all of her kind, exceptionally beautiful; she is small, slight, but wiry and fit. Her Canadian accent is very strong indeed. (See �in a place which pretends to be hell� on ELN)
Ayesha Emmanuel:
A young girl of Syrian decent, she is the last messenger of the dying Djinni of the desert. She has been entrusted with their knowledge, their secrets, and their tales of the elder days. The knowledge that she carries has damaged her, changed her personality; where once she was wild and carefree, now she is sombre, and continually tired.
Harold of House Scathach:
Harold is a fey warrior of the feared �Grey House.� He is here to represent his masters, and to protect the oracle, Ingrid, whom he loves, deeply. He has met the characters before, and is genuinely glad to see them.
Chretienne:
This woman is an ing�nue and manipulator par excellence, but her heart is (hopefully) in the right place. An Eschatologist scholar (a rarity amongst the fey), she knows a great deal about the occult forces in the world of darkness. She has dedicated her life to somehow, somehow, finding out enough of the coming nightmare (which she calls the Eschaton), which could avert it. She has been unsuccessful, thus far.
Leslie Wu:
An acquaintance of Chretienne�s, Leslie is not all she seems, and should, in all fairness, give our heroes the creeps. She remains very silent when they meet her, barely acknowledging their presence. She appears to be or Chinese origin. She is not. Leslie is not her name, either, and she is neither human nor fey.
These are important characters. Depending on your mood, storyteller, you can have our heroes pick them up from the airport, each time, and interact with each of them, or you can interact with some of them in a social setting in the Latte Glass. Some of these people the characters will already know, others will be strangers.
The other important fact, that due to the sheer scale of the meeting, other fey and mages that the characters might know are in attendance. These can be characters from your normal chronicles, or even bit players in other chronicles you might play in. (Maybe you play Mage, and some irritating Hollow One wannabe who your characters hate, also shows up!)
The first two dozen guests are housed in an as yet unnoticed third storey suite in the Latte Glass (yes, it is a VERY big place inside). But after that, they will all be sent to a plush downtown hotel. Jaspersen makes it very clear that the Robber King intends merely to hold the conference in his freehold, and will not be housing the guests.
However, certain of the guests will be invited for extended consultations, guests such as the characters.
Scene Three: The Meeting.
On the third day, the characters, and the fey, at sunset, walk from the Latte Glass, all the way to Fl�ien. The Fey carry chimerical torches, glimmering in the gathering darkness. The Sidhe knights ride beautiful faerie horses. Some of the fey sing a song, a song not heard in this age of the world. A light, early, snow falls.
The Northern lights burn overhead. The city looks so beautiful on this night, glimmering in the eldritch light. They walk up to the mountain, but distance seems to make no sense. The journey takes perhaps an hour. Smart characters will realise that they are following some sort of Trod to the mountain.
The Trod gives way halfway up the mountain. In the darkness, the mountain seems bigger, higher than Everest, even.
Then the mountain opens, spilling beautiful light out into the night.
The fey file in.
Scene Four:
The guests take their seats. They are in the halls of the Robber King. His chamberlain greets them. Various servants wander around. Each guest has a chair. The hundred or so fey are arrayed in a circle. Then, when all are seated, the Robber king seems to step out of nothingness.
�Welcome to my home,� he says. �I have brought you all here to discuss the darkness that threatens to engulf us all. I want you all to discuss your intentions. I want you to come to a plan of action. I want to help, but I cannot stand alone against the Red Lord. Indeed, if the rumours are true, one of the Lord�s mere servants killed the eldest of the Djinni.�
Now, sit back and watch the backbiting begin.
Telling the story of the consultations.
This depends on what your players enjoy. If they enjoy intrigue, this is the place for them. If they enjoy action, and violence, you may wish to play most of this out in downtime.
Space restricts us from giving every single character�s viewpoints, but here is a brief overview. �
--Watch and wait. This is the view given by many of the European Sidhe. They do not, with some very good reasons, wish to commit to war with the Red Lord, if the Commoners try to exploit the situation. �
--Attack now. Sidhe forces are gathering in Murmansk to attack the Foamhr, after all. Perhaps the Sidhe of the northlands should attack immediately, with overwhelming force, and destroy the Foamhr on Novaya Zemyla. Eiluned magicians could then work rituals to keep the Red Lord sleeping. �
--Gather a larger force. This is another notion. This is supported by the Scathach, and the Robber King. They want to assemble a huge force of fey, and mages and garou, and gather intelligence, then attempt to foil each Foamhr assault, while preparing to make a huge magic to kill the Red Lord. �
--Ignore the problem. This is a minority opinion, but it is one favoured by American delegates. The Americans know that the Dark Kin are back, and are killing fey right now, and the war in Concordia is getting worse. Concordia, at least, must get its own house in order, before committing to some worse fate. They believe that this war itself may cause the Long Winter.
There is another, sub discussion. This discussion is one of all the seething rages and hates harboured by such a congregation. The atmosphere, slowly, but surely, poisons.
Scene Five: A Technomancer.
Deep into the debate, as anger and pointless discussions continue, the Robber King announces that there is a visitor at the door.
Two in fact. Technocratic agents, to be precise.
�ystein Kraft, the PBI agent (see World of Darkness: Bergen, on ELN) and a friend, Petra Olsen. Petra O
