One Dark Window

“The highwayman meets the hangman. Always.”

Magic is the oldest paradox. The more power it gives you, the weaker you become. Be wary. Be clever. Be good.

Magic is the oldest paradox.

A King’s reign is wrought with burden, the Nightmare whispered, his voice uncharacteristically heavy. Weighty decisions ripple through centuries. Still, decisions must be made.

The Black Horse made its beholder a master of combat. The Golden Egg granted great wealth. The Prophet offered glimpses of the future. The White Eagle bestowed courage. The Maiden bequeathed great beauty. The Chalice turned liquid into truth serum. The Well gave clear sight to recognize one’s enemies. The Iron Gate offered blissful serenity, no matter the struggle. The Scythe gave its beholder the power to control others. The Mirror granted invisibility. The Nightmare allowed its user to speak into the minds of others. The Twin Alders had the power to commune with Blunder’s ancient entity, the Spirit of the Wood.

My magic moves, he said. My magic bites. My magic soothes. My magic frights. You are young and not so bold. I am unflinching—five hundred years old.

The Twin Alders is hidden in a place with no time. A place of great sorrow and bloodshed and crime. Betwixt ancient trees, where the mist cuts bone-deep, the last Card remains, waiting, asleep. The wood knows no road—no path through the snare. Only I can find the Twin Alders…

“For it was I who left it there.”

The Twin Alders is hidden

blood had not dried. But he did not account for the turn of the tide. For nothing is safe, and nothing is free. Debt follows all men, no matter their plea. When the Shepherd returns, a new day shall ring. Death to the Rowans…

“Long live the King.”

came in the night,” we said, “the black and red horde. They burned down my castle, put my kin to the sword. The usurper was crowned, though

just the wind in the trees, the shadow, and the fright. The echo in the leaves… the nightmare in the night.