Bregasland and the smiths

Bregasland, home to the "Bregas" fenlanders, is primarily made up of freshwater fenland. It is a place of small islands of abundantly fertile soil, surrounded by seemingly endless marshes where eels are caught.

Overview

During the Autumn Equinox 384YE, Watt of Lambrook the Imperial Advisor for the Feni instructed the Department of Historical Research to research "the history of Feni and orcs in Bregasland, their links to the Rushring Stones, and the "sinking" of the territory." During the investigation, one of the newer members of the Department - a Marcher named Mary Reader - came into possession of a scroll of peculiar provenance that appears only tangentially connected to the question of Bregasland's "sinking" but is included here for completeness.

The Fall of Bregasland

Introduction

There are no records in the Empire of the Feni and orcs in Bregasland, or the "sinking" of the territory. There have always been feni in the marshes, tight-lipped and insular and keen to avoid the Marchers, but they were never many in number. If there was a time when their history here was important, it must have been a long time ago, before the Empire was born. The Department has checked every record and history book they can find, but there is nothing in Imperial lore that might shed new light on their presence in Bregasland.

But there is a member of the Department who claims to know an old story that might help. Volkof is a well-travelled Varushkan member of the Department and an experienced storyteller. According to them, once of their ancestors was travelling through the forests of Mournwold over a hundred years ago, when they were attacked by Feni. The raiders took everything they had, leaving this ancestor so badly wounded she feared she might die. In desperation she promised the Feni a story fit for a king if they would spare her life.

Each night the story-teller would recount a story of the wild places of Varushka, and in return the Feni slowly nursed the woman back to strength. Eventually she was well enough to leave, and on the final day the Feni told her a story, one they claimed was their own story and told of how they fled the waters that swallowed the land and came to live in the Forests of Alderly.

The tales of the Varushkan story-tellers are rich and fanciful, intended to entertain as much as inform, but many learn their craft by memorizing these stories word for word. The story Volkof's ancestor told is reproduced below, exactly as Volkof learned it from their teacher. While the story itself is dense with myth and whimsy, there is little doubt that it will be an accurate recollection of the tale the Feni told themselves over a century ago in Alderly Edge.

The Tale of the Giant of Craven Rock

According to the oldest legends, long before the Empire was born, before the yeofolk of Dawn marched into the west, a people called the Bregas dwelled on the edge of the Sea of Gulls. These people were simple folk, hunting game in the great forests and taking fish from the sea and the rivers that flowed down to it. The hills and plains of the Bregas were filled with game, and the clear rivers were choked with fish.

The Bregas had no king, for they were surrounded by many enemies, and survived only through allegiance to greater powers than themselves, much as they do to this day. Thus it was that they lived under the protection of a giant they called The Silence that Echoes between the Stars. Each day they would bring the giant food, and once a year the wisest of their number would be sent to feed the giants hunger, and they thought themselves lucky to have such a benevolent god.

It happened that one of the Ulven came to the Bregas and demanded tribute of them, and they refused to pay for they believed the giant would protect them. The Ulven gave no choice, but slaughtered them where they stood, for their weapons were crude and their armour weak. They were no match for Ulven steel. So the Bregas went to the giant's cave and cried out to for it to save them.

On the first day the giant sent the Bregas away, saying that any victory they were given would turn to defeat. The Bregas were dismayed but not downcast and on the next day they came again to implore the giant to save them. On the second day the giant sent the Bregas away, saying that any sword they forged would turn on the wielder and slay them. The Bregas were distraught but not bereft and on the next day they came again to beseech the giant to save them. On the third day the giant sent the Bregas away, saying that any hope they gave them would turn to ashes. At this the Bregas were distraught and cried out that their doom was upon them already for their god had deserted them.

Seeing the depths of their misery, the giant relented and commanded the Bregas to build a great forge. The hall was the height of an Oak, a bed for the coals large enough to hold a pair of oxen and bellows so big they took five abreast to work them. At the centre was a great stone anvil, wide as a river and heavy as a mountain. And the giant sent the Bregas out into the hills and the woods to search for the metal that falls from the stars and to bring it to him. When the Bregas returned, he produced weapons of war, shields and helms, armour and swords and spears. The giant drew down the magic of the stars, carving it into the hammered steel with his claws, and thus the Bregas knew victory at last.

When the Ulven discovered that they could not defeat their enemies, they asked the Bregas how they had come by such riches. The Bregas only laughed and mocked the Ulven, but one among them was moved to treachery by the promise of gold. And he told them that their god had forged weapons for them in the great hall on the High Hill of Craven Rock in return for a chest of gold and one of silver.

So the chief of the Ulven and his ghodi climbed Craven Rock to speak with the god. And when they saw the giant they quailed for they knew their doom was upon them and they fled from the giants hammer.

The stars moved and the trees grew old, but the Ulven did not forget, for now more than anything they desired to possess everything the Bregas called theirs. They wanted the rich valleys and forests for their own, they hungered to own the star swords the giant had made for the Bregas and more than anything they wished for the knowledge of how to make these weapons for themselves. So they raised a great army of Ulven, with more warriors than there are leaves in the forest.

The Bregas arrayed themselves for battle without fear for they knew that no army that wielded the weapons of the gods would ever know defeat. All had forgotten the three warnings that the giant had given them and believed that they must have victory, even though the Ulven had seven sons and daughters to every one of the Bregas. The battle waged for nine days, but on the tenth day the Bregas could field no more warriors.

The Ulven claimed all the lands between the mountains and the sea, each Jarl claiming a region for their own. And they took the accoutrements of war the giant had fashioned, they donned the mail and put on the helms, and they took up the shields, spears and swords and kept them for their own. But still it was not enough and so they climbed the High Hill on Craven Rock and the host demanded that The Silence that Echoes between the Stars give them the secret of their magic or they would send the giant to feast with the gods.

On the first day the giant sent the Ulven away, saying that any triumph they took from that place would turn to ruin. The Ulven were angry but not yet furious and on the next day they came again to insist the giant give up their secrets. On the second day the giant sent the orcs away, saying that any skills they learned on the High Hill would bring only the doom of their people. The Ulven were fearful but not cowed and on the next day they came again to threaten the giant with death if they would not yield. On the third the giant sent the orcs away, saying that the insight they gained on Craven Rock would only blind them to their fate. At this the Ulven were incensed and they fell upon the giant, wielding its own weapons against it.

And the giant's shield slipped its rim and so it splintered beneath the iron axes of the orcs. And the giant's sword turned in its hand causing an Ulven warrior's blade to strike true. And finally when the Ulven Chief stabbed the giant with his spear, the mail slipped a ring and the spear point passed through to the giant's heart.

As The Silence that Echoes between the Stars lay dying they cursed the Ulven. This was a true curse, witnessed by the space between the stars, and at the last it brought down the doom that the giant had long since prophesied. For the Sea of Gulls rose up, and all the lands of the Bregas were drowned as the waters rushed in, and the Bregas and the Ulven were swallowed up entirely by the hungry waves. The Sea claimed the land and though the waters eventually receded, they refused to give it up completely and all that was left thereafter was stagnant marsh and dead pools. The weapons of the gods were swept away into the Sea of Gulls and the High Hall at Craven Rock was cast down and the great anvil stone sank into the mud until only the very top was visible above the soft earth.

The Hangmans Challenge

As part of the research conducted by the Department into the Feni and the orcs of Bregasland, one of our younger researchers, a Marcher lass called Mary Reader went up to Meade to see if the small Alderman's library in the city might yield any information of use. They didn't find anything of value there, everything in the library is much too recent to shed any light on this matter, but while they were there they happened to spend an evening in the Hangmans Yard, a tavern popular with farmers bringing their wares to market from Oddmire and the roads that lead north to the marshes of Kallevesa.

While there, they were challenged to a drinking contest by an oddly-dressed changeling who said their name was Riddle of the Moors. He offered a scroll he said was valuable, that he would give to Mary if she could eat a plate of food and drain a flagon of ale faster than he could. She bought the changeling dinner and a drink and the two set to downing their supper. Riddle easily won, but he told Mary that he would be staying to the end of the week if she wished to compete again. So she returned the next night with Jack Haystacker, a mountain of a man who is famous in Mead for his ability to lift two full-sized haybales above his head, one in each hand. They bought the changeling a second dinner and this time Jack beat Riddle hands down. The strange fellow seemed happy enough to be beaten - he handed the scroll over and disappeared shortly afterwards.

The provenance of the scroll is hard to prove, but it claims to written by a historian who dwelt in the city of Mestra, called Antonia de Mestra. It is an account of Marcher history from before the time of the Empire, but after the March, some of which touches on the matters of the marshes of Bregasland and so may be relevant, if only tangentially. The one note of caution is the curious means by which it came into Mary's hands. The whole matter of a challenge that just happens to yield up some relevant information seems entirely beyond the realms of coincidence, so while it could be nothing more than a turn of fate, it certainly looks like some eternal went to great lengths to arrange the whole thing, for their own inscrutable reasons.

The Marcher Smiths

According to Antonia, in the days when Mestra was a young city on the banks of the fast-flowing Vassa, it was common for the people of the Marches to come to the city bringing the produce of their farms to sell in the markets there. In return the smiths of the Marchers would look to buy metals in the marketplace, iron, copper, and mithril for the blacksmiths art and gold and silver for the brightsmiths. These smiths were well respected by their fellow Marchers, they weren't yeofolk, but they weren't aldermen either. Instead they held a position more akin to that of the the landskeepers, respected practitioners of magic, albeit as artisans rather than ritualists.

Where landskeepers concerned themselves with the land, smiths were more concerned with dealing with the small folk, whether that be a herald dwelling in a creek, or a a swarm of boggarts infesting a barn full of hay. Smiths were expected to be experts not just with hammer and flame, but at negotiating bargains with all and sundry. As such when someone was needed to solve any problems caused by a herald or similar creature, the yeofolk would send for the local smith to come and deal with it.

These smiths were practical people, they used their magic in the simplest, most effective ways to achieve what was needed. The most famous story of their endeavours concerns the troll Jack-in-Chains. According to Antonia, it was the Blacksmiths who first dealt with Bloody Jack. The terrible monster was threatening settlements for miles around, creeping out at night to steal cattle and sheep from local herds. The locals were loathed to kill the monster, because according to local legend a terrible curse would fall on everyone if the beast was slain. To solve this impossible problem, the smiths forged a great magical chain with which they bound Bloody Jack, whereupon they threw the monster in a deep well. Not a perfect outcome given recent history, but good enough to keep folk safe until an earthquake allowed Jack-in-Chains to escape several hundred years later.

According to Antonia, one year the smiths simply vanished. The Marchers came to market after harvest time as they had always done, but this time, there were no blacksmiths or brightsmiths amongst their number. When folk asked about it, the Marchers were tight-lipped on the matter and would say only that it was a private concern that was no-one's business but their own. Still it clearly pained them for they were forced to buy much of what they needed from the Mestran smiths who soon learned to turn the situation to their advantage.

The Deal

The smiths were already long gone by the time Antonia was old enough to travel abroad from Tassato Mestra, but she was was determined to discover their fate and she travelled the Marchers in search of someone who could tell her what had happened. She found the folk tight-lipped, as she'd expected, but something more, it was as if many of them had already forgotten about the lost smiths. They had those who could work metals among their number still, but these folk were no different to the blacksmiths and brightsmiths of Tassato, skilled crafters who worked their wares without access to any magic at all, and certainly no interest in dealing with anything that wasn't part of the mundane world. They did their jobs, earned their living and nobody called on them for anything more than that.

Eventually though Antonia was able to find a friar in Hay who told them the tale of what had happened. According to the friar, it was many years earlier, the Marchers were being pressed hard by the Jotun, who had pushed them out of the Mournwold and were threatening Mitwold. A grim mood had set in after a heavy defeat by the enemy at Ashenbridge and folks had been desperate to do something to turn the tide. People were scrambling to find any way to hold the Jotun back and so three smiths struck a deal with the Bronze Artisan to gain the creature's help. They needed a way to create new magical items, weapons and armour that might give the Marchers the advantage against the Jotun, and after a long negotiation the eternal had agreed to help. The deal was a simple one, the Forgemistress would provide the Marchers with half of all the materials they needed to build a new runic forge. In return the skilled folk of the Marchers, the masters of their craft, the blacksmiths and the brightsmiths who knew the secrets of crafting magical items, would work in the the Bronze Artisan's forges fashioning items for them until the new commission was complete.

The plan was expensive, but as much as it pained the smiths to leave their homes for a year, everyone could see that the real cost would be the loss of their skills for so long. The Marchers would still have the apprentices and journeyfolk who could shape metal, but none who knew how to craft items of power, nor deal with the creatures of other realms. The enchantments they created for Marcher heroes needed replacing every year - if they were gone for so long who would provide for the countryfolk? They all agreed the new runic forge would be invaluable but the cost was too high. Finally they discovered a possible solution, there was, a great anvil stone in Bregasland, buried deep in the mud. According to legends, this anvil was crafted by trolls and had once been part of a runic forge that had long since been destroyed. If the anvil were dug up and brought to Meade where the new commission was planned to be built, then it would cut the time needed to create the new forge in half.

Thus the plans were laid. The smiths disappeared into the halls of the Forgemistress thinking to return to their homes within two seasons, once the work was done. Wagons filled with metal and stone issued forth from the Bronze Artisan's chambers, more than enough for the Marchers to build their new forge. So the townsfolk set to, the great anvil they had located in Bregasland was dug up and dragged to the city and work was soon underway on the rest of the forge that was being built to house it.

The Disappearance

For the best part of five months, everything proceeded at a bewildering pace. The new forge built on the edge of the city was an inspiration to everyone who saw it, and folks were eager for it to be done, so that the smiths might return and make use of it. No-one was in any doubt that their industry would benefit the whole Marches. Once the smiths returned, the new forge would begive to give them a new edge against the Jotun.

But tragedy struck, and there was a terrible storm on the last night of the construction. A bolt of lightning hit the almost complete runic forge and set the building on fire. By the time people were able to bring the fire under control, much of the new forge had burned to the ground. Only the mysterious anvil was untouched, apparently none-the-worse despite being the very spot the lightning had arced to earth. The forge itself was gone, and with it were all the materials needed to build it.

After that people fell to squabbling and arguments. Everyone blamed someone for the fire, but nobody could agree exactly whose fault it was. Then a rumour sprang up that the anvil was cursed and that spread like wildfire. Once a landskeeper was able to confirm that the anvil stone was indeed cursed, with some kind of powerful pronouncement of doom hanging over it, a mob quickly formed to deal with it. If the wicked thing had burned down the new runic forge what might it do to the rest of Meade if they left it there?

Nobody was quite sure what to do about it, but with traditional Marcher practicality they roped a pair of large boats together and put the stone on top of it, intending to float the thing away down the river. The intention, allegedly, was to put the anvil stone somewhere safe, but well away from Meade where it's treacherous magic could do no harm. The plan was fine, but apparently one of the two boats supporting the anvil sprang a leak and begin to rapidly fill with water as they approached Westmere. Whereupon the ropes snapped, and the stone fell overboard into the deep waters of the Mere.

Without either the materials to begin again, or the magic anvil that would serve as the basis for the runic forge, nobody could agree on how to procced. There was no possible way to resume the work, and without anyone experienced at negotiating with the eternal involved they could not find a way to get the lost smiths back. Had it been a time of peace, then without doubt someone would have found a way, but with the Jotun massing for another attack, there was simply no time to spare to solve the problem. In the end there was no agreement and people were resigned to simply wait for the smiths to return. After-all the deal had only been to work for the Forgemistress for six months, so they would surely be home soon?

Passing Strange

Weeks turned to months and then months to seasons and finally to years and still there was no sign of the missing smiths. Those who were friends and family of the missing folk were distraught and begged for help. There was none left who knew how to contact the Bronze Artisan or to deal with their heralds to find out what had gone wrong. Everyone agreed that the Marchers had lost someone (and something) really important, but with folk still hard pressed by the Jotun, nobody could agree on how they could recover the lost artisans or for that matter the lost art of the Marchers.

The whole thing just seemed to become more of a mystery as the years passed. Strange things seemed to happen to folk who looked too closely into what exactly had happened to the Marcher smiths. The friar recalled that the brother of one of the missing smiths was found dead with his neck snapped after a fall down a short flight of stairs. The man had been asking questions of everyone, trying to discover what had happened to his brother and the others, when all of a sudden he turned up dead. After that folk noticed a few similar strange deaths, including one murder when the mother of one of the smiths was found strangled in her dressing room. Nobody was sure who did the deed, but witnesses said they saw a white-robed figure wearing a carnival mask running form the building.

After that, most folk decided to keep themselves to themselves. The whole thing was clearly a bad business, and something, or someone, didn't want anyone asking after the Marcher smiths. Folks who talked about it, or went poking their nose into it, all seemed to come to a bad end. Everyone agreed that what had happened was bad... but with each passing year there were less and less folk keen on trying to do something about it. According to the friar, most folks still remembered the smiths, but increasingly people preferred not to talk about them. The war with the Jotun demanded everyone's attention for years afterwards and by the time that had quietened down again, it all just seemed too late. With several years gone by and no sign of the missing smiths, most sensible folk grudgingly accepted that they must have likely ended up dead, killed by whatever unfortunate evil curse was falling on those who tried to look into it too closely.

A Dead End

The friars tale ends there, but that isn't quite the end of the story. With some concerns over it's provenance, Mary Reader was keen to check the details of the story, so she went to Tassato to look for records of what happened to Antonia de Mestra. She found evidence that Antonia successfully returned to the city from the Marchers but she was murdered less than a month later. A pair of giggling bravos, dressed in vivid robes and wearing white masks to hide their identity broke into the woman's apartment, killed her, and set a fire to cover their traces.

Nobody ever caught the killers, and whatever other secrets she discovered in her journey across the Marches were lost when her apartments burned down. How this scroll, apparently authored by Antonia, managed to survive the fire when everything else was destroyed is not a mystery however, at least not one beyond the wit of Imperial magicians. Leontes, the Imperial Achivist, arranged payment for a Skein of Years to be performed on the scroll and the magician who cast it described a scene in which a woman, presumably Antonia, was in her apartments discussing the scroll with a silver-skinned herald when two white masked assailants appeared near the mirror over the fireplace and attacked them both. The woman was killed, but the herald escaped with his life, clutching the scroll on his person.

The link to Bregasland and the marshes is exceptionally tenuous, but the fact that this scroll has surfaced now means that there might be some link here that the Department cannot identity. Thus Leontes has had this report compiled and sent copies of it to the Imperial Advisor for the Feni, as well a copy for each of the Marcher egregores in case they find the contents useful.