Skip to main content

Peregrine's Mom Writes Back

Peregrine,

When you were born, you were smaller than any of your brothers had been before you. On your forty-second day, your grandmother held you and named you. She told me she had a vision and it must be so, so I named you Peregrine.

All your life, you have focused on proving your worth. You were fierce and indefatigable. To you, every inch taller than you your brothers were was a mile further you had to climb. And yet, everything you accomplished you were so sure was just a glimpse of far more within you.

The sword you left with your last letter is truly excellent. I think you know it is itself a worthy tithing from a chieftain's son, but you chose to leave it to me at the Place of Giving. It is a glimpse of far more within you. I have known for some time you would never tithe the clan. The sword is the sign that you now know it, too.

On the day of your naming, your grandmother saw within you the Khatra Adonai, the displacing spirit, the singular soul. One bestowed with this spirit never stays with his kind. It is your destiny to find your place outside the clan, with outsiders where you will be an outsider. You were born to leave us, to ride the Turning of the Wheel and fulfill its purpose. And so, you are named Peregrine, the one from outside, the voyager.

You have lamented the protraction of your peregrination, and in this I see that you misunderstand your namesake. Yes, the peregrine is a great traveller, covering vast distances in its journeys. However, like you, no matter how far it flies, by instinct it will find its way to where it belongs. Think carefully, son, about where you are and your purpose there. A peregrine's journey is never aimless.

On this night, at the Place of Giving, I leave for you this letter and a brass horn.

The horn is an artifact of our people, the Arborsong. If you are in need, call out to your ancestors and sound the horn. They will cross the Wheel to come to your side where they will share in and witness your glory. May it also remind you that we remain connected, always.

If the Wheel divides us, the Turning will bring us back together, in time.

I remain your mother.

Autumngrey.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Season 3 Episode 1 Recap: July 3rd 2018

Cazzo Seeks Freedom Our intrepid heroes gathered at the Cat's Cradle in Whiteclyff, heeding the call of the proprietor, Cazzo Frieneli. Having survived for many years constantly feeding the Black Blade, Cazzo was growing weary and sickly from its effects. Like an addiction, each time he fed the blade by slicing his hand and allowing it to drink his blood, it continued to hunger for more. Cazzo selected Aphelion, Kanto, Sweet Summerchild, Sulla, and his old companion Bree the Dragon Slayer for this task. They knew not as to where they should begin and so, on a whim, Sweet suggested they roll out a map, and let the fates decide. The dagger flipped, and tumbled through the air and pierced a point on the map, Mount Cinder, a dormant volcano in the Wyrmsoke Mountains. The Cat's Cradle Taverna Into the Wyrmsmokes The party set out by boat at dawn the next day down river. Upon reaching their intended shoreline, they were set upon by a small squad of Hobgoblins and Bugb

The West Marches Season 3

Winter has come and gone... Its finally summer and its a scorcher out there! To bring your internal temperature down, here are some cool new thoughts and ideas for season 3 based on player feedback and my own experience. Reflections from Season 2 Winter is cool and all, but my "overarching plot" ideal didn't really pay off like I had hoped. My intention was to have a central goal for everyone to work towards, but it seemed that the smaller scale, personal arcs were more intriguing and engaging. This is just from my own observations because I myself found it more fun to prep little hints here and there that led towards players discovering aspects within their characters backstory that we crafted together, albeit in an indirect fashion. In addition, with our style of game, the "campaign" play-style is very difficult if not impossible to facilitate with drop-in rotating players and parties. I think just embracing the West Marches style and marrying that wit

To Anton, from Celeste

Cazzo receives a delivery from a courier. There is little explanation, but there is this letter. Anton, Forgive my familiarity, sir. I only know your given name as relayed to me by your nephew, Milo. I am his friend and write to you because I know not what else I should do. After Milo left us, this package arrived for him. It is from Angelo Threesisters, a sagacious man from the east. He is an archivist, if you will, a lover of books and antiquity. This is why Milo sought his council, epistolarily, at no small cost. Milo suffered from terrible nightmares. He would bemoan black smoke worms, tendrils that he swore plucked thoughts from his head. He wailed the name Mordecai, the one whom he swore cursed him. He would despair inconsolably. There were also good days, but with declining frequency. Mr. Threesisters was paid to provide lore and insight from the annals of history, especially with regard to the an elevated point miles south of the ruined city of Rhest. Milo called th