Something taps at the window. Outside, a filthy little man crouches below
the sill, bent nearly double. His coat is stiff with grave-mud; his beard
is alive with things you would rather not identify.
“Stranger, you have the look of a tactician, and I am in need
of your help. Two kings are buried in that hill behind me. Except, they
won’t stay buried. Each night they walk the graveyard. Each night they
fight for reign over their barrow. Trouble is, I’m the gravedigger, and
they keep raising the dead from their graves. And each morning I have to
put them back in the ground. I can’t take another day of digging knowing
they will just pop back up again.”
He wipes his nose with a muddy sleeve; his face twice as dirty now than
before he wiped. “Choose a king. I don’t care which. Just
make sure he crushes his rival and settle this grudge once and for all.”
A Duel Afar
two windows · two graveyards · one barrow
Give your rival this word of power:
·····
Hand the seat over
No peeking.
the barrow answers to a chosen hand
Choose Your Court
Choose a school, then spend twenty-five marks on retainers