MYTHIC BASTIONLAND CAMPAIGN CHRONICLE Session I: The Meadowlands and Crownsford

Three knights, each newly bound to fate by their respective seers, were called to a distant land across the sea—a place where glory, myth, and peril were promised in equal measure. Each had been told only this: travel to the appointed shore, wait, and cross into the Meadowlands.

Cedric, the Emerald Knight, rode first to the gathering place. Soft-spoken, his voice always a low, intense murmur, he bore abranch-spear fashioned from a crooked, knotted limb—its natural curves preserved like living art. His cloaked mail shimmered with subtle greens and browns, capable of blending seamlessly into leaf and bark. At his side hung a shield, and beneath him stood his sable steed, dark and steady.

Nikolaos, the Dove Knight, arrived bearing the marks of fire. His body was scarred by the blaze that consumed his family farm and everyone within it. Knighted by the Sunlit Seer—a burnt child who promised vengeance—he carried a stout blade and wore a gambeson beneath winged scale armor that allowed him to leap twice the height of a normal man.

Other horses shied from him, uneasy before the whispering feathers of his armor, but his own horned mountain steed—goat-like and sure-footed—remained loyal and unafraid.

Garth, the Gallows Knight, completed the trio. He carried a long neck-catcher, a cruel polearm meant to drag riders from saddle or hook enemies by throat and limb. His armor was salvaged: a cracked chestplate and bracers scarred by claw marks. In his hands he often clicked three polished stones together. He had been knighted by the Torn Seer—a towering man split from head to groin, the halves clinging together yet contradicting one another in calm disagreement.

With him rode his squire, Till, unstable of temperament but endlessly talkative, an outcast shaped by migration and hardship. He carried a dagger and a hefty axe and rode a sturdy pony, eager to prove himself.

A small boat eventually came for them, captained by a solemn, unenthusiastic man who seemed to perform a duty out of debt rather than loyalty. He ferried them eastward and offered a simple choice: north or south along the foreign shore. They chose north. He deposited them in the northwestern Meadowlands, tossed them stale bread, dried cheese, and water, and departed without ceremony.

The Meadowlands greeted them with rolling heath and hilly terrain. Night approached swiftly after their landing, and they made camp. There, protruding from the earth, they discovered bones rising organically from the soil, warm to the touch. They marked the place in memory and pressed inland the following day.

Travel carried them through marshlands and damp stretches of ground where mist lingered low. There they came upon a remote garrison: two long buildings of timber and stone, only half occupied by some two dozen soldiers of King Owain, stationed far from the capital of Crownsford to patrol the frontier.

The soldiers were pleased to see knights. The sergeant ordered his men to consolidate into one building, granting the visitors the other for their rest. Hot stew was served. The horses were stabled alongside the soldiers’ mounts. For the first time since crossing the sea, the company slept warmly and securely. In the morning they were given another hot meal before riding on.

Intrigued by mention of King Owain, they resolved to seek him directly. The soldiers told them that with steady riding they could reach Crownsford before nightfall if they pushed northeast. They had not gone far before encountering something stranger still.

Three twisted trees grew from a natural hollow in the land. Stone steps descended between their roots into shadow. Cedric paused, blending into bark and branch, sensing through leaf and root. What he felt was wrong—an evil presence lingering beneath.

All four descended together.

Under the interwoven canopy lay a shadowed hall formed by branches and leaf-roofed gloom. From beneath the trees burst two winged undead bone-creatures, vast claws sweeping through the dimness. From the third tree emerged a dense skeletal horror, grotesquely folded upon itself yet animated by hateful will, wielding blasts of fire.

The battle was brutal. The knights stormed the fire-wielding horror while striving to keep the winged creatures at bay. Armor and discipline absorbed flames that would have felled lesser men. Till struck down one of the winged beasts—but not before suffering a grievous burn from a blast meant for his betters.

Still, the knights prevailed.

In the aftermath, Cedric discovered a painted pottery bowl, broken yet complete in its fragments, lying as if newly shattered. He wrapped it carefully and stowed it in his saddlebag.

They pressed on toward Crownsford, Till weak and in need of care. The land soon turned treacherous—myrmark marshlands that threatened to swallow horse and rider alike. Garth summoned carrion birds and bribed them with cheese. The birds revealed a safer path through the mire.

By dusk they reached Crownsford—a settlement straddling a great river’s natural ford. A stone bridge connected two bustling halves of town. High above stood twin castles, one on each bank, joined by a bridge spanning between their upper towers. The realm showed signs of decay: weathered stone, thin trade, the quiet sense that prosperity had once been greater.

King Owain—the Vulture Knight—received them with courtesy touched by melancholy. At his side stood Queen Elowen. He listened to their account of undead horrors and invited them to remain in his realm. A feast would be held in their honor.

Till was treated by the king’s physician and restored to health.

The following day was spent in preparation. The knights bathed and had their garments washed. Till oversaw Garth’s clothing—but the stains would not yield. Drunk and desperate, he secured a powerful laxative from the physician under false pretenses and slipped it into his master’s ale.

Thus, the Gallows Knight spent the feast upon the latrine.

Meanwhile, Cedric and Nikolaos dined with restraint and listened closely. They learned of Crownsford’s troubled past. The former king had hoarded food during famine, feasting while his people starved. During one such feast, a peasant youth escaped imprisonment and slew him in the throne room. In the chaos that followed, Owain married the former king’s daughter and claimed the throne. Though he restored order and crushed brigands, two vassal holdings—ruled by relatives of the old line—whispered dissent behind sworn fealty.

Seeking deeper purpose, the knights inquired after myths and were advised to seek seers. A coastal seer lived not far from where they had first landed.

The day after the feast they rode westward along the grasslands by the sea.

That night, beneath open sky, they encountered a search party—men with torches and hounds seeking an elderly tanner missing for days. The knights had seen nothing.

The torches vanished into darkness.

Thus ended their first chapter in the Meadowlands: warm bones beneath the heath, uneasy kings in weathered halls, and whispers of deeper mysteries yet to be uncovered.