Chapter Six

The Guild of Heroes trundle across the red and golden landscape of the Autumn Duchy in their wagons. They cross forests, valleys and rivers, passing small towns dotted with painted wooden houses. They fight off some Noggle bandits, stop to converse with a party of Dryads on their way to Oberon’s Glade, and wave to some fauns bathing in a stream. The weather is cool and the sky overcast, but on the third day the clouds break and weak but determined sunlight bathes the landscape in brilliant golden light.

Sparrow is anxious to reach Skjolden and speak to Aoife about the attack on the Spring Court. He is withdrawn and irritable, burying himself in scrolls and history tomes all hours of the day and night, muttering to himself about portals and swords.

Around lunchtime, you are enjoying the warm sun on your face when a colossal shadow passes overhead, bathing the procession of wagons in shadow. You look up, and see the underside of an immense ship fitted with a canvas balloon and sails, with a vast wooden deck laden with cargo. It sails hundreds of metres above the main road to Skjolden. You hear the sound of whirring gears and creaking wood as it passes overhead, creeping towards the East. A tinny whistle sounds from it as it easily outpaces the traffic heading towards the city.

“An airship.” Sparrow notes, looking up from his scrolls for the first time in days. 

“Finally! We are getting close to Skjolden.”

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The road becomes densely packed with other travellers as the day wears on, and turns from packed earth to cobblestone before you know it. The wagons bump and rattle unbearably on the uneven stones, and the guild decides to abandon them and continue on foot. As soon as you unload and hoist your pack onto your shoulder, the wagons creak in a relieved sort of way, then turn back the way they came.

‘Brownie magic,” says Sparrow. “The wagons will return to Harvest Town.” Sparrow seems invigorated, and ushers your party onward eagerly.

The Guild recruits approach an immense stone bridge that crests towards the massive gates of Skjolden. Townhouses, taverns and shop fronts are built haphazardly on the sides of the bridge, with a steady stream of traffic going up and down the road, and patrons spilling out from storefronts onto the bustling street. Enticing smells waft from the open doors of the buildings - “Grease and Axel - finest maple ale in Skjolden!” But there is no time. The Guild presses on towards the Clockwork Gates.

Stone stairs lead up to a colossal set of doors made from reinforced timber, brass and bronze. Towers and turrets flank the main gate, disappearing into the clouds and smog above. An immense, gleaming golden gear is set into the face of the gate, and it whirs and grinds loudly, setting other gears in motion as parts of the gate seem to independently move and rearrange themselves. A sign over the gate made from bronze letters (each the height of an adult dryad) reads “Éirim, Dul Chun Cinn, Neart” - Ingenuity, Progress, Strength.

You ascend the stone walkway, entering a smaller circular archway for foot traffic, and enter what looks almost like the ticket office of a train station. Fae are queued up by the hundreds. You watch as a wildling man hands a scroll to a stern looking guard with a tall hat and a moustache. The guard inspects the paper closely, extending a golden monocle propped over his right eye to scrutinise the paper, looking for signs of fraud or arcane tampering on the document. Finding nothing, he hands it back to the wildling, and waves him forward through a turnstile. 

Your party moves forward in the line, and the guard turns to you, holding out a hand to halt you. “Papers, please.” He says, eyeing you suspiciously. 

Sparrow pushes to the front, moving toward the guard and pulling something from the sleeve of his cloak. “Papers? No problem, my good man. I’ve got them right here…” Instead of a scroll, you see just a glimpse of the top of an immense wooden staff hidden in Sparrow’s garments. There is a flash of green sparks and the guard freezes in place, a look of dawning surprise frozen on his face.

Sparrow clears his throat and says loudly “Thank you sir! I think you’ll find everything in order-” He hisses to the rest of you and waves everyone through the gate. “Right - everyone, file through, quickly now! I don’t know how long that spell will last…”

Everyone moves through the turnstile, trying not to rush and draw unwanted attention. You keep walking through the station, looking around in amazement at fae clambering onto arcane trams destined for the city below, built out of timber and bronze and powered by magic. You exit the station into the cold light of an Autumn day, and look out over the city of Skjolden.

Skjolden, the largest city in Folkland, is a sprawling, noisy, smog filled city that stretches out as far as the eye can see. You see an airship dock off to your left with a large sign reading ‘Cloudrunner district’. Immense timber and bronze ships descend into the sprawling dockyard, laden with cargo and travellers. You can just see tiny figures scurrying around the dock, hauling cargo and luggage tirelessly. Coal, limestone and crystals are loaded onto arcane conveyor belts that seem to disappear into complicated pipe systems that lead deep into the city. Elsewhere in Skjolden you hear the clanging of forgeries, metalworks and factories as they puff thick black smoke into the sky. To your right, massive water reservoirs and steam condensers draw water in from the coast, and turn it into the steam that powers the entire city. There are warehouses, taverns, cabarets and dark streets, residential apartments, tram stations, workshops and laboratories, universities and stores. 

This is Skjolden - the city of industry and innovation. 

In the distance stands a towering, crooked building, its structure an uneven patchwork held together by little more than magic and dreams. An arcane clock is fastened to its façade, chiming erratically with bursts of purple sparks that spill from chimneys jutting out from its sides. Sparrow appears beside you silently. “That, my friends, is the Autumn Guild House. That is where we will find Aoife and her Steam Court.”

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You walk the streets of Skjolden, the sounds of the city making it hard to hear Sparrow as he moves through the crowds, dodging crowds of fae rushing to catch the tram. A downbeat wildling man blows on a harmonica sadly, begging for fairy gold.

“This city builds everything out of timber, brass and bronze. Aoife has a strict agreement with Oberon, Lord of the Trees, and can only log a certain amount of timber each year. She imports some wood from the Winter Court, and also has arrangements with the mining communities of both the Autumn Duchy and Winter Duchy for coal, limestone, copper ore, tin ore, zinc ore, gemstones and crystals. If they can build with it or enchant it, they’ll import it. In return, they export expertly handcrafted weapons, armour, and processed metal bars to the other Duchies.”

He turns towards the party. “Aoife has always been brilliant and ambitious, but she has never sought dominion over the other courts - only to build her own. I do not believe she is behind the attack on the Spring Court, even if she had the means to do it. Nevertheless, we must do our due diligence, and investigate. Search the city for signs of the iron puppets. I will seek an audience with Aoife.” Sparrow departs, heading for the guild house.