The Trefaldwyn Chronicle - Dark Ages Pathfinder

"We want to help," Myfawny stressed. "But we need your help to do it." She paused, and went on. "We know what happened to the others...we know you're the only one left. Whatever did this left you isolated, vulnerable. We can help you too, if you let us in. Please...there's a girl in the town with a baby she doesn't know the father of. If not for yourself, and not for anyone else, then for her. At least hear us out."
 

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"I'm just a poor old woman, I know nothing of such things," comes the reply. There is a pause and the door opens slightly. A blue eye peers out through the gap. "You've met Bronwen? How is she?"
 

"She's afraid," Myfwany says. "She's also very, very pregnant."

She meets the door's eye with the weight of her gaze. "She needs your help."
 

There is a pause, then the door opens. Mad Megan ushers you all inside, glances around and then closes the door behind her. She throws a bar across it.

Inside the cottage it is stuffy, but warm compared to the snow outside. A single fire warms the tiny single room. Dried herbs hang from the rafters and all around the walls.

"Can you protect me too?" she asks. "When the spawn of Arawn comes for me? It hasn't gone unnoticed, that all who speak too much fall sick and die, or meet with an accident on the ice or in the woods, or in the dead of night. A spirit walks among us that seeks to hide the truth of what happened all those years ago.

"Is it her, I wonder? Sometimes people say it wears the guise of a maid in white, fair of hair, just like she was before.... And yet sometimes it seems to be a man of God, his face rotten with decay. Can you help us?"


She looks beseachingly into the faces of Myfanwy, Gwyneira and Quint, the suddenly she turns away and pokes the fire.

"And yet should you help us? Perhaps this is our just punishment. If we speak now we die, but we should have said something long ago."
 

Gwyneira reflexively strokes her pale reddish-blonde hair. "For what sin could so many be punished?" she asks. "Our Lord Llewellyn bade us come here to give succor to the people of his cousin, and that is what we intend to do. A fair haired maiden in white you say? I would say that sounds familiar, yet in my dreams it was a man, not a woman. And he had green eyes. Is this the Arawn you speak of, or the spawn of Arawn?"
 

"I do not believe there are crimes that cannot be atoned for," Myfawny says, "Though the cost may be steep. Whatever was done in the past, it can be set to right."

She looks around the hut, taking it in and letting it percolate in the back of her head to try to take Megan's measure.

"Tell us what happened. If these are ghosts of the past, we'll need to know what drives them to know how to set them at rest."
 

Myfanwy takes in the measure of Megan's possessions. Although the place is a clutter of dried herbs, woven corn twists and strange tools, it also has a sense of order and purpose to it.

"Arawn? No, not him I think. His spawn? Maybe. Maybe it is of the dead. Green eyes? Yes, that was her. Eyes of green and hair of gold. Angharad." Megan stares into the fire as she speaks, winding her long grey hair around a gnarled finger. "Angharad, Queen of the May. She had flowers in her hair, like Blodeuedd, in that story. But now she's gone, and the flowers are withered. She was with child, I know, I examined her. Was it his? She never said. That was the talk. It was his right, as the lord's son, they said. But he went off to war, lords and kings, always fighting. They never found her. Only the flowers. Now she walks in the woods above the Dinas.

"Is it her? Is it her vengeance? When he came back, took up his birthright. Then our town was cursed. Strange dreams and strange deaths."
Megan looks up from the fire into the eyes of those listening. "In the woods above the town. They found the flowers, they never found her, but she walks there at night. Green eyes and golden hair and a gown of white."
 

A look of confusion comes over Gwyneira's face. "The lord's son? His birthright?" she asks quizzically. "I do not understand: Lord Meirion rules these lands. Or is 'Arawn' merely a name you have called him by since he was a young boy?"
 

Quint enters the cottage and looks around. he feels that Megan will respond better to the girls, so he finds an empty corner, keeps quite and just nods at the appropriate points. However, he is listening to the story and doesn't like what he is hearing.
 

"Long is the day, and long is the night, and long is the waiting of Arawn," says Megan, more to herself than in answer to Gwyneira's question.

OOC: Arawn is the ruler of Annwn, the Otherworld, also considered Lord of the Dead. Make of Megan's ambiguity what you will :)
 

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