The Realm
Paint your piece of the legend. Ten legends wait along the route, from the quest board to the tale told twice. Every legend is a wall painted by a small party, one piece each, one story inked together.
The Quest Board
in the legend the warm timbered common room of a crossroads tavern at night, firelight on tankards, travelers of every folk crowded at long tables.
on the road the great quest board by the door layered deep with pinned parchments, a innkeeper on a ladder pinning a fresh one at the very top, a small crowd below pointing and arguing over which to take.
at your boots one pinned parchment in close view with a ribbon and a heavy seal, a mitten reaching up for it from the frame edge.
The Market of Crowns
in the legend the golden capital rising tier on tier, banners on every tower, the palace far above catching the sun.
on the road a market square in full swing where a stall sells crowns like hats, kings and goose girls trying them on at a long mirror, a juggler keeping five circlets in the air, guards pretending not to want a turn.
at your boots one small crown on a velvet cushion in close view, priced with a paper tag, a jackdaw eyeing it sideways.
The Toll of Three Riddles
in the legend a green hollow deep in the fae wood where the trees lean together and the light comes down in coins, mushrooms ringing a mossy bridge.
on the road a troll bridge keeper with reading spectacles and a riddle book, a party of travelers lined up to answer, one gnome already celebrating, a fae fox judge keeping score on a leaf.
at your boots the toll basket in close view holding buttons, acorns and one honest gold coin, a riddle slip curling beside it.
The Apprentice's First Storm
in the legend the wizard's spire at dusk, a tall crooked tower stitched with lit windows, clouds circling its point like slow birds.
on the road the top balcony where an apprentice conjures her first storm, a teacup sized thundercloud on a leash of light, the old wizard shielding the tea tray, scrolls flapping everywhere.
at your boots the little cloud in close view raining precisely into one flowerpot, a single proud lightning bolt no bigger than a hatpin.
The Mushroom Lanterns
in the legend the underhalls opening into a vast cavern city, stone bridges over dark water, windows cut into the living rock glowing warm.
on the road the lantern district where dwarven farmers harvest glowing mushrooms into wheelbarrows, each cap lifted like a lamp, a foreman weighing light itself on a balance scale.
at your boots one glowing cap in close view held in two careful hands, its light falling upward onto a delighted bearded face.
The Dragon's Day Off
in the legend a red cliffed coast where the sea glitters and old scorch marks stripe the headlands, ship sails keeping a polite distance.
on the road an enormous dragon on the beach doing absolutely nothing dangerous, sprawled like a cat in the sun, gulls perched on its spines, a brave crab claiming the tip of its tail, its hoard reduced to a bucket of pretty shells.
at your boots the dragon's great eye half closed in close view, reflecting the whole bay upside down and one tiny kite.
The Kite Ferry
in the legend floating islands scattered across a bright sky, waterfalls falling off their edges into cloud, rope bridges sagging between them.
on the road the kite ferry mid crossing, a broad basket hung beneath three great painted kites, passengers leaning on the rail, the ferryman reading the wind with a licked finger, sheep on one island watching with envy.
at your boots the ferry rope in close view running through a pulley shaped like a bird, one passenger's hat sailing off into the blue.
The Lantern Watch
in the legend the northern wall at blue dusk, snow settling on the battlements, the wild dark leaning in beyond the edge of the map.
on the road the lantern watch making its rounds, each watcher lighting the next cresset along the wall so a line of gold walks into the distance, a hot soup cart following on runners.
at your boots one cresset flame in close view held against the wind by two cupped hands, snowflakes turning gold as they pass it.
The Small God's Birthday
in the legend the pantheon's marble terrace among clouds, great statues of the mighty gods holding still and dignified.
on the road a birthday party for the smallest god, the god of lost buttons, the great gods stooping low with tiny gifts, a cake the size of a coin with one candle, cherubs managing streamers.
at your boots the small god in close view blowing out the candle, one button spinning above the flame like a coin of honor.
The Tale Told Twice
in the legend the same crossroads tavern much later at night, chairs pulled close to the fire, the quest board behind now bearing one parchment bearing a heavy wax seal of completion.
on the road the returned party telling the tale with full theater, the fighter standing on a stool for the dragon part, the wizard making tiny fireworks, the innkeeper refilling mugs without looking away.
at your boots the youngest listener in close view, chin on both fists, eyes enormous, a map corner poking from their pocket for tomorrow.
Threads still moving. Parties mid weave, seats open at the frame.
The map lies blank. Commission the first tapestry.
the ink dries slower where the story is good
