This episode carries content warnings for description of haunting, disorientation, dissociation, insect infestation of a human body, and discussion of slavery, sacrifice, and mass death.

Having arrived at Roseroot Hall, the Blackwick Group's investigation into the manor's supposed haunting may finally begin. The methodology is familiar: One must walk the grounds, take in the passive energies of its passageways, attend to first hand accounts, pore over the home's books, share tea and supper with its distressed master. Here, and rarely in the place that one might guess, is the answer.

This week on Sangfielle: The Secret Ledger of Roseroot Hall Pt. 2

The Almanac of the Heartland Rider

Places

Roseroot Hall: Now in the northern hills of Blackwick County, Roseroot Hall once stood mighty and imperious as a plantation house in the eastern half of the Heartland. Though the yon Vantzon-Estonbergh held it once, it fell into disrepair sometime after the panic. Details have been lost to time.

Facts and Figures

Dayward yon Vantzon-Estonbergh aka Dayward YVE (he/him): The moneyed scion of a minor Aldominan dynasty, Dayward YVE has traveled to the Heartland as both eager-apologist and curious explorer. Sensing opportunity, he's settled in Blackwick County.  

Ana Berylia (she/her): Dayward YVE's maid, a somewhat overwhelmed Carpana who has not adjusted to life in the Heartland. Her body is covered in brown/black hair with little streaks of grey at her temples. Mostly seen in uniform, a grey dress with white apron.

Mr. Kenson (he/him): Big Horn Ram Kaprak. White fur with brown and black spots. Personal valet. Copper wireframe glasses. Proper black suit. 

Dyre Ode (he/they): When an agent of the almanac pressed this mysterious, masked figure for more information about him, they only repeated their name, as if to ensure we'd print it right, adding "Dyre with Y but Ode as you'd like, a poem said in praise or a debt gone unpaid. It bothers me little, how you spell that name."

Organizations

The Covenant of Kaitankro: You've seen them, haven't you? The unsettlingly gregarious priests with the strange, chitinous crow masks? Of course you have, with their stilt-legs and their stilt-houses and their collection of stakes and strings and, of course, the kites. I asked one once if it was a pun: Kite and Crow, chitin crow. Something like that. The priestess told me that Kaitankro was a very real god, if a funny one, and that one day, he visited her. Like every morning, she raised each of the town's kites up to the winds in daily worship, and Kaitankro landed on the smallest one—a sight to see, she said, since her god is so large a being. And like a carnivalist, Kaitankro walked down the wire, tips of her talons, until he met the priest at the bottom. There, I was told, they whispered in the priest's ear a single phrase: "Better to live as birds on wires than die as men in the wind." Chaos, it seems, breeds community, too.