Skyfell: A tiresome tale by Porridge Marten, the Chronicler of the Game of Cronies
Ser Festor Rejoyce grimaced as he watched the wagon that carried Lady Lyce back to Scaery Vale wobble down the roadway. Wounded at the Battle of the Flashsparke, Lady Lyce Arehad was leaving the command of her army to him, High Stew of the Scaery Vale. She had left with one of her suitors, Lord Ion Punter, who was holding her pale, sweaty hands in his own to comfort her. Unlucky dog.
What a fine stew he was left with! Here he was in the Rotten Tooth with a dispirited army that was ordered to move into Flashsparke once again by her Lady’s half-wit son. He yelled out to him as he left with his mother, “And bring me the sword arm of Jammy Landblaster!” The fool.
If he lost the next battle, he’s either be sliced in two by either Jammy or Hywind Landblaster, or if he were lucky enough to survive, be sitting confined by her Ladyship in one of the Scaery Vale’s open-air prison cells, hundreds of feet above the jagged rocks below, the dreaded skyfell.
Neither fate especially appealed to the gloomy knight.
Ser Rejoyce was hoping that Lady Arhead would regain her senses and call for peace. He prayed that the SevenEleven Gods would intervene on his behalf.
Neither result especially were likely to happen.