A new solo RPG – this is the introduction. The instalments, as they come, are prompted by tarot cards.

Her Majesty has asked me to keep record of the travellers who spend a night beneath my roof. She says it would be useful. Helpful even. I don’t know about that but she’s a good girl, so I’ll indulge her.

And since her Head Archivist is new, after the unfortunate phoenix quill incident, I’ll start by introducing myself and my home.

My name is Madrigal, never mind my last name. Since Madrigal is a bit of a mouthful and doesn’t suit me anyway, I go by Maude. The other options do not bear considering.

I live in a comfortable house, with room for guests, about half a day down the path from the head of Whistling Pass, a lesser-known route through the Highpine Mountains.

My only permanent companion is my mastiff, Bo, who is as soft and soppy inside as he is scary without. I also have a couple of goats, some chickens and a grumpy pony, all living in a stable with room to spare for horses, mules, donkeys, and the occasional more unusual mount. But they’re not really company, although I’m sure they think otherwise.

The name ‘Madrigal’ has probably tickled some wisp of memory for you. If you haven’t already, I’ll let you go and look it up before we proceed. Hint: you may want to look into the accounts of the defeat of the demon king twenty or so years back.

Have you returned?

Good.

Hopefully this means you won’t have any silly questions about why I choose to live in a quiet little nook in the mountains, away from generals, royal courts, adventures, and assorted kerfuffle.

My house, with its solid stone walls, warm fire, and extensive food stores, provides a far more pleasant experience.

The garden is my indulgence. Both it and the house are set into a neat little fold in the mountainside that somehow manages to hide me from the icy breath of that whistling wind, while inviting the sun in with open arms.  I have crops – herbs, vegetables, flowers, and even fruit – that have no business growing in this part of the world.

Now, a note on my occasional guests. We all know how common adventuring is these days. All children seem to go through a phase of it while their minds try to catch up to the adult versions of their bodies. Not many of the young ones come my way though, the pass is not the easiest route between Asteria and Grimbourne and there’s not enough glory along the way to make it worth the bother.

Still, I maybe get a visitor or two every couple of weeks between late spring and early autumn. Winter comes early to the head of the pass, and stays late, for all that my home rarely sees more than a month of snow.

There are some who appear at my door when it’s cold outside, but it’s rare, and their stories hold a different flavour to the others, as you will no doubt discover.