Chapter 1

An uncharacteristic fog enveloped these hills three weeks ago. Odd, for this time of year. For three weeks folk navigated by sound, for sight was only good for an advanced warning of fresh corpses. The fresh corpses were similarly odd for this time of year.

At the end of the third week the fog receded, as suddenly as it has arrived. Locals noted that things were much as they were before the fog descended. One by one, however, they came to notice the fort silhouetted on a distant hill. Where once there was little other than grazing sheep now sat a haphazard coalition of spires, towers, and battlements. The structures arranged without sense and in, what first appeared to be, an advanced state of decay. This monolithic impression on the public conciousness began to draw madness and recklessness from those who looked upon it, and in turn the mad and reckless were drawn to it.

First to investigate were the foolhardy sons and daughters of those nearby. As they indulged their curiosity they discovered that despite first appearances this was not a ruin, but a maddened construction site in some sort of superposition of assembly and disassembly. Ragged men and women swarmed over structures, repurposing materials for new buildings, which were almost as quickly dismantled and repurposed themselves. Despite the expenditure of effort, it seemed as if an equilibrium exists - the fort maintaining a constant size, organically shifting under the frantic guidance of the workmen.

It was clear to those performing this early reconnaissance that as strange as The Shifting Keep, as it became known, was, the men and women who came in it’s wake were stranger still. A codependent ecosystem of the destitute, the mad, and the strong. Knights demanded the construction of tourney grounds and feasting halls. Wizards demanded the construction of taller and stranger towers. Clergymen demanded ever more ornate cathedrals. The Toilmen shaped, hauled, and reshaped stone as was demanded of them.

These strangers enforced their will on the surrounds. Impregnable behind their ever shifting citadel.

Stripped of his title and lands the Once-Duke Eadifir Crepuscule would be dammed if he’d let them take his castle too. A well timed amendment to local law meant that the peasantry were not bound to the land, but were in fact bound to the ducal seat of power - his castle. Thus, where ever he took his castle those that served him would come to. Roaming the world with a baggage train of artisans and servile labour his castle is transported brick by brick. His knights followed suit, of course. Bound to his will as they are by a dense web of oaths, gifts, and threats, his strength comes from their willingness to subjugate on his behalf. Through them resources are extracted until the time comes to move onto pastures new.

The Once-Duke is not blind to his vulnerability however. There is a critical stage in the deconstruction, transport, and reconstruction of his holdings where he could be subject to attack with little in the way of defensible fortifications. Thankfully, a mobile lifestyle of noble luxury suits wizards of less legitimate training, and his court welcomes them. Court is rife with mages, soothsayers, and his favoured weather wizards, who in return for impunity, distort the fabric of the reality to obfuscate the arrival and subsequent departure of The Shifting Keep.

Months passed. Attempts to repel The Shifting Keep were dashed against the ever changing battlements. This region was bled dry. Nothing but starving goatherds and empty barns. Those that did not join the ranks of the Warhost of the Once-Duke will die to starvation, disease, and infighting.

The fog descends. It is time to move on to pastures new.