Four magical site legends (or are they all magical…? or faerie? or divine?) from The House of the Crescent Sun…
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Grandfather Oak
To the west of Belmont Castle lush woodlands spread into the rough foothills. The local peasants gather mushrooms and berries, nuts and herbs in great quantities, and the Lords of Belmont defend their peoples' rights to do so: the Count might claim that the forests are his, but successive generations of Barons of Belmont, the doughty de Thoires family, have insisted that their serfs and tenants have an established right to prosper from the forest without payment of levies or dues to the Count.
And amidst the deepest, lushest stretches of the woodlands, it is said, stands the Grandfather Oak.
Hundreds of years old, the oak is said to be the mightiest tree in the forest. Local tales say that it can think, and perhaps even speak. Some talk of wise women or cunning men, in previous generations, who would go into the forest to consult with Grandfather Oak.
Some are suspicious of these peasant stories. The tales sound reverential, and locals calling a tree "Our Grandfather" might sound suspiciously close to worship; concerned clergy in the city mutter that this is idolatry - heresy, or worse, blasphemy. The country priests shrug off such accusations, and their parishioners pay little heed.
The locals rarely speak to strangers about the Oak. There are no marked paths to it, and its exact location is rarely revealed to outsiders. But after dinner the cottagers between Belmont and the forest will all raise a toast to Our Grandfather Oak, in gratitude for the forest's bounty.
Lady Garsenda
Fifty years ago, the lord of Le Chable Castle died, leaving as his only heir one fifteen year old daughter, Garsenda. Many suitors came, courting the young heiress with a mix of lies and veiled threats. Besieged by would-be husbands who were greedy for her castle and lands, she sought escape.
A hermit led her to an island in a lake, where, he said, only those with pure intentions would be able to approach.
Many suitors travelled to the island. But none had pure intentions. None could find the young heiress.
In her absence, the girl's cousin was quick to install himself as the "protector" of the castle. And soon he started to style himself Baron of Le Chable. The count received his homage. And suitors, seeing the castle claimed, stopped seeking the girl.
Nobody knows what happened to Garsenda. Some have been to the island, but report finding only a broken down cottage. Rumours say that the girl drowned herself, and that her ghost might be glimpsed on the island shore.
As for the greedy cousin, Odo de Macet, lord of Le Chable, is now seventy five years old. Stiff with arthritis, plagued by a hacking cough, he may not be long for this world. He has never had children of his own. It is whispered that God has cursed him for having stolen his cousin's birthright. But it is well not to refer to this story in the presence of the cantankerous old baron. He does not want to be reminded that he is a usurper.
The Mountain Families
To the north of the Val de Voare, hardy cottagers live deep in the mountain forests.
It is said that they stand a head and shoulders taller than normal people, that they live on a diet of raw meat, that they speak only in grunts and growls, and that they are the offspring of ice-haired giants who mated with mortal women.
An old local story, oft repeated by the city's storytellers to entertain outsiders, tells how the Frankish hero Roland did battle with a local giant named "Le Seigneur des Neiges" (The Lord of the Snows), who lived north on Montratte and rode a giant bear.
Such tales might be dismissed as mere fancy, and yet the bodyguards of the Baron of Montratte do, indeed, stand a head and shoulders above other men.
The Healer's Ruins
The ruins are extremely old. Local poets and minstrels like to attribute them to Trojans, Romans, or ancient Greek Heroes. But, though ancient, they are unimpressive: a scattering of tumbled stone walls; and a large stone basin, like a great bath sunk into the ground, which fills with water from an adjacent spring.
For generations the locals have known that the waters of the ruin can aid healing - cleansing wounds, soothing rashes and sores.
And until last year the ruins were the home of a reclusive healer. He built a home and workshop atop the old stone walls, gathering and drying locals herbs, tinkering with remedies, bottling tonics brewed from waters drawn from the great basin and selling them at the annual fair in the city.
People would come to seek his remedies, many successfully. Rumours even held that he could cure leprosy. Clearly he was making good use of the waters.
But the healer's arts arts could not protect him from the ravages of old age, and last winter he died, taking to the grave whatever he knew of the magical waters.
