Second Annual Enchanted Orchard 2025
In the realm of the Enchanted Orchard, where the trees bore fruit as sweet as dreams and the air was scented with the song of the land, Beltane had come again.
The noble houses were in their full glory, each vying for favor and power, their banners fluttering in the springtime breeze. It was the season of unions, both of heart and of realm.
Yet, among the fragrant blooms and the joyous revelry, there lingered shadows. For the Orchard King, Lothar Godfrey, had announced at the last Beltane Banquet that his daughter, the Blueberry Princess, Gwendolyn Godfrey, was betrothed to Prince Rowan Verdun, the Prince of Leaves.
The union was meant to bind the houses of Godfrey and Verdun — the realm’s greenest and fairest lineages. But the spring winds carried more than whispers of joy.
Far beyond the Orchard’s borders, a fierce crew of Pirates—led by a Pirate Queen—had allied with the Green Sash Vikings, led by the fierce Jarl of the North. Their forces, hardened by plunder and battle, had overthrown the nobles of Wyndonshire, forging a rebellion that would send tremors through the land.
They, too, set their eyes upon Enchanted Orchard. Their goal was not just riches, but to reclaim what they believed was owed to them — for the taxes laid upon them by the Sheriff of Thornwood were as heavy as winter’s frost.
As the royal wedding drew near, a wandering sorceress, draped in dark robes and bearing the scent of ruined kingdoms, arrived at the court. She warned of the coming doom—the fall of Wyndonshire heralded by rebellion, and the same could well come to the Enchanted Orchard if the nobles did not heed the whispers of the wind.
“A storm brews,” the sorceress said, her voice like the rustling of dead leaves, “and it shall sweep all before it.”
But the Orchard King, his heart swollen with pride, dismissed her words as nothing more than the empty ravings of an upstart.
And the May Queen, Mabriel Verdun, herself no stranger to rivalries, laughed beneath her breath, declaring that such things could never touch her house, beloved by the people as they were.
Yet, unknown to the monarchs, the winds were stirring—stirring with mischief and magic.
In the darkened corners of the Orchard, the Duke of Thorns, a man with a heart as sharp as the briars that crowned his land, schemed with the Weird Sisters of the Thornwood.
In exchange for a favor not yet named, he bartered for a potion—one that would bend the heart of the Blueberry Princess to his will.
The potion was mixed with cider, sweet and cruel, and when Gwendolyn drank, her heart turned from the Prince of Leaves to the Duke of Thorns. Forgotten were the promises made beneath moonlight with her true love, the Siren of the sea.
But the Blossom Baroness, Flora Celestine, whose honeyed words could charm the birds from the trees, had her own designs.
She, too, sought a potion, one that would turn the Orchard King’s heart to hers, so that she might sit upon the throne as Queen.
But when she offered the King the enchanted honey cider, he, in his wisdom—or perhaps his folly—refused it.
Instead, the Duke of Thorns drank, and so the delicate web of magic spun yet another thread. For now, it was the Duke who was in love, and the Blossom Baroness found herself the object of his affections.
But love, like thorns, twists in strange directions.
The Duke, once bewitched by his own heart’s desire, now turned from the Blueberry Princess, whose love for him had been birthed by enchantment as well. She, now heartbroken, met with her Siren lover, whose rage split the witches’ spell as a summer storm shatters the stillness of the sea.
With the bewitchment broken, the Princess was left adrift, torn between the past and the present. The Prince of Leaves, seeking to right the wrongs done to his betrothed, marched upon the Duke of Thorns.
A great clash of words and honor ensued, and it was only by the Prince’s hand that the Duke fled into the Thornwood, leaving behind his noble title. No one knows what became of the Duke, but it is whispered that he was slain by a shadow—the Phantom of the Orchard.
And as for the Blueberry Princess and the Prince of Leaves, their hearts lay heavy with loss. The wedding proceeded as planned, but neither the bride nor the groom found joy in days festivities. All of sudden, and before vows were sworn, the ceremony was interrupted by a chant, faint at first and then louder: “We sow! We grow!”
The people, stirred by the winds of rebellion, rose as one—rogues, pirates, vikings, and farmers alike—led by an infamous knave known as the Queen of Thieves. Up the Orchard Hill, they marched, demanding the fall of the nobles who had ruled with a cold hand. The knights of Enchanted Orchard retreated, their banners torn by the wind, while the Orchard Town was claimed by the farmers’ rebellion.
The Maypole was set once more, and there, beneath its boughs, the people danced and feasted with the Weird Sisters and the Fay Folk, for their victory was sweet, even if the price had been high.
And thus, the Enchanted Orchard was forever changed. The nobles were driven back to their castles, and the winds of fate, as fickle as ever, whispered of what would come in the years to follow. For the seeds of rebellion, once sown, grow in ways ever their planters cannot predict.
FaeGuild Wonders 