At last the familiar stone donjon of your castle looms above the horizon. You have journeyed long and hard and it is has been many years since you've seen its cheerful banners wave. Your companion, still dressed in his gloomy funeral clothes, shades his eyes and squints at something moving on the road. A procession of men with tonsured heads and plain white tunics fastened with nothing but belts of thick rope.

At their head is a great red coffin borne on the backs of four men. You recognize the two in front as, Gamling, your father's closest friend and beside him your father himself, his mane of hair now white to the tips. They turn in a fork on the road, heading in the direction of the cairns in which several generations of your family are interred. They are too far and preoccupied to have noticed you.

"A bad omen," says your companion, spitting over his shoulder in the custom of his people when they receive unwelcome news.

>Continue to the donjon
>Join the procession at the back
>Ride to the front and hail your father
>Write-in