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The Lowes shaped cruelty into a crown, and oh, they wear it well. A Tradition of Tragedy: The True Story of the Town that Sends its Children to Die
Alistair Lowe played a perfect villain. Not because he was instinctively cruel or openly proud, but because, sometimes, he liked to. Many of the stories whispered by the children of Ilvernath came from him.
“Every twenty years, we send seven teenagers into a massacre and reward the one who comes out with the most blood on their hands,” Reid said flatly, still facing his work. “You should be more concerned about us being despicable.”
The Thorburn family loves nothing as much as they love their own reflections.
The mirror was the Thorburns’ most prized magickal artifact. It was a replica of one of the Relics—the seven objects that fell from the sky randomly throughout the tournament, each granting the champion who claimed it three unique high magick enchantments. In the tournament, the Mirror let you spy on your opponents, answered any three questions, and cast a powerful reflecting spell to fling curses back at your enemies.
Most associate high magick with other distant brutalities of the past: pillaging, plague, and lawlessness. But in Ilvernath, a piece of that history lingers, every bit as threatening as it once was.
A Grieve has never benefited from the tournament. For us, and perhaps us alone, it truly is a curse.
The Relics—weapons powered by high magick—fall at random throughout the tournament’s three-month duration. They are the Cloak, the Hammer, the Mirror, the Sword, the Medallion, the Shoes, and the Crown.
The Lowes win even when no one expects it, even when another champion is deemed the strongest or the favorite. And the rest of us are left to ask how. We never get an answer.
“The Lamb’s Sacrifice is invincible, and an invincible curse demands an unthinkable price. This is how we always win.”
“The Castle bears the strongest defensive enchantments.… The Crypt is warded against intruders.… The Cottage contains a collection of survival spells that
To craft a death curse, blood must be given before blood can be spilled.
The opening ceremony of the tournament is historically the last chance anyone has to sabotage a champion before the real fighting begins.
High magick fell from the stars, and when we found it, we did what humans always do. We decided it was ours to claim.
Isobel had barely an hour. An hour to come up with a plan. An hour to fix what she’d done wrong. An hour to save herself. An hour wasn’t enough time.
Loyalty is meaningless in the context of the tournament. But that never seems to stop people from forming alliances to prolong the inevitable.
There’s a rumor that the Lowe champions often go mad after they win. Maybe it’s not the weight of their conscience—maybe it’s the weight of a secret.
What is a happily ever after to the child is a nightmare to the monster.
The only thing worse than making another champion your enemy is making them a friend.
Per old superstitions, a champion’s body is always buried face-down. If they attempt to claw their way from their graves to seek vengeance, they will only dig deeper into the earth.
Do not judge the champions too harshly. Survival could make villains of any of us.
