Court of the Eclipse
You are a human apprentice in the elven court, and the eclipse omen just named you a traitor. Your master Veyra is the only elf who stands with you, and she is risking her seat among the stars to do it. Seven houses want you executed, and one of them framed you. Navigate court politics, find allies among the houses, and unmask who framed you.
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The shadow lands on your boots, and four hundred masks turn to look
You are three steps behind your master's shoulder, holding the Keeper's slate of star-tables the way you have held it through six years of eclipse rehearsals. Then the moon swallows the sun. The oculus over the Hall of Moonstone goes the colour of a bruise, seven lamps are snuffed one by one, and a shadow slides across the floor like spilled ink. It passes the Queen's empty chair and stops against your boots.
Herald-Mother Tessaly Wren reads the old formula: the heavens name the Keeper's apprentice. You are a human in an elven court, and the omen has just named you. A masked noble in Thorn green steps out of the crowd with a blade drawn. Then Veyra steps in front of you and stakes her seat among the stars on your innocence. You have one hour.
One hour, seven houses, a hall full of masks
Court of the Eclipse is a court-intrigue fantasy mystery played against a clock. Every ninety-one years the moon covers the sun for an hour, and the court trusts the Hollow Orrery, a hanging machine of nine rings, to name the one person the heavens bear witness against. Veyra spots the problem at once. A true omen leaves frost on the dais stone, and this one left nothing. Someone moved the heavens by hand.
Seven noble houses hold seats at court. If four claim you by lighting their lamps at the dais, your sentence is suspended and a trial is held at dawn. If they don't, the returning sun decides.
The laws of the Dim
During the Dim, names are debts. Say a person's name aloud and you answer for their deeds, so everyone speaks in titles, colours and masks. Steel drawn on the palace floor is a crime against the heavens. Guests wear another house's colours, and no one may unmask anyone else.
Your Witness, Commander Thalor, stands beside you for the whole hour and promises only that he will not look away. House Bell tolls every quarter hour, and the fourth toll is last light. Every conversation costs minutes, and the clock never rewinds.
The people at court
Veyra, Keeper of the Observatory, is two hundred years old, calm, exact and dryly funny. She is the only elf who has stood publicly with you, and she is not a perfect mentor. She is hiding something, and how hard you press her is one of your choices.
Around her, the court is a set of wants:
- Princess Liraen, the Queen's sharp-tongued niece, who signals you from the gallery.
- Lady Sennet of House Vesper, whose every sentence is a price quote.
- Isolde, fae witch and head of House Thorn, who riddles and then turns sincere.
- Brannoc, the palace's human steward, who presses a ring of keys into your hand.
- Eldest Ysmer of House Bell, who answers only in tolls: one for yes, two for no.
What you do with sixty minutes
Three kinds of work fill the hour. You investigate, comparing seals, logs and thread and noticing what doesn't fit. You win houses, since each one wants something specific and commits its lamp only on its own terms. And you manage Veyra, your ally and your biggest liability.
You can climb the Quiet Stair and read the Orrery before anyone tidies it, plunge into the crowd after the man in Thorn green while his trail is warm, or follow the princess's signal to the one person who might know who wanted you named.
You write what you do, rather than picking from a menu. Say it, bargain, lie or keep silent. The story remembers what you promised each house, and it scores trust and time, not word count. There are several endings, and the good ones cost something.
Silver, candlelight and quiet dread
The Silverwood is a realm of silver-leafed trees and moonstone halls, ruled from the palace of Veilmere. The mood is hushed and glittering, a masquerade where courtesy is a blade and every compliment has a price. Violence is real but sparing, and the weapons that matter are names, seals and favours. There are no romance scenes. This is about trust, and about whether a flawed mentor is worth standing beside.
Before you start
Do I need to know anything about elves or court politics?
No. You are a human raised in the Observatory, so you know the stars better than the courtiers do. The houses and the laws of the Dim are explained as you run into them.
Can I solve it by accusing the obvious suspect?
Probably not. Several people look guilty along the way, and the loudest accusation is rarely the strongest. A case that holds at the dais rests on two independent proofs, each vouched for by a different house.
How long is it, and will it play the same way twice?
It runs on a single hour of in-game time, so it's one tight sitting. Because you choose whom to trust, which house to approach first and what to risk, a second run can go somewhere very different.
If this is your kind of story
If you like court intrigue with real stakes, a mystery where a conspiracy hides behind every mask, or fantasy that runs on favours instead of swordplay, start here at the foot of the dais. If you would rather be framed somewhere else, Glass Storm also gives you one person who believes you and not much time. Otherwise the shadow is already moving, and the first toll is about to ring.
