Lanterners’ Rally from Underneath Patchholds by Thunslow

When the frost hung heavy on our windows, we gathered every instrument bearer from across the Patchholds. It wasn't planned—a nervous fletcher spotted lantern signals from three villages away, and by midday, the Cantle Green swelled with bodies and breath. The Gallowhands came straight from their benches, wood dust still clinging to their beards, while Cotfolk elders brought ancient rhythm sticks we hadn't seen used since childhood festivals.

"Lanterners' Rally" captures that day when fear turned to fierce resolve. Listen for the barrow pipe's insistent call that begins alone, timid almost, before being answered by voices from every corner. Some listeners tell us they hear their own childhood memories of village gatherings in the overlapping whistle rounds—others say it reminds them of the hard winter three seasons past when wolves circled too close to the outer townships.

The kettle drums weren't planned either. Four drummers arrived with instruments strapped to their backs, having walked through the night from Westerhold. That thunderous moment midway through, when everything pauses save for the drums—that's them taking center stage as the crowd realized what must be done.

By winter's deepest point, this melody became our signal. Hear someone whistling the opening notes in a back alley? Best follow quickly to whatever meeting was forming. The procession captured here walked seven times around the frozen fountain before the final hammered dulcimer passage fades to those haunted echoes—a community finding its courage even as the cobblestones beneath shifted unnervingly.

Weathered lutes and market whispers invite thee to the Patchholds. Our melodies carry tales of dawn processions, twilight bartering, and the secret language of village squares - where every tune becomes memory.