Mounts

A steady bay from the keep's own stables. It knows the way home better than you do.

Barded in steel and trained to charge a shield wall without blinking.

Raised in the Arena pens. It still growls at anyone in the stands.

Arena champions ride out on these. The bear decides who the champion is.

Barded in the Warden's blue and gold. Only those who have served the keep a long time ride one out of the gate.

Barded for the guild that earned it. It has been to every meeting and has opinions about all of them.

Barded in midnight and gold leaf, with a question mark worked into the chanfron. Nobody knows who left it in the casket. The horse does, and it is not telling.

It wades the black water of the Mournfen as if it were a meadow.

The clans of the high snow ride these up cliffs a goat would think twice about.

Warm to sit on. Very warm. Bring thick trousers.

It lets you ride because it has decided you are its snack for later.

Eight legs, and every one of them knows where the walls are.

It remembers galloping. It does not remember stopping.

The Bone Choir kept it in the dark between hymns. It liked the dark.

Hatched in the Riven Vault's lava. It has never once been cold.

It flew too close to the sun as the moon slid across it. The dark never quite washed off.

It hoards nothing. It has seen every treasure there is, and it is only here to see you collect them too.

Armored in the Arena colors, scarred by a season on the sand. Only the very best of Season 1 ride one.

Its antlers are hung with ribbons from every fair it has ever won. It has won every fair.

It walks the lantern road once a year, and carries home whoever is still out in the dark.

Its fleece is warm enough to sleep in, and on Winterfeast night somebody usually does.

Its mane is braided with flowers every morning, and it eats every one by noon.

It crawled out of the Midsummer bonfire one year, very pleased with itself.

Its feathers turn with the year: gold at the fair, white at Winterfeast, pink when the blossoms come.

White as the cathedral at sunrise, barded in gold, and up before you every single morning.

Barded in iron and red, and trained to charge a shield wall, stop, and charge it again until the wall gets up.

Fizzwick enchanted it to go faster. It now also glows, hums, and knows several things about you it should not.

Moss on its antlers and a robin living in the moss. Oakenborough has been narrating it for a week.

Black as the Murk at midnight, with a gold collar nobody remembers buying. It walks on rooftops and never pays for anything.

Given only to the Heroes of Sunderkeep. It looks at everyone else as if they were mice.

It swims through the air as if the sky were the sea, and hums a little tune about it.

Its horns crackle before a storm. It is always before a storm.

Its antlers catch the northern lights and keep a little for later.

White as a summer cloud, and about as easy to catch.

Storm-grey and sky-blue, with gold at the wingtips. It was hatched above the clouds and has not been impressed by the ground since.

She is at the gate every morning before you are, and she has never once let you forget it.