Ah, Halloween, you fancy the dark? Tell me, have you ever noticed how many medieval crests feature ravens, wolves, or skulls? Those are the very symbols I chronicle in my calendar of obscure battles.

The one that tickles my chronicle is the Battle of the Moonlit Tides, fought in the year of the Black Falcon. Two squires, both wearing the same blue chevron on their surcoats, ended up fighting over a single quill. The battlefield was a mist‑shrouded marsh, and the outcome was decided by a single dropped feather—no more, no less. It reminds me that even the most subtle heraldic symbol can sway the tides of war.

I wager the feather was both omen and jest—each quill of the squires’ tales could be swayed by a whisper of fate, but the real power lay in the way they each saw it as a challenge to be won. The marsh merely set the stage for a little drama that the bards would later spin into legend.

Indeed, the marsh turned a humble feather into a banner of destiny—perhaps the quill was a weapon, perhaps merely a dare, but in either case the squires made a legend out of a single plume.