The Freehold of Hills and Hollar
“Fortune turns, and we turn with it. The cards are drawn, the story unfolds.”
The Freehold of Hills and Hollar is a sanctuary for the Lost amidst the rolling mist-covered mountains, neon-drenched tourist traps, and forgotten places where the Wyrd runs deep. Nestled in Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, the Freehold thrives in a region where the veil between worlds is thin, where the winding roads lead to hidden hollows and secret paths into the Hedge.
Gatlinburg is a town of constant change, where tourists arrive by the thousands, staying for a moment before vanishing into memory. The locals remain, holding onto the traditions and superstitions that whisper of things lurking in the woods. The Freehold exists in this delicate balance—between the fleeting and the permanent, between the wandering and the rooted.
The Tarot and the Courts
Unlike many Freeholds that follow the seasons, the Lost of Hills and Hollar look instead to the cards of fate. Their courts are bound to the Suits of the Tarot, each representing a different approach to survival, power, and resistance against the Gentry. These courts shift their rule not by the calendar but by the turning of fortune itself, ensuring that no single path dominates for too long.
Each transition is marked by a grand reading, where the cards of fate determine which Court will hold dominion. This ritual is an act of both prophecy and politics, guided by the Mystagogues of the Deck, those who read the flow of power in the Freehold’s chosen tool of divination.
A City of Tourists, A Haven for the Lost
The Freehold exists in a place where most people never stay for long. This transient nature makes it dangerous but also powerful—the Gentry struggle to track those who are constantly moving, and the Lost who call this place home have learned to blend in among the ever-changing faces. The constant influx of people allows for easy feeding of Glamour, but it also makes establishing long-term stability a challenge.
For the Freehold, identity is both a mask and a weapon. They use the chaos of the tourist world to hide, but they also know that anyone could vanish and be forgotten in an instant.
The Major Arcana and Freehold Titles
Power within the Freehold is reflected in the Major Arcana, with roles and responsibilities tied to the cards of fate. These titles are not just names but mantles of power, fate-bound positions that shape the destiny of those who hold them.
Some titles reflect leadership and governance, while others represent wisdom, mystery, and challenge. Those who hold these roles are not merely rulers but symbols, living embodiments of the Freehold’s ongoing story. These positions shift with time, passed from one to another through fate, challenges, or necessity, ensuring that power remains dynamic, never static.
The Freehold’s Strengths & Struggles
The Lost of Hills and Hollar survive because they adapt, because they read the currents of fate, and because they understand that nothing is permanent—not power, not safety, not even themselves. But this transience is both their greatest strength and their greatest weakness.
- They are hard to track, always moving, always shifting.
- They blend into the ever-changing tides of tourists and travelers, using the chaos to their advantage.
- They know that the Gentry watch the mountains, and so they guard the hidden paths that lead into the dark places where Arcadia presses too close to reality.
But at the same time:
- They struggle to hold onto stability, for nothing in this place ever lasts.
- They must be careful not to forget themselves, lest they become just another fleeting shadow in a town of strangers.
- They must fight to ensure that, even in a place of transition, the Freehold remains firm and unshaken.
Because at the end of the day, the Gentry never stop hunting, and the Lost must be ready to turn the cards in their favor—before someone else does it for them.
The Freehold Oath of Hills and Hollar
By Sword of air, my will I give,
To guard the Freehold where I live.
By Wand of fire, my spark I share,
To rise and build, to dream and dare.
By Cup of tears, my heart I bind,
To kin and Court, to hope and mind.
By Coin of stone, I plant my name,
To hold this land through storm and flame.
I will not kneel to Gentry’s chains,
Nor heed Their songs, nor serve Their games.
No mask I wear shall speak Their lies,
No hand shall help Their cruel disguise.
I serve the Freehold, bold and true,
In all I say, in all I do.
Until the Crown shall set me free,
Or death unbinds what oath may be.
In breath, in blood, in glamour spun,
So swears the Lost beneath the sun.
Let Wyrd now weave and bear me tight—
This oath I swear by star and night.