As Selene was traveling along a forest road near the borders of the Worldwound, she heard strange voices echoing through the trees. Curious despite the danger, she climbed a twisted tree overlooking a moonlit clearing. From her perch, she witnessed a most unusual gathering.

Thirty-one crusaders were seated around a massive war table carved from stone. Before them stood a short man with a neatly trimmed white beard, clad in the crimson-and-gold robes of a senior scholar of Mendevian Crusaders. He raised a gloved hand, and the murmuring ceased. Then he began one of the strangest addresses Selene had ever heard.

“Welcome, champions of the Fifth Crusade. The sharpest strategic minds in all of Golarion have assembled here tonight. We stand at the edge of the Worldwound, where reason must be sharper than any blade.

But before we discuss tactics and the fall of demon lords, we shall play a small game.”

With that, the scholar walked around the great table. From a satchel at his side, he withdrew enchanted pigments glowing faintly with arcane light. One by one, he painted a bold sigil upon each crusader’s forehead. When he had finished, he returned to the head of the table and explained the rules.

“As you can see, each of you can observe the sigils on the foreheads of your fellow crusaders. However, none of you knows the color of your own sigil. Your task is to determine the color marked upon your own brow.

There is only one rule. Every minute, the cathedral bell of the war camp will toll. If, at the moment it tolls, any of you knows the color of your own sigil, you must rise and join me beside that wardstone beneath the trees. Those who do not yet know must remain seated.

Remember: if you know the color of your sigil, you must stand immediately. If you do not know, you must remain where you are. I trust that veterans of the crusade will not falter in logic.

You may not communicate with one another in any way. There are no mirrors, no polished shields, no spells of reflection that might reveal your own mark.”

At this point, a young squire named Darian raised his hand.

“Magister Halvorn, are you certain this challenge can be solved?”

The old scholar inclined his head calmly. “It can be solved.”

Darian smiled and sat back down. He, and every crusader present, knew that Magister Halvorn was incapable of speaking a falsehood.

The Magister then withdrew to stand beside the glowing wardstone, and Selene watched with fascination as the game began.

When the first bell tolled, four crusaders rose and walked to join him.

At the second toll, several more stood, and all of them bore crimson sigils.

At the third toll, no one moved.

At the fourth toll, at least one crusader rose.

At that moment, Darian and his sister Alis, whose sigil was a different color from his, were still seated at the table. Yet both of them stood beside the wardstone with Magister Halvorn before the final bell tolled.

The question is: how many times did the bell toll before all thirty-one crusaders had left the table?