To sleep, perchance to dream

Leifr – D1 – a dwarven youngling, trying out the adventurers life, unsure if its for him. 

Grit – D1 – a grubby warrior, impatient, but open to trying new things. 

Fripon – T1 – this middle aged thief has a tall tale or two, and a swollen drinkers nose to boot. 

Mirella the Witch – MU1 – A curious seeker of knowledge, with a niggling worry about getting burned at the stake. 

Bosco – MU 1 – an obese and unhealthy middle aged mage, who hopes acting as porter can help him shed some weight. 

Gottlieb Scheller – F1 – A tall, well built, and bearded halberdier.

Rahir Casq – T1 – This nimble fingered thief might pretend to be clumsy, but ’tis only a ruse. 

Bud + Lou – NHd – Two hounds, kept on a tight leash. 

Later – 

William – F1 – A roaming nomad warrior, scruffy and brave. 

Our adventurers made good headway into the basin of Castle Xyntillan. The sun was low along the mountain ridge, so once again they decided to make camp overnight. They searched out a quiet scrub of woodland close to the waters edge, a place where they could keep watch over the comings and going of that evil place without attracting attention. No campfires then, committed to taking only treasure, and leaving only footprints. They divided up the nighttime watches between them and settled in. They witnessed little movement down below except for a single circumambulation of spearmen around the outer moat. Skeleton sentries? If only there were more light to see them by. 

There saw another murmuration of large winged creatures around the Donjon, but except for this the place was eerie quiet. 

Pink morning light rose like a saviour, glistening across the crystal waters and setting the treasure hunters eyes into a squint. 

Leifr had spent some time drinking at the Tap the week before, a seedy little taproom outside the city walls of Tour-en-Savoy, and he had collected some tales there about a legendary thief named Sim the Quick. Sim was said to be a master thief, and famous ballad singer, and a few summers ago had stolen a great bounty from Xyntillan by climbing the wall and into one of the windows. As he recounted this to his allies, they hatched a cunning plan to try this strategy themselves. 

“We’ve had enough of the dangers of the courtyard. Let us climb up and make way through yonder window pane.”  The south portion of the castle was dominated by a huge three levelled gothic barbican, and high above there were several stained glass windows. The first of which at least forty high. A fall from such a height was sure death, but in their experience the courtyard was also deadly. 

Rahir Casq and Fripon were up to the challenge. What an odd pair too. One all gangly and crooked, the other short and stump fingered. They hardly looked as though they could make the climb. They were confident however. 

So the party marched towards the castle, and as they did the witch Marella pipped up, clutching the leads of her two new hounds. She had bought them from a leper in town. They wouldn’t be able to climb any wall. 

“We’ll deal with that when we get there!” 

So off they marched, reaching the barbican’s root in no time. No-one was about, the coast was clear. Up the walls the two thieves climbed, with nothing but the gaps in the masonry for handholds. Several slips, and plenty of sweat, and they had climbed up to the first two of the stained glass windows. One depicted a large rose with blooded thorns. The other, a knight skewering a dervish upon his lance. There were some lights inside, several candles maybe, the light was obstructed in several places. Pillars perhaps? The wind was rushing below them, the frigid mountain air cutting across their backs. Their allies waited below, covering their brows from the morning sun. 

Rahir took hold of the lintel stone, a rough gargoyle face, and with his free hand tried to push some of the stained panes inwards. But he pushed too hard and shot through the entire window. Glass sprayed in every direction loudly. Pieces of cut glass and lead fell inwards and downwards. A single shard struck the dwarf Leifr in the forehead down below, a blow that might have easily taken his eye.  

Fripon clambered in after his friend, who sat up and dusted shards of glass from his gambeson. They’d found themselves in a grand library. A huge marble fireplace was ahead of them, and in the ceiling was a large octagonal balcony. The library was two tiered, and stacked with many shelves of books. 

The thieves quickly secured a rope and were about to throw this down when a swarthy figure dressed in silk hose, jerkin, and fancy plumed hat entered through the spiral staircase next to the fireplace. 

“My, my, my, look what the cat dragged in.” He rubbed his devilish goatee. The man fingered a fine rapier at his waist. The thieves threw down the rope and began talking to the man. He seemed quite impressed with their ‘nimble fingered exploits.’ Climbing all the way up to the library was no small feat. He made them an offer. He told them that he knew of some fabulous treasure locations in the castle. Knew the castle like the back of his hand in fact, he was a family member.

“Jaumon Malévol, the Dreamwiright. Charmed.” 

During their discussion, several of the party began piling in through the small window. This seemed to tickle the dreamwright. He finally took the offer of one third of the treasure he could lead them to. He told the party he would leave a note in the north tower of the ruined gatehouse, with further instructions. And with that, he went his own way. 

Mirella the witch finally entered the room. Her two dogs had been tied to the bottom of the rope, all the way at the bottom. An alarm system, incase something tried to climb up. 

The party searched the library for anything of worth. The library was mostly full of light reading; romance novels, travelogues, poetry. Yuck. Rather than go up to the second tier of the library they decided on moving east, through a very large hallway and into a grand feasting hall. The place was a font of military regalia; decorative shields, a full harness of plate armour stood pridefully on guard, and many banners and tapestries lined the walls. The contents of the feasting table however were not so fine. It held bones, animal and human, along with greasy plates of eyes, jelly and offal. Disgusting. But those tapestries would fetch a fine penny. So the party began pulling them down from the walls. 

All except Rahir who moved to the eastern hallway, ever on watch for enemies. Beyond the archway was a staircase, a door, and on the right he saw a large noble bust of a templar. The bronze plate below it read Médard Malévol the Mighty. Looking in his eye he felt some sort of strange power come over him. 

As the party were tugging down banners they heard a cry from the hallway. “Deus Vult! God wills it!” So loud was this that they began wrapping up the banners as quickly as they could, sure this would alert anyone nearby. And they were right to worry, for the northern doors burst in and several figures began shambling into the room. 

Rahir seemed possessed by some sort of force, he dashed headlong into the shambling figures whirling his blade. “Die infidel!” 

The rest of the party rushed as fast as they could towards the library, Mirella and Bosco carrying the huge folded tapestries. 

These figures came pouring into the feasting hall. Dressed in cravats and butler garb, their flesh hung loose and grey about them, except for their heads, which were totally nonexistent. One of these headless butlers grabbed the raging Rahir around the throat and within a few seconds squeezed the life out of him. His chokes of “for the Blessed ones,” soon silenced. 

The two dwarves, Grit and Leifr, took up a rear guard position, supported by the human warrior Gottlieb’s halberd. 

They backed up through the hallway and into the library as the shambling horrors swarmed on them. Leifr was grabbed about the neck, but he managed to cut down the undead thing, it’s black icy blood splattering his face. Grit and Gottlieb cleaved another. The rest of the band reached the library and began crowding the window. Fripon loosed a few arrows, blindly. Then Leifr was grabbed by the head, the rotting manservant dug its blackened thumbs into his eyes with crushing strength, the dwarves shrill death screams sent Grit and Gottlieb fleeing at full pace. 

Reaching the window, Mirella stood upon the ledge, and outside the window used her arcane power words to summon a strange floating disc. She grabbed a hold of the rope and slid down, burning her hands and legs in the process. Fripon leapt onto the disc with the tapestries as it began rapidly descending after the witch. Gottleib leapt out also, hoping to join the thief, but he landed heavily and sent the disc spinning in a corkscrew. He couldn’t hold on and fell crashing into the wall of the castle and down to the floor, landing heavily, and brutally, but somehow still alive. The rest of the party descended the rope quickly. But as soon as they landed, those loathsome creatures began tugging up the rope, with the two dogs still attached! Gottleib, struggled to his feet and with a rending blow from his halberd cut the rope, saving the dogs from a nasty lynching. 

A stranger then approached, a strapping young nomad named William. 

“I’ve come here seeking treasure and saw you ascending the rope.” The gang happily accepted him into their ranks, but before they got fully acquainted, there was one minor issue. 

“Flee!” 

The party charged into the thickets that surrounded the castle and lay waiting for around thirty heart pumping minutes. No-one approached. Dare they make another run for it? 

“The Dreamwright’s note!” Of course, any information on treasure was far to valuable to leave behind. So the party snuck towards the gatehouse. Fripon the nimble declared he would scout into the tower and find the note. He was both quick and silent, he could do the job. The party agreed. He slipped inside and for around ten minutes the party held their breath next to the gatehouse bridge.  Finally the thief came out smiling and waving a flap of paper. It bore directions on how to summon the Dreamwright the next time they came to the castle. 

And so, tapestries and note in hand, they marched for four days back to Tours-en-Savoy. What will they do next?