Turn the other cheek

Characters

Arthur – Cleric 1 – A weak armed bible basher. 

Pickles – Halfling 1  – this loud mouthed drinker enjoys paying humans to carry him ‘Yoda-style.’ 

Clyde the ascetic – Cleric 1 – a waif of a man, an ascetic purist. 

Gwen – Thief 1 – Mirella’s sister, a lithe assassin in the making. 

Alcine – Light footman 

Terri – Light footman 

Donna – Cleric 1 – A strong faced woman of the cloth. 

---

After a very busy week of downtime, including Gwen’s invasion of the wizard Zaa’s town house, and his assassination, the party advanced out to Castle Xyntillan in search of treasure. 

They decided to make camp in an alternate stretch of woodland on this journey. Their reasoning was that they’ve not changed their approach to the castle for many weeks. Zaa’s men had surveyed them, and possibly their enemies in Xyntillan might have discovered their plans as well. 

During the night’s second watch, at around one in the morning, Gwen and Alcine witnessed a gaggle of figures march towards the castle. The lithe thief moved closer for a better look. A tall, broody, dark-haired elf led a party of armoured men. She had heard of this group, a rival adventuring party that called themselves the league of silver. Gwen slunk back to the camp site. 

Hours later, during Pickles watch, he saw the party come back out of the castle carrying a heavy chest. Lucky buggers. 

“They seemed to do well, and at night too!”

At dawn the party travelled towards the castle, crossing the moat and going up to the windows that they had broken into many moons ago. 

A grappling hook was loosed. Crash, one of the windows went in. The rope was pulled tight, finding purchase. All was quiet as the party waited for a volunteer to climb up. 

“Not me.”

“I don’t want to go.” 

“We’ll make Terri go.” Came the brave suggestion from Gwen. 

“I certainly won’t.” The broad shouldered soldier said, “What if something lops me head off?” 

The party put a few coins together and bribed the simpleton to climb up, for he desperately needed money to woo a local maiden named Hildegarde Bonner. 

The man quickly scaled the rope, and climbed into the window, but soon there came a scream and a flapping of arms, and after a few seconds Terri rushed back down the rope. 

“A great big knight was stood right next to the window, he tried to lop me head off, what did I tell you! I nearly met me maker there!” 

After pondering whether to try another window, the party decided on going back down into the castles wine cellar. Down in the dark they had found a hollow barrel containing a ladder down into an unknown chamber. They marched onward, and the rope was swiftly pulled up by an unseen hand. 

They opened the large double doors of the grand entrance, and as before the gargoyles animated, laughing and clicking its finger. The party quickly went into the head butlers room, they searched around a little, and paid Terri to feel through an old musty butler uniform; he found a fine sovereign ring. 

Before going down into the wine cellar, the party decided to try and find a way into the secret door in the fireplace they’d discovered earlier. Up in the chimney there was the dried husk of a gentleman, his face stretched in a silent scream. They shot at this with an arrow, and it crumbled into charcoal. 

The Cleric Clyde probed the eagle cornices of the mantlepiece, and ‘lo and behold, the uniform square brickwork of the fireplace clicked and swung inward. Though who would go enter the smoky chamber? 

“Lets pay Terri to go in.” Such bravery. And with a few coins Terri went on into the gap. He reported back that he’d found the carcases of unknown beasts hanging on meat hooks. The party, disturbed by this finding, encouraged him deeper into the chamber. In he went, never to return. 

“Lets stick this chair in the doorway so it doesn’t close, maybe he will come back.” He didn’t. 

The party went down into the cellar. In a moment of madness a party member knocked on the arched door which led into the wine cellar.  

“Come iiiiin.” A sickly sweet voice called back from beyond the door. Pickles recognised the voice as that of Ambrosias the monk, whom he had met once before. Whoops, their cover was blown.  

The party went in and greeted the monk. 

“Is that Pickles, ah, my little lord, I’m so glad to see you’ve returned.” The portly friar was sat atop a cask, and turned dramatically. In the flickering lamplight the party saw his face, angry and swollen, one half of it melted almost to the bone. 

“Have you come to finish the job my little lord?” The bitter monk mocked. “Have you come to take the rest of my face!” Pickles realised immediately what must have happened. Last time he was down here, the party had got the monk so drunk he’d passed out, moments later they had inadvertently released an ooze creature from one of the casks. That ooze must have eaten the monks face! 

He peered at the party with his one good eye. “Come close my lad, won’t you come and make a toast with me? To health?” Pickles approached him, the party’s protestations echoing out behind him. 

“That’s right lad, all can be made right.” The monk took ahold of him, like a dog with a rag doll, and pushed his curly haired head down to the casks tap, the very cask containing the slime! “An eye for an eye! Now, let us turn the other cheek!” 

The party rushed to their small friends aid as the monk began to turn the tap. Arthur and Clyde launched onto the portly giant, pulling him down to the ground as Gwen loosed an arrow into his bulky gut. Within a few moments the half faced giant tossed them aside and had the halfling in his grasps once again, and pushed him down below the dreaded tap! 

Clyde took off his rucksack and stuffed it over Pickles face, hoping this would shield his face from the ooze about to be released. Arthur swung his mace into the dark friar, colliding with what must have been plate armour under his robes. 

Pickles, in desperation, grabbed his dagger and stabbed up into Ambrosias’ groin, blood splashing onto his wrist. The monk grimaced and cried out, grabbed his mace from his belt and without a moments hesitation smote the halfling with a few solid blows. Little was left of Pickles body, naught but a smear. 

“Now then my friends, with that nasty matter out of the way, lets introduce ourselves, I don’t believe I’ve met any of you?” The deranged holy man asked. 

Very tempestuously the party began speaking with the man, and very gingerly took up his offer of a toast. After some time the mad man became fatigued and departed for his abode. The party quickly filled their wineskins with some of the delicious brews he’d allowed them to taste. 

After a little ransacking, a new voice called out. A cleric named Donna had advanced down into the dungeon and introduced herself to the party. Onwards to glory! 

They opened the false cask and one by one climbed down. The chamber below had the faint smell of pine needles and mulch. A long set of stained stairs led deep, deep into the earth. The flagstone soon gave way to a natural cave system lined with many ancient and crude gargoyles depicting satyrs. The smell of forest became very overwhelming, and after descending the steep incline for what seemed like an age, the party came into a mossy natural cave. 

Empty wine bottles lay strewn about, chicken bones and other waste material as well. Then, a strange horned head poked out from the caves mouth. A gangly satyr introduced himself. He wore a small brown robe, and his hirsute face framed cunning, hungry eyes. He introduced himself as the keeper of the grotto, for his name would not be pronounceable to humans. The party talked at length with the strange being, offering him up almost all of their wineskins which he furiously downed with insatiable thirst.

Once he was placated with wine, the devilish creature told them that he was enemies with a fiendish cult in the woods. Woods? The outside of the cave itself was most strange, a vast woodland below a pink hued sky, lit by a single purple star. The creature then started sniffing the party, convinced that he could smell the evil of the cultists on one of them; Gwen. Arthur convinced the satyr that her smell was only from exposure to the evils upstairs. 

That was when the parties new friend wanted to blow his pipes and pipe a ditty, but worried by the consequences this might bring Arthur opted to sing him one of his lovely hymns instead. Soon the creature was off to sleep. 

With the beast snoring Gwen took it upon herself to try and steal its strange pipe, which one moment looked like a steel flute, then like a wooden set of pan pipes. As she touched it a ravaging cold wracked her body and she fell to the ground in pain. 

As the flute fell to the ground it became a piece of wood and began rapidly growing roots. The party scooped this up into a bag and fled back up the stairs into the cellar, where they refilled their skins and made off with their treasures. 

Later on the flute had grown to a small sickly olive tree with eight red fruits. In town they had these identified, and were told they might have health benefits. 

What will they do next?