At still midnight

Characters

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 3 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident.

Ralf Lionsword – Fighter 2 –  a tall, dark and handsome warrior, overboiling with muscles. 

Clyde the Ascetic – Cleric 2 – a waif of a man, an ascetic purist.

Basira Cleric 1 – A dark agent of chaos, initiate to the Demon Lord Woobalu. 

Exeo – Magic-user 1 – An average looking guy, self professed summoner of flame. 

Five secret agents of the crown – retainer fighter 1.

Camille Toutain – retainer fighter 1

Pierre-Marie Moitessier – retainer fighter 1 

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Much partying was had throughout the town of Tours-en-savoy, for the survivors of Xyntillan had many sacks of coin to spend. There was frolicking, and carousing, and much ado about nothing. The honey-mead flavour of victory had cleansed their palates, sweet, however brief.

The time had come for our troupe of adventurers to once again sally-out to the walls of that ancient source of evil. Armed with a quest from the crown to discover evidence of the Malévol’s tax avoidance, and a personal vendetta of revenge, they marched onward, anticipating victory. But a great shadow crawled across the mountain pass, creeping across them like a veil, for whilst they marched on in ignorance, something lay in wait for them.

The party approached the grand entrance and plunky young Tim Kaufman once again took the lead. He walked up to the great double doors and pushed them inward. Without a pile of corpses at the door he felt confident he was safe. Once again the two gargoyles animated in their way, booming out with laughter. Kaufman turned to his friends and said, “come on lets fill our pockets.” He gave a cheeky wink, but to his friends horror a severed hand fell from the archway above as he walked inward. 

“Tim look out!” 

But it was too late. Another rotting hand dropped onto him, and another, and then, within seconds, a flood of rotting appendages swam down like a torrent engulfing the tweed coated halfling. He barely managed a scream as the swarm of rotting hands grasped around his throat and snuffed out his life. 

“Charge!” Ralf Lionsword boomed, and the party took ground, hacking and slashing the hands apart. A finger salad, tossed severely. After a few moments the party had dispatched the hands. They caught their breath and Clyde said a prayer for Tim Kaufman, unfortunately his companion Sindri was not there to see him off to the netherworld. 

The party made sure to collect Mr. Kaufmans gear, all would be useful in the castle, and especially his bank note; which was written for a large sum of cash stored with the town jeweller. Lo! Onward then. 

The party moved through the high vaulted vestibule to the East, into the Butler’s chambers. Clyde opened the door, and inside he saw a figure reclining in a winged chair, it’s legs crossed and backlit before the smouldering fireplace. 

“Hello? Who might you be?” There was no answer. The party moved in and carefully surrounded the figure. Basira the chaotic dashed forward, grasped the chair and looked down. Sat before him was a pale faced corpse, its mouth open in a silent scream, its curled fingers grasping around its own throat. 

“A message for us?” Clyde postulated. 

Upon the Butler’s writing desk were two piles of paper, arranged in an odd manner and overturned. Clyde approached the piles whilst scratching his chin. The party had stolen many papers from here, last time they’d found a list with their own names on and directions to destroy them. Clyde reached down and flipped the papers over. Snap. The cold iron teeth of a bear trap closed around his wrist. He let out a howl, but before the party could come to his aid, the clunk of gears and chains came from below the table. The trap was attached to a contraption that began pulling Clyde into it. The party quickly tried opening the trap, but it was Ralf who pulled the chain with all his might and shut down the contraption. Soiled with blood, the notes read; got you, got you, got you, over and over. 

“Do we want to go down into the basement?”

“I feel like we haven’t explored any of the rooms to the east.” 

“Now that we’ve cleared out the cellar we have a good change to go deeper.”

As the party discussed their plans the southern door to the cellar opened. A tall figure emerged, with wild red hair. He carried a battle-axe on one shoulder and in his other hand dragged a huge sack which jingled. The party had a brief discussion with this man, unsure whether to capture his loot, which was clearly gold coins. The man said that he was a family member of the castle, but only through marriage. The party asked him where the vampires dwelled and he pointed to the eastern door. They finally decided to let him go unhindered, and agreed with each other to not go east into the castle but down their usual way, into the cellar. 

Down they went. The wine vats were as they left them over a week ago. Through the vaulted doors into the cask room they walked. Then they walked north into the chamber where they fought the faceless horrors. But they didn’t approach in ranks as they had last time, Ralf Lionsword took the lead instead. As they crossed the threshold they came face to face with a man blackened with rot. He wore a suit of green and a feathered cap, but his chest was sundered open into a gaping wound. Around him were a dozen or so hounds. 

“You thought you could kill my kin, steal my wine, desecrate our temples, and also live. No. You shall not live. I will take away the fire that burns in you.” And with that, he whistled and his hounds lurched forward to attack. 

The party formed ranks as best they could, the foaming maws of the dogs came crunching against their shields. Then, a soldier in the rear rank let out a scream. Clyde wheeled and saw stood in the archway behind them a crooked figure wrapped in linen. A terrible mummy bejewelled with a crown and collar glittering with gems. The dreadful thing chuckled, and raised a sceptre of gold and ruby, and like the savage winds of the desert let out a howl. Eldritch light coiled around Clyde, Pierre and Arnauld and each man let out a terrible scream. Overcome with magical fear the men raced to the north in blind panic, through a stone portal and into utter darkness. 

“Retreat!” Lionsword roared. 

“Too bloody right!” The wizard Exeo quipped. 

Several of the tax agents were pinned down by the teeth of the hounds, but the party made their retreat north, down a damp clammy corridor deeper into the castles dungeon. Exeo, in a cunning plan, poured out two containers of oil and dashed his lantern against it, creating a wall of flame behind them that would buy some time. 

By this time Clyde and the two retainers were dashing through darkness, utterly lost and panicked. Their faces were assaulted by a thick mist, then, groping the walls, they turned into a tight chamber, and heard cackling voices in the dark. They ran back the other way, moving as quick as their feet would allow, and fell face first into a pool of water that tasted like metal. They screamed in the dark. 

Back in the light of the party torch our heroes had retreated into a large lake grotto. Bats dangled from the low natural cave ceiling, and the entire room was filled with a fine mist. A lake was before them and on the waters edge a bell stood, and next to that a sign reading “3 coins for passage.” The howl of the hounds was behind them, the fire must have died down. In a panic Basira rang the bell. The chime made all the bats take flight across the lake, and then, in the heart of the mist, a pale green light appeared. 

The hounds were baying behind them. In the water a small skiff approached. The sickly light of its lantern revealed its pilot; a black robed figure carrying a crooked scythe. The hounds howls were closer now. 

The skiff beached itself. The dark figure turned to the heroes, a pure white skeleton was wrapped in the cloak. 

“Three coins for passage to the world of the dead.” It said.

“What are we going to do?” 

“Lets bolt.” 

“You called me here, one of you must take voyage.” The deathly figure retorted. 

The hounds were coming down the passage now, the scrambling of their feet audible on the cold stone floor. 

“Okay!” Basira cried and leapt into the boat. The skeletal hand snatched his three coins. Ralf and a taxman joined him. Exeo did not, and with his torch ran north into the narrow tunnels. The skiff pushed off, as though driven by some unseen force, and as it did the hounds came barrelling onto the lakeside dirt. They leapt and howled after their quarry, but they were too late.

Ralf and Basira looked at each other as the boat traversed the mists, and noticed that their breath, which had been pluming from their mouths, was no longer visible. They looked to the hull of the boat and saw their own corpses tangled amongst the bow seats. They were dead. Ghosts. 

Exeo dashed as fast as his legs would take him, and as he passed a cruciform passage, he saw Clyde on the left lifting himself and two of his retainers out of a pool of bubbling liquid. 

The two reconvened, and noticed that the pool was being fed by a font in the form of an owl. Below it, a plaque read “The Oracle of Saint Blakemore: The waters of future prophecy.” Exeo drank from the waters and felt that he would soon receive a vision. Perhaps next Friday. But that was of little consequence now, they were being hunted by hounds. 

Clyde and Exeo and their two badly shaken men desperately tried to escape, one door led them into a submerged chamber with seven sarcophagus, above that a huge dragons head capstone looked down. The fearful Clyde refused to go in. And so the four of them ran north, into another chamber and another door. Their torches burning down, their fear choking their breath, the howling of hounds echoing down the corridor. 

What will become of them?

——————

Judges note. 

After the parties excellent progress they had finally earned enough ‘infraction points’ to receive a reaction from the family. This is a system in the Xyntillan book of adjudicating reactions from the castles dwellers to PC trouble making. I rolled two encounters, quite nasty ones, and placed them in area which the party have been using most frequently. The players very nearly decided on avoiding the cellar and the ambush, but didn’t go for it in the end. C’est la vie. This session could easily turn out to be a TPK, we had to end the session as we were running over time. We will see what happens to Clyde and Exeo in their play by post.