Double feature.

Expedition Thirteen.  

Characters 

Clyde – Cleric 2 – once a thin waif, now a decked out paladin with templar robe, bishops magic crook, and a strong sense of purpose. 

Exeo – Magic-user 1 – self proclaimed master of flames. 

Sindri – Elf 1 – a dark cutthroat. 

Percy – Thief 1 – a scrawny little kid who’s never taken a shower in his life. 

Walbach & Farbig – men at arms. 

Bunduc – a wardog. 

After their rather disastrous last expedition the party chose to take a different entrance into the castle. Clyde had managed to escape the halls of terror by banging into a throne down in the dungeon, then accidentally hitting a switch that sent it mechanically upward into a great hall. He didn’t get to map this area due to his panicked fleeing, but he knew he wanted to return there. 

The others agreed, and so they marched into the courtyard from the Western gate. 

They crept around the bracken and the vegetable patch, fearful of being spotted. But when they arrived at the great second gate they found the double doors swollen shut. Next to the doors were two sleeping sentries in their guard posts. The party didn’t want to wake them, so they decided to retreat and try to enter the castle from the tall rose garden that hung on a balcony in the north. 

On their way there they spent some time observing the pond area. In the centre of the pond was an island with a pavilion and a stone slab. To the east of this was another greco style pavilion with a statue of a maiden. Sindri and Exeo waded through the water dragging their war hound with them, and began combing the area. They found a grave belonging to Tristano Malévol The Love-Lost. The spent some time attempting to slide open the huge slab that bore his likeness.  

At the maiden statue the others were attempting to discover some kind of secret portal or switch. Twisting the statues arm this way, singing to it that way, and so on. All with no effect. 

Back at the grave site Exeo pushed the slab enough to see a withered skeletal arm inside the tomb. He made an executive decision to pour the contents of his holy water onto this arm. It erupted in plume of smoke, a wave of heinous screeching followed, and the huge slab, which the pair of adventurers had been struggling to move, went flying off the coffin. 

Sindri retreated at once, but brave Exeo donned his dagger and willed Walback and Bunduc the wardog into battle. The creature was a huge four armed skeleton, screeching with rage, and stood nearly seven foot tall whilst wielding four blades. It made light work of the henchman and dog as the flame master retreated. 

Brave Clyde stood at the waters edge holding aloft his holy symbol, but the creature merely chuckled and spat profane insults. 

It waded across the water to meet him, whilst Sindri legged it to the south, and the rest of the party set a grappling hook and climbed up to the rose garden. 

Blow was met by blow as brave Clyde tangled with the abomination, but alas, with a violent stroke he was sundered. 

With Clyde dead the creature climbed after the party. They opened a door into the castle. The gawky thief Percy decided to flee no longer! He met the beast at the portal and flashed his blade into the light. Alas, he too was cut down. 

Clyde and Exeo ran into a corridor, known to hold ‘dream beasts.’ As they ran around a corner, they heard the thundering hoofs of the creatures. They lured the four armed Tristano directly in to the oncoming path of two huge dream stallion, one flaming hot with a fiery mane, the other made of pure lightning. The two heroes dashed through a door just in time, and the Malevol was crushed under hoof. 

So the party looted his corpse and made way back to town. 

Expedition Fourteen.

Characters 

Exeo – Magic-user 1 – self proclaimed master of flames.

Sindri – Elf 2 – lord of shadow 

Skanda the Slayer – Fighter 1 – a tall brutish woman of barbarian nature. 

Athillda – Magic-user 1 – a tall, slim, and bug eyed crone, fifty years of age (a medieval 50). 

Kusk – torchbearer 

Thodash – man at arms 

The party, being unable to hire many henchmen due to their high casualty rates, were only able to hire a couple of wretched underlings. 

The party travelled back to the castle in search of treasure, but unsure which way to go. 

On their journey around the castes periphery they encountered a hunchback named Samuel. He was repairing a window on a long pair of ladders. They talked with him for a brief moment, finding out he was a handy man of sorts for the masters. They left him alone, seeing the blades under his cloak. They did notice however that he began to follow them from the roof. 

Inside the grand entrance hall, after the party had disposed of a few corpses pilled outside the doors, they moved north into a hall lined with paintings. Some of the painting watched them with cruel eyes, and one of them began to fire arrows at them! 

The party was able to duck and weave out of the line of fire. They stood before a large staircase, but opted not to go up, instead going north down a tight corridor. They listened at a door and heard many warriors chanting and singing. 

“We aren’t going in there.” 

Very wise too. 

They went north. In through a set of doors, they saw a strange pool of water dripping upwards. Then through another set of doors they saw a large iron door with a casting of a bat at its centre. The bat had been cast into different pieces, and the party pondered if it might be a lock. Exeo jammed his knife into a gap and suddenly a huge blaring alarm went off. 

They ran back the way they came, but a great clanking of iron slammed behind them. 

They went back, then north, and found a prison lined with cells. Skanda turned around when she heard Exeo mumble something, and saw him going back towards the danger. She lurched after him. 

In the corridor she saw Exeo prostrate himself before a beautiful and pale woman, dressed in fine pink silks and lace. She laughed and commanded, “Kill her my love or we can never be together!” 

The wizard and warrioress began battling, the former trying to stab wildly, the latter trying to overpower him. All while this royal fiend laughed to herself. 

“Get a grip of yourself Exeo! This is magic!” Skanda tried. 

“No, you will never hurt my love!” Exeo replied. This went on for some time. 

In the north the others decided against going into the prison, and instead went further north, opening a door and finding a huge tapestry blocking the way. They crawled under this and found themselves in a huge throne room, Stained glass up high streamed down sunlight 

Back south, Skanda managed to overpower the wizard, but as she did the pale royal figure wrapped her cold hand around the wizards throat. 

“I am bored now.” The fiend said coldly, and Exeo withered to a dusty skeleton. Skanda retreated, with the vile creature trying to touch her all the while. She managed to fend off the attacks, even when the creature took to dancing on the ceiling and lunging down with her pale clawed fingers. 

Finally Skanda reached the tapestry, and with a great cleave managed to split it open pooling sunlight all over the creature. It screamed terribly and erupted with acrid mist or smoke, and fled back into the darkness. 

In the throne room, the party smashed apart the throne itself and found the Sceptre of the Merovings, a sacred relic from antiquity, hidden there. 

Whilst this was occurring their ally the Templar ghost of Médard Malévol the Mighty wandered through the hall. After a brief discussion he guarded them to the entrance and on their way to freedom. He told them some information, of a holy chapel to the north, where a font of holy water may aid them. But, he said, beware the goats. 

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 

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.  

Killing Clergy

Characters

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 2 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident.

Sindri – Elf 1 – a cloaked and broody lord. 

Ralf Lionsword – Fighter 1 –  a tall, dark and handsome warrior, overboiling with muscles. 

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

Tipuu – Magic-user 1 – scrawny, long haired surfer in robes. 

Smerdya – Halfling 1 – Becloaked in russet, his small black eyes peer out. 

Eight secret agents of the crown – retainer fighter 1. 

Many events had taken place during the parties downtime. It had been revealed that their retainer Antoin Longin was in fact an agent for the crown. He is a tax collector, and he’d been using the party to gain ingress into Castle Xyntillan in search of the Malévols revenue books. He was adamant that the Malévol’s were hoarding their tax payment to the crown and he has a special mission to gain evidence of such. He caught the party whilst they were enjoying the fruit of their labours, drinking, merrymaking, and spending coin. He marched into the tavern back room with eight armed men, each a secret soldier of the crown, and declared that they too owed money in taxes, a significant amount. The party could help him attain the ledger he requires from the castle, or he would arrest them for tax avoidance. The party agree, and the eight men were given orders to aid the party. Longin had a vague idea that the ledgers would probably be held somewhere secure and safe, possibly in the dungeons of the castle. He knew no more. The party would be rewarded if they succeeded. 

Also during downtime plucky Tim Kaufman searched out a lawyer, he was looking for some advice on how he might recognise the ledger. He inadvertently bumped into one of the Malévols when he went to the law offices of RH Wirtz Esquire, Sergent-at-law. The Malévol there intimidated him, and told him he would soon need a lawyer himself, and that all of his indiscretions were being recorded. After a little research Tim discovered the name of this mocking figure, Vincent Godefroy-Malévol, ruthless lawyer and famed belletrist. On hearing that the lawyer was a famed writer and critic he sought out some of his books at local book shop the Ink well. He shelled out 200gp for a copy of The Lay of the Were-Wolf. Much reading was done. 

Exhausted and intimidated Tim went on a bender, and found himself in a duel after a misunderstanding with a merchant, a duel that the galling won. 

The party made way out to the Castle with their retinue of chainmail adorned warriors, fairly excited that they could do some serious damage with such bulky numbers. 

After two days they reached the castle and headed into the grand entrance. No corpses were pilled outside this time. They entered the large front door. As they rushed over to the butlers quarters, where they planned to descend into the basement, the ghostly butler emerged from behind a pillar. He told them that they had made quite an impression on the dwellers of the castle, never had he seen Médard Malévol the Mighty so happy, but the masters of the castle had been made aware of their trespasses and would not be happy. He said he would go and fetch the welcoming party, and drifted through a wall. 

Panicked the party rushed into the butlers quarters, it had been tidied up since their last visit, but they found papers in the butters handwriting, a list of their names and physical descriptions, also when Tipuu held the note up to the fire, he saw indentations of some other script. The indentations were a list of orders, dictated most probably, to find and kill the party. 

They went into the basement with haste. 

Down in the wine cellar Sindri went knocked on the northern door. The strange voice of Ambrosias came echoing back. The cleric had been most deranged since his face had been accidentally melted off by green slime.  

“What do you lot want?” He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by their numbers. 

“Here’s some wine.” Clyde handed some over, and the deranged priest chugged it down. Tipuu, who had never been to the castle before, poured some oil into his waterskin and offered it up to Ambrosias. The priest began to drink but spat it out. 

“What is this? You like tricks do you?” 

“No, no, its a special brew that my mum made.” Tipuu returned. 

“I have a drink that you would like.” The priest spat, and grabbed the mage by his beard. Tipuu didn’t resist but looked to his friends for help. They stood and watched, knowing how dangerous the priest could be. 

He dragged Tippu by the beard over to a large cask of wine, with his huge fist he punched out the head of the cask and revealed a fragrant wine with floating dead rats. 

“Llllooks delicious.” Tipuu, said, looking to his friends who stood dumbfounded. 

“Yes, yes it is, in you go.” Said the priest, who hauled the mage up and began shoving him into the barrel. Wine overflowed across the floor, chunks of rat flowing by. Once Tipuu was inside the cask, the priest shoved him down, replaced the head and began nailing the cask closed. 

“We need to do something!” The party, except for the elf and two halflings, all ran into the room and surrounded the priest. Blades crashed against the impenetrable bulk of Ambrosius, and his return blows equally bounced off of Clyde’s armour. Eventually, the giant cleric was slain, Tipuu free’d and the party striped his body, finding a magic potion, rosary and magic armour. 

Next they decided to go north, into the chamber of ‘eldritch horrors’ they had witnessed before. 

“Men, form ranks!” And the soldiers of the crown rushed into the arched chamber and readied their spears. The shambling faceless horrors came rushing into the line, but fell swiftly, and soon the hulking abominations were fleeing. The party quickly slayed a few of them as they lurched through a southern door, eventually they decided to not pursue. 

Inside the chamber were roots with white polyp like fruits dangling down, they had strange tubular appendages like sea cucumbers. In the West there was a large marble statue of a comely beauty suggestively holding her shawl open to reveal a buxom bust. Behind this was a door. 

“Lets make out way North!” So that’s what the party did, they went through a wide corridor, and found several sets of door. Very bravely they had their retainers peer inside, something that would be reported on return to town, and they found a chamber of holding cells, and a chamber littered with bones. The party decided to enter neither. Up ahead the chamber transitioned into a natural cave on one side, and there was a clammy, close feeling to the sticky air. 

The party went into another chamber heading East, and heard the rattling of chains coming from the North-East. To the east however was a large set of double doors, a gargoyle of a fiendish woman as the keystone. Inside the double doors they heard much shuffling and eerie singing. 

Sindri decided to knock on the door, for reasons unclear, and beyond the door a litany of howling screams came echoing out. With hardly any time to react the doors swung open revealing a hoard of vampiric Nuns, their faces white and rotting, with large black teeth and swiping claws. One of the retainers was quickly slain, but the party struck back killing several of the unholy nuns. Clyde the pious held aloft his cross and brought down divine intervention, several of the creature fled shrieking into the dark. The battle intensified, and the creatures slashed and screamed with voices as black as their habits. The party struck hard killing many of them, using the reach of their retainers’ spears to their advantage. Eventually the nuns fled back into shadow. 

Triumphant the party searched the room, it was a large octagonal chamber with a huge pillar at its centre. Dusty footprints circled the pillar. In the north there was a confessional window sealed with metal mesh. Tim Kaufman broke the mesh back and saw a chamber with some treasures. Bishops vestments, bottles of booze, and a large brass bishops crook. He swiped these, except the crook which animated when he tried to grab it. 

“I’ll try and grab it.” Tipuu said bravely. He went to the small hole, reached in, and as he grabbed the brass pole it animated and smashed down on his skull killing him instantly. 

“Dio, why.” 

 When Clyde grabbed the item it didn’t animate and rested sweetly in his palms. 

The party withdrew, back through the wine cellar, and decided on taking several casks of wine with them. 

As they struggled up the stairs with the casks, they heard weeping. There was a ghoulishly white woman in a stained wedding dress stood in the corner crying. Luckily she didn’t seem too bothered by the party. Out they went, and it took them four days to get back to town rolling these huge casks. 

What will they do next?

Judges note 

The party mostly levelled up this session, luckily one of the casks they stole was full of health potion. This was sold for a huge amount of coin. Next session will see quite a few level two characters. 

The Motherload

Characters 

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 1 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident.

Sindri – Elf 1 – a cloaked and broody lord. 

Ralf Lionsword – Fighter 1 –  a tall, dark and handsome warrior, overboiling with muscles. 

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

Antoin Longin – Fighter 1 retainer – a pompous and snarling man, with crumbling makeup on his face, a periwig and dark ledger at his hip. 

Julian – footman – a peg leg and eye patch were all this retired seaman claimed from the brine. 

“We must go and find the chapel and consecrate it back to Law, the ghost of Médard Malévol demands it!”

“Quite, I hope the reward is most egregious.” 

So the party walked the summer slopes of the mountain, bluebells wafting their fragrance in welcome. The summer in full swing now,  the party made excellent time over the two days of travelling, camping once over night and arriving in the Castles periphery by the afternoon of the next day. 

“No more camping for us, lets go straight through the front door.”

The party marched over the bridge and around the south walls of the castle to arrive at the grand entrance. Only this time there they found a surprise between the two massive gargoyles; a pile of three corpses. Tim Kaufman the plucky launched a stone at them, which smacked a corpse in the face, with no reaction. 

“Stone cold dead.”

The party grew a little closer and recognised the rotting bodies. There was the charred corpse of sweet William the brave, who had died in the lake tower two weeks ago, and face down next to him was a rotting corpse in clerical vestments, presumably Arthur’s body. In front of both was a pair of legs, probably belonging to the thief Gwen, who had been bitten in half by a sea monster. 

“They are dead, its probably a message for us to keep away.”

“I’m not sure about this.”

“I’m keeping well back.” 

Brave Tim the plucky decided to go forward and open the gate whilst his friends hid behind a corner. As he opened the doors the familiar laughing boomed from the gargoyle on his left, and the one on his right animated, turned and snapped its fingers. Only there was a slight difference to the animation this time, the finger emitted a sickly purple light that span out into the corpses on the floor. The bodies began to quiver and moan and William’s charred corpse sat up and lunged at the halfling. 

“Retreat!”

And TIm ran as fast as his tiny legs could carry him back to his comrades as the zombies lurched up, including the pair of legs which frequently fell on its buttocks. Arrows rained into the shambling creatures.  Julian and Ralf Lionsword dashed forward to meet them, blades flashing like lightning. The legs of Gwen delivered a swift kick to the sea-dogs gonads. 

“Haha, I may have only one leg, but I lost my balls to a sea-turtle bite thirty years ago, better luck next time!” 

Clyde the asthetic raised his cross and called down the forces of Law, but his prayers were not met by the grace of heaven. Not yet anyway. But after a few moments the reanimated carcasses of their comrades were dispatched. Antoine grabbed a hold of them and threw them down the slopes towards the moat. 

“Second time lucky.” The party entered the grand entrance doors, and the gargoyles animated again, and then the party could hear the degenerate moans from the corpses down near the moat. Feeling confident that the zombies wouldn’t be able to climb up the slope, the party entered the large entrance hall. The directions they’d received from the templar ghost had pointed to the south west, where they were to reconsecrate a chapel. 

The party entered a large room, in the west there was a doorway and a staircase leading up. Inside the room were two tables, one held surgical tools and blood splattered rags, the other had a soiled boiling pot and tallow candles upon it. Evidently some fiend had been rendering the fat of men to produce perfumed candles; lilac and juniper, delightful. The party swiped all this booty. 

A lantern was lit and Sindri crawled on his belly through the door. He found a T-junction and looked around. He smelt old hay and something foul. He crawled back. The party decided to try the stairs. Sindri checked the walls for a secret door whilst plucky Mr. Kaufman journeyed upstairs on his own. The others stood guard at the doors. 

Upstairs Tim found another door with a crack in it. He heard the scrambling of rats, and smelt something sweet with an undertone of rot. Peering through the crack he saw a dark corridor, and in the shadow a pale face staring back. He ran back to the party, described what he’d seen, and they returned up the stairs together. Clyde and Ralf took the lead. They opened the door and saw a bust in the shadow, looking into the face of a templar, Médard Malévol himself, Clyde felt nearly overwhelmed with a sense of righteous zeal, but steadied himself. He heard the voice in his head of the ancient templar. “Why are you not completing my quest?” 

“We are my lord, we are looking for the chapel.”

“Then go below.”

The party followed the instructions. And went back down the stair, and west through the door into the dank corridor, then about forty feet south they found an arched door, the cross above this door had been defaced. Claude hung a holy symbol there, the first move in his attempt to reconsecrate the area. 

The party walked in and found a large, fine chapel, but it was covered in dust and cobwebs, the rows of pews were dilapidated, the altar had been cracked. The high cross had been sundered and inverted, it now hung upside down from a chain on the wall. Despicable. 

As the party moved towards the altar, they heard chanting from the priests hole to the East of the altar, and many robed individuals marched out before the altar. Their evil forked tongues chanted in a language that only Sindri could understand, the tongue of Chaos. 

They ceased their chant and beaconed to the transgressors. 

“Come, childe, come kneel before the sundered shrine to Law, come and take oaths to the dark ones and hear their sultry whispers. May the worm turn and crush all.” 

The party stood in panic and looked at each other. Sindri walked to the line of wretched monks. Up close he saw that their faces were rotting, skulls exposed, white jellied eyes peered down at him with malice. A clawed hand fell on his shoulder and forced him to one knee before the upturned cross. 

“What offering shall be made to the dark ones childe, loose your lips and spill the secret of your hate, what shall be consumed?”

“The lives of my friends.” The elf whispered to the rotting figure, and its blackened mouth spread into what might be considered a smile. 

As these robbed figures were consecrating the elf, the rest of the party burst into action, taking the moment of distraction to their advantage. Ralf, Anotin and Julian charged into the robed figures that coddled the elf with their cold, razor sharp fingers. Clyde raised his symbol and called down divine intervention. Tim, the ever quick, dashed atop the pews and with pumping legs leapt over the hooded heads of the monks and dashed atop the altar. He grabbed the high cross and tried to pull it from the chain. 

Blades flew and sung. Antoin took a razor sharp claw to the chest, Ralf struck true with his blade. The halfling managed to turn over the cross and held it high overhead. Clyde felt the divine light descend, and his holy symbol reflected the light from the window with a cutting brilliance, bouncing between the high cross and his own. Two of the creatures fled shrieking in pain. The rest  of the foul cretins were engaged in combat with the fighters, and within a few moments were dispatched. 

Guard positions were taken up, Clyde cleaned up what he could, poured holy water over the altar and said a full mass. The cracked altar reknit itself back together, and the high cross refused with its station. The windows glowed brightly and Clyde knew that forces of good had been powerfully evoked. Then, full of zeal, he and Sindri went into the priests hole east of the altar, to hunt down the fleeing monks. 

During that time Tim Kaufman looked at the altar, set into the stone was a fine cross shaped ammonite fossil, very beautiful. He touched it, and was assaulted with visions of a primordial battle between the lord of Law, the true God, and hoards of demons. This sent his mind into a gross state of paranoia and insanity, but he felt divinely inspired and his vigour grew. He would be ever changed by these visions. 

In the next room the party found a decadent boudoir. Silk pillows, raunchy texts, a tapestry of dryads and nymphs engaging in coitus, there was also a foul painting of a sausage fingered dark lord. Behind this painting were many fine health potions. And behind the tapestry they found a secret chamber with casks of fine wine. They rolled up the tapestry and rolled out the barrels. Treasure is treasure. 

In the north they found another room where the creatures hid. They dispatched them quickly, and found another silver cross hanging upside down, Tim touched this, attempting to turn it upright, but it turned instantly black. The cross crumbled into a soot like dust, and he was lanced with terrible pain as black veins crawled up his arm towards his heart. He collapsed and was aided by Clyde back to the chapel. Clyde was overcome with a sense of holiness, and heard in his head the voice of the ancient Templar, “receive your reward at my bust.”

The party rolled their treasure to the front door, making a quick stop off upstairs, where the bust had vanished, and in its place a large templars shield. A kite shield with a white cross on a black field. This was swept up in the goodly hands of Clyde; DUES VULT! 

The barrels were rolled, tapestries were carried, bottles were pilfered, and over a long four day trek back to Tours en Savoy the party had returned with their biggest pile of loot yet. 

Judges note 

This session marks the halfway point of the campaign, amazingly there were no PC deaths this time, and after taking such a large haul back to town we had the first level up of the campaign. Tim Kaufman is now level two, congratulations. The party now have a couple of magic items in their possession and an ally within the castle. I’m excited to see what they do next, well done gang!  

Four Corpses on Mauve Velvet

Characters 

Arthur – Cleric 1 – A weak armed bible basher. 

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

Gwen – Thief 1 – A lithe assassin in the making. 

William – Fighter 1 – A confident middle-aged warrior, scruffy and brave. 

Baptiste – Light footman – working for Gwen. 

Later 

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 1 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident. 

Sindri – Elf 1 – a cloaked and broody lord. 

“We have to find another entrance into that place, the cleric in the basement hates my guts, and the ghostly butler is mad we took his papers, the grand entrance is suicide!” 

“Let’s use that gondola we found in the satyr pavilion.”

“What about the giant dinosaur looking monster in the lake?”

“This bell we found should take care of it.” 

So it was decided. The party marched up the valley, and what a lovely march it was too, the summer being finally upon them. A gentle breeze up the mountain pushed them along. The daylight had increased, and that meant after two days of marching they arrived earlier than usual, and sunset would be a long way off. 

Rather than camping in the vicinity of the castle, which had been growing more and more dangerous, the party headed straight for the pavilion. The rope they attached last time was hanging loose in the river. Resourceful thief Gwen hooked it and reattached it. They were over the deep waters in no time. 

William began to sing to the statue as had been done before, the rest of the party keeping watch nervously. The statue animated, piped its song and then its plinth clacked open revealing a black lacquered gondola adorned with a female figurehead, fangs protruding from her mouth. 

The party donned the captured robes and masks, then dragged the boat to the shore below the looming castle, boarded, and shoved off.

“This is much faster than walking!” And so it was, especially with the burly William and Baptiste as oarsmen. 

The party noticed on the eastern walls of Xyntillan, high atop jagged cliffs, two large towers. Between these towers, around eighty foot off the waters face, was a gargoyle railed balcony. No windows appeared on this side of the castle – ominous. 

“Towards that lake tower!” 

They rowed towards a massive lake tower connected to the castle via an arched bridge. They circled this and took a quick look at the southern side of the castle, the part that faced the lake. They saw a garden above a water rampart. Interesting, but they were more interested in the lake tower. 

Running down from the lake towers bridge and into the water was a huge chain. This looked very interesting. The party examined it, and at the chains end, down in the waters, was a box or crate was attached. The party attached the boat to the pillar of the bridge after some faffing around with arrows, then, one by one, they climbed the chain onto the bridge.

Atop the bridge the chain was attached to some sort of winch, perhaps an old repurposed catapult. The lake tower had a huge bronze door decorated with three equal armed cross. 

Before they had a chance to play with the winch a roar echoed from the lake, and a thrashing in the water revealed a long reptilian neck snaking up and squinting at them. 

“Thar she blows! Nessie is upon us!” 

The creature began swimming towards the bridge, spittle flying from its cerated mouth, its devilish black eyes full of hunger. 

The party charged through the door into the lake tower, all except Gwen who hid next to the winch and began ringing the hand bell. The creature began to slow to identify where the ringing was coming from. 

The tower door flew inward and the party saw a high vaulted temple, four wide columns led to a high altar of black stone. Atop this was a bronze statue of a goat headed man, his naked torso had the breasts of a woman, his legs were crossed. It’s right hand pointed up in benediction, but the left was downward, holding a crescent moon shaped weapon. The walls of this temple were painted with frescoes of goat riding templars jousting and engaging in unspeakable evils. 

A ghost up in the rafters called out to them “Dark ones, see what you have done to the temple of the templars.” His anger was plain. He floated towards them. 

Outside, Gwen still rang the bell, but nessie swam under the bridge, then, in a moment of horror its head reared up behind the thief. 

“Clever girl” was all the would be assassin could say before the large maw chomped her in half. 

Inside the temple Donna threw off her cultists disguise, “We are not evil sire, we come in the name of law.” The others joined her in this. Soon the ancient templar calmed and began to weep at the state of his families evil legacy. 

“We did not go on crusade to fall to same evils that we sought to destroy!” 

He gave the party a quest, to find a chapel in the South of the castle, on the ground floor, and to reconsecrate it. The party happily accepted. Arthur was told that a special cape lay in a room to the north. 

“Now, lets take a closer look at that weapon in the statues hand.” 

William approached it with a cloak in hand. He moved close and grasped the strange crescent shaped discus. But as he did, the green eyes of the statue glimmered, and its nose shot out a clump of green slime. William screamed out, but was not quick enough to avoid the goo. It squirted onto his chest and began dissolving his armour. 

“Help help!” The brave warrior cried. He began to run to the door, maybe jumping into the water would help, but he was stopped by the ghostly templar who told him fire was the cure, then he vanished. 

Donna pulled out her lantern oil and dowsed her writhing friend, then lit it up. Unfortunately William was consumed by the sizzling ooze, and then by the flames. RIP. 

The party took a quick breather, taking in all this chaos. 

Arthur explored to the north, finding a cloak room, and inside a very fine templar cloak that was double sided. He put this on. The others found another room and swiped some very big ecclesiastical candle sticks. 

Two adventurers burst through the door just then, Halfling Tim Kaufman and Sindri the elf. They’d just escaped some zombies. The party made their acquaintance and soon accepted them into their ranks. It was time to go up to the second level. 

Up the stone stairs the party was met with a long corridor lined with statues of the saints. They moved cautiously, and in the face of Saint Cyprian they saw two fine rubies set as eyes. Mr. Kaufman delicately popped these out, he’ll surely make for a fine burglar. 

As they proceeded down the corridor, they heard the tapping of footsteps behind them. Sindri and Baptiste twirled around, and were toe to toe with a masked killer. Dressed in black this swarthy madman plunged his dagger into Baptiste’s breast, killing him instantly. Sindri fell back, and the two clerics Donna and Arthur charged the dark assassin. But alas, they were no match, and with a shimmering swipe and a razor sharp slash the two clerics were dead. They’d managed to wound the attacker however, who then moved towards Mr. Kaufman and Sindri, wiping clean the dagger with his black gloved hand. Crash, slash, the fight was over in a matter of seconds, Sindri had taken the huge ecclesiastical candle stick and caved the killers head in. 

“Time to leave I think.” 

In a mad rush that’s what the two survivors did, down into the temple, and out onto the bridge, they quickly climbed down the chain, boarded the boat they’d been told about and rowed off. 

Just then, a roar cam from the bastion of the castle. A huge hairy creature with horns like a demon peered down at them with contempt, its long cape flowing like a river of mauve along the parapets. Go, go, go, they rowed as quickly as their arms allowed. 

“Intruders!” The creature roared, and like a lion it raced along the embrasures of the castle and leapt down onto the bridge with a crash. The party just caught glimpse of the beastly thing, standing nearly eight foot tall, a hideous yellow eyed face above a full cravat. It ripped up a gargoyle as though it were a loaf of bread, and dashed this into the lake. 

“Phew!” The two survivors rowed down the river, and made it back to town in record time. 

What will they do next? 

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?