Tomes and Times, part nine

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 9 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

Tomes and Times, part eight

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 8 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

Seawell: wreckers!

  Mr. Barky is in a sorry state, but still mobile. Luckily, the bolt is fairly easy to remove. They decide to leave him in the undergrowth here, keeping watch for anyone following them and nursing his wound.

  Lawson cautions against too much hurry in case of an ambush, so they proceed at a swift stride, keeping fairly close to the dunes to minimise their exposure. Down by the water’s edge, they notice considerable amounts of worked wood washed up alongside the usual natural debris. Fhastina’s sharp eyes spot a body sprawled unmoving in the rocks; after a hurried debate they decide to keep going, anxious to investigate the tower before any alarm can be raised. They keep a close watch behind them. Approaching the tower, they notice that the nearby landscape slopes up considerably, so the dunes form a backdrop to the tower; from the sea it would be quite hard to notice it was even here. The Professor sends Cedric soaring ahead to wheel over the tower, but senses nothing more than mild irritation at still being awake in the daytime. It should be safe to approach.

  The tower is a tall, rather ramshackle wooden construction, though none of them have the engineering skill to deduce more than that. It seems to be built around a single central pole, nearly sixty feet high, and mostly consists of stairs and ladders spiralling up around it to a platform at the top. There is brief discussion about who should go up first, until Lawson sighs resignedly and starts to make his cautious and creaking way up the tower, shield raised against any unexpected attack. Elefthenea keeps a watch on the dunes, while the others follow Lawson. As they ascend, they realise that the central pole is a single treetrunk, which has many symbols in crude Draconic carved lightly into its bark, not deep enough to cause any harm. Raylin isn’t familiar enough with lizardfolk beliefs to make much of them, but they seem definitely devotional in nature. At the top they find a bronze dish nearly two metres across, tightly secured to the tower and full of wood ash. Combined with the massacre at the lighthouse, it seems conclusive evidence that wreckers are at work. They hurry back down and discuss the matter with Elefthenea. She examines the tree and quickly deduces that it must have been very old. It must have come from some distance into the forest; there’s only scrub nearby. Fhastina has a look around, and though the sand is soft and shifting, she manages to discern a vague trail where people have come to and from the tower over the dunes.

  The next question is what to do about the wreckers’ tower. They’re keen to put it out of use, but the problem is, how? The Professor is keen to burn it, but there’s no fuel left in the bowl. In any case, even if they could get it alight, the column of smoke would attract attention from miles around; though it would certainly slow down the wreckers even if they do rebuild it. Raylin suggests simply tipping the bowl from the top, but Fhastina points out that it would be a pretty noisy impact and they’re still trying to be discreet. In any case, what’s to stop them simply dragging it back to the top? At last they decide to leave the place for now, and come back to it if necessary. Since there aren’t any guards here it shouldn’t be too difficult to destroy later. They drag the reluctant Professor away and go to examine the body on the shore, leaving Lawson on watch.

  The corpse turns out to be a fairly nondescript man in common sailor’s garb, who looks like a Culchite, though apparently not one local enough to have escaped the reef. The body has clearly been in the water for at least a day, and is in a bad state. Fhastina drags it above the tidemark and Raylin says a few prayers over it, before removing the man’s sea-charm necklace in case they can locate his family. There’s not much else they can do for him now.

  Unwilling to venture over the dunes in case they run into an ambush, they decide to retrace their steps to meet up with Mr. Barky. The wolf is pleased to see Elefthenea again, and seems somewhat better after his rest. They head out to the point where they met the wreckers’ patrol, and check the trail. It seems that the wreckers were following an established patrol route a little distance away, and came to investigate when they heard something suspicious. The trail shows repeated passage of small groups over a number of weeks, though it’s not well-worn enough to be a proper path. Since most of the prints are heading roughly towards the tower, they decide it’s a circular route and decide to proceed parallel to the tracks, keeping a wary eye out for the wreckers they met earlier. However, about half an hour has passed, so it seems most likely those men have returned to their base.

  The land is scrubby and provides moderate cover, but they move quietly and carefully to minimise the risks. They're pretty stealthy, except for the noise of Elefthenea fussing over Mr. Barky's injured leg. The wolf exudes a long-suffering air curiously reminiscent of the one worn by Lawson. Cedric turns his head backwards from his position on the Professor's shoulder to peer back at him. Mr. Barky shoots him a look that the observant passer-by, with a little knowledge of lupine psychology, might venture to translate along the lines of “elves, eh?”. After few hundred yards, Elefthenea looks up long enough to spot a disturbed area nearby and they head off to examine it. There are signs of a scuffle here, with snapped branches on the bushes, and the confused marks of both booted and lizardfolk feet. A broken javelin is embedded in the ground. Apparently the wreckers have had some trouble with the locals. Raylin suggests that the vandalism they’ve seen might explain the antagonism.

  “Perhaps that tree we saw was some kind of totem pole,” offers the Professor.
  “We might be able to return it, and... improve diplomatic relations,” suggests Elefthenea, who is more used to the wilderness than discussing politics. “And you know, that’s another reason why it’s probably not a good idea to burn it.”
  “Yes, I suppose so,” he agrees, a little begrudgingly.

  A little further on, there is a break in the undergrowth due to sandier soil, and Fhastina notices the earth has been disturbed. On closer inspection, there are a number of spots that seem to have been dug up recently. They are portentously person-sized, and unmarked. They briefly wonder whether these are human or lizardfolk graves, as nobody can remember what it is lizardfolk do with their dead. In the end, they decide it doesn’t matter much. A skirmish has occurred and someone won; this seems like the closest spot where it would be easy to dig graves. Digging them up wouldn’t really help the adventurers decide what to do next.

  By this stage, Raylin is quite keen to try and contact the lizardfolk. If there’s animosity between them and the wreckers, perhaps they could help her group, or at least give them more information about what’s going on. Fhastina, being a soldier, is rather more cautious. If the lizardfolk are hostile to hominids, they might not get much chance to explain themselves. They decide that it’s a good idea in principle, but would need careful handling. For the moment, they choose to keep following the tracks and see what they can learn.

  As they reach a point that Elefthenea guesses is roughly parallel to the wooden tower, more patrol routes begin to fork into the one they’re following. Examining the tracks, they decide that they’re probably near the origin point of the patrols. Most likely, groups of wreckers come out of a base and split off into several different routes, probably looking out for lizardfolk. The unified trail passes into a hillocky region with a fair bit of cover. Stealth is now a crucial matter. Elefthenea and Fhastina, being the sharp-eyed elves, start to slip forward and sneak through the undergrowth to the top of one of the rises. As they arrive, they see a clearing has been made in a little glen, with the undergrowth hacked back and burned clear. In the centre is a small camp with a sturdy wooden fence around it.

  “They’ve cleared the bushes so nobody can sneak up on them,” whispers Fhastina. “It’ll give them time to sound the alarm before anyone can reach the fence.”

Their position gives them a reasonable view, but the fence and camp buildings make it hard to make out much detail without venturing into the open. The buildings seem to be simple bivouacs or tents reinforced with branches, perhaps to stop them blowing away if the sea breezes get too strong. There are four or five figures visible around the camp, all of whom seem to be armed. A couple are working on the fence, and another doing something with a heap of crates and boxes; salvage from a wreck, it would seem. Chickens peck and scratch around the place. There are presumably pack animals somewhere in the camp as well; the mules from the lighthouse compound were missing. The two elves circle around the camp to get a better look, and notice two figures leaving a shelter and heading off out of the camp along a patrol route. Judging from the size of the camp, there could be anywhere from ten to twenty residents, and it must have taken quite a few to build the camp and tower in the first place. They slip back to their comrades without apparently attracting any attention.

  “Tents?” says the Professor. “Those burn very well. How are we off for flaming arrows?”

  There is a brief pause, while everyone looks sternly at the gnome. Elefthenea explains that it’s not really clear how many wreckers there are, but they’re clearly ready to defend themselves. Of course, it’s hard to say how many are actually in the base, and how many are on patrol. If the men they disturbed earlier have returned to the camp, perhaps they’re all out searching for the adventurers.

  They fall to debating what to do next. The four main options seem to be destroying the tower; attacking the camp; trying to waylay one of the patrols; and trying to contact the lizardfolk. Raylin favours the latter, since she’s much more comfortable with diplomacy and discussion than with fighting people. None of them are especially keen on launching a frontal attack on the camp before they know much more.

  “History tells us that in battle, smaller numbers of attackers are generally unsuccessful,” points out the Professor.

  At the moment, even if the bandits know they’re here, all they’ve seen are two figures possibly associated with a wolf: who knows how they’ll interpret that? They might just have been hunters annoyed at the wreckers trying to pinch their kill. However, taking any drastic action will certainly tell the wreckers what’s going on, which means burning down the tower may not be the best strategy. It seems that the next step is to watch the patrols and see if there’s a good opportunity to eliminate one...

Seawell: the lighthouse

  The lighthouse compound is like a small fort, with a wooden palisade surrounding several huts and leading out to the lighthouse itself. There’s no sign of smoke and no obvious damage to the compound; on the other hand, there’s no sign of activity either. They head down and knock at the gate. Nothing. A push shows that it’s open, and they quickly find that it’s been forced. The sandy ground doesn’t show much, but there are some scuff-marks. More strikingly, the compound is shockingly empty. The supplies, tools and livestock that should be here are prominently absent, and all is quiet except for the crooning of gulls overhead. Even the barracks is empty, and storage chests lie open on the floor. All eyes are drawn to the lighthouse, whose door swings gently in the salty breeze.

  The Professor, Morgan and Lawson wait in the compound to guard the horses, worried that something might be lurking here. Fhastina is the stealthiest, disdaining armour, and she pads upstairs as silently as the night. There are sinister dark patches on the steps, leading up into a room on the second floor. She beckons Elefthenea after her, and the two elves stand listening. There’s not a sound, but a faint and unwelcome scent tells them what’s inside. Pushing the door carefully open, they find six bodies piled in a heap. Boxes seem to have been stacked up against the door, but lie toppled nearby. They don’t care to examine the bodies too closely, and there’s little need, but crossbow bolts produce plainly from some of them. A bare arm sprawled across the floor looks curiously charred. Not even Raylin can do anything for these poor souls. It seems unlikely that anything’s still lurking here, and they hurry upstairs to examine the light itself. Before they even reach it, the scent of oil rises strongly to their nostrils. Glass crunches under their feet as they step into the room, and find both the lamps and the mirrors shattered.

  Peering from the top of the lighthouse, they see the dunes and scrubland stretch out around them. About a mile away to the east, a tall spindly structure seems to sprout from the shoreline. It’s too far to make out what it is, but neither Fhastina nor Morgan has seen it before. That seems like the most obvious spot to investigate next. They decide to approach warily, circling around through the scrub to avoid detection.

  They quickly fettle a repair to the compound gate, and Morgan remains behind with the horses, watching from the top of the tower for any hostile approach. The others strike out through the undergrowth, crouching and even crawling when necessary. Unfortunately, neither the Professor nor Lawson is particularly subtle, and their voices carry rather well on the sea breeze. Only a warning from the owl circling far above gives them time to duck back into the bushes as someone approaches. Watching for a while, they see two figures walking slowly along a rough trail, heading vaguely towards the camp. They seem watchful and wary, and carry weaponlike objects by their sides. Hoping to reassure them, Elefthenea persuades Mr. Barky to trot slowly out of cover; only a wild animal, after all!

  “Yes, one of those dune wolves one reads about,” mutters the Professor.

  The figures pause and watch the wolf as he pads softly through the dunes; then one of them smoothly raises a weapon to its chest. Before anyone can react, there is a faint distant click, and an anguished howl splits the air, before Mr. Barky scrabbles off into thicker cover, a crossbow bolt protruding from his right shoulder. A shout of triumph follows.

  Everyone grabs for a weapon. While Fhastina and Lawson begin scurrying round for a better angle of attack, the civilians leap to their feet with crossbows raised and Rayling bellows a furious order to stop. Suddenly confronted with three armed opponents where a stray wolf used to be, and having just discharged their crossbows, the figures gawp in amazement for a moment; then they turn and bolt into the undergrowth, and are quickly lost to sight. Nobody feels like shooting down a fleeing opponent, and the figures aren’t headed for the tower, at least for the moment. Raylin points out that, unlikely as it seems, they might just have been hunters. Nevertheless, it’s time to get a move on in case anyone raises the alarm; just as soon as they make sure Mr. Barky is still in one piece.

Seawell: to the lighthouse

  In the morning, there’s still no sign of the delegates. The Duchess's agents rise at dawn and meet with Iniatar, who has arranged everything for the expedition. Fresh horses (and a donkey for the Professor) are loaded up with provisions, and a local hunter named Morgan has agreed to guide them through the swamps. Hopefully his experience can keep them from falling foul of the lizardfolk. Talking to Morgan, they get the distinct impression that lizardfolk occasionally fall foul of him, but keep any misgivings to themselves.

  Morgan gives them a quick précis of the journey ahead of them. The peninsula is split by a river, which floods much of the area during the rainy season, but is fairly narrow just now. It’s not very deep, so easy to ford. The terrain is boggy with clumps of trees and small lakes; towards the coast it slowly turns into scrubland and then sand. The latter parts of the journey should be safe enough, but the swamps are home to snakes and crocodiles, let alone the endless insects. The lizardfolk are another problem; they’re unpredictable and each tribe is different, so it’s hard to say what they might do.

  After a quick meal, they head off. It takes about an hour to leave the farmland and head into the wilderness beyond. Despite the recent storms, it’s relatively dry and they make good progress. After a few hours’ riding, Fhastina’s mind is lulled by the motion of the horse, and she doesn’t notice a boa hanging from a branch. It snaps at her as she passes, but she flinches away just in time and it slithers off, disappointed. Clouds of flies pester everyone, and the Professor grumbles a great deal about the lack of suitable magic for discouraging biting insects. Something to research for future missions.

  It’s dark by the time they reach the shores of the river. They find a good spot to make camp for the night, some distance away. Lighting a fire only seems likely to attract attention, and it’s quite a warm night. Morgan stays up for a while to fish, and catches some nice plump eels. The Professor assures them that Cedric can keep watch, so having seen no sign of people, they don’t worry too much.

  They’re awakened in the small hours by the terrified screaming of their horses. Elefthenea plucks a fruit from the tree she’s kipping in and throws it towards the sound, muttering a spell as she does. The apple bursts into light, revealing a leopard clinging to the throat of Lawson’s horse, which is bloody and on its knees. They scramble for weapons. Irritated at having his sleep disturbed, the Professor strides up impatiently and starts chanting, while strange lights circle around him. The leopard releases its grip on the horse, and both animals stare in fascination at the wizard.

  There’s a rapid muttered conversation about what to do. The Professor can only keep the leopard’s interest for so long, and even if Elefthenea tries to send it away it’ll probably be drawn back by the scent of blood. They need to kill it or drive it off. Morgan slinks up to it, shortsword in hand, and makes a sudden leap for its throat. The cat springs aside, so the hunter falls flat on the floor and buries his blade into the moss. His embarrassment turns to pain as the leopard shows him how the thing is done, leaping atop him and worrying at his leather-clad back, while he frantically protects his head with his gauntlets. A crossbow bolt grazes the leopard and evokes a pained hiss. Moments later, a second furry figure crashes into the cat and both go rolling away into the trees. There are crashing sounds, and after a while Mr. Barky trots smugly back into the camp, while something else fades away into the forest. Raylin has to call on the Goddess to heal both Morgan and the horse, which is on its last legs. Careful tending overnight and further prayers leave both strong enough to continue the journey the next morning.

  They eye the river cautiously, but there’s no obvious sign of crocodiles or snakes. The crocodiles are more likely lurking in the remaining deep lakes. It takes about twenty minutes to cross the shallow waters, leading their horses. The Professor, who would find himself chin-deep in the water, elects to stay mounted. Partway across the river, his donkey is bitten by something and starts to flail, but the Professor manages to keep his balance and make the journey safely. Mr. Barky, swimming across, is nearly swept away by a strong current, but his mistress catches hold of his scruff and strolls serenely on, horse in the left hand and wolf in the right.

  Both Morgan and Fhastina manage to lose their footing and go sprawling in the river, coming up sodden and muddy. Lawson gives a long-suffering glance to the druid and mutters something under his breath about provincial amateurs.

  Reaching the other side in comparative safety, they soon find traces of people. The trails show signs of deliberate clearing, and there are clawed footprints in muddy places. After a while, they encounter a series of trees that have been carefully carved with markings in draconic script. Between them, they interpret them as lizardfolk boundary-markers, showing the outer extend of tribal hunting-grounds. They proceed with caution, but the Professor's donkey is pained by its injury and lets out occasional loud brays that send birds skittering for cover.

  A little later on, as they pick their way across a bog, Fhastina’s keen eyes spot a figure watching them from a rise in the distance. Its posture marks it out as a lizardfolk. It doesn’t move, but watches them until they disappear out of sight. Raylin suggests going to talk to it, but the others argue it’s best not to get involved with the lizardfolk if they don’t have to. Who knows what might be going on? They don’t want to get mixed up in any tribal wars.

  Approaching the coast, the swamps slowly fade into scrubby forest, and the soil becomes firmer and sandier. They find another string of boundary markers; but these have been hacked away and nearly obliterated. The damage is clearly recent. The soft mud shows bootprints heading down a trail perpendicular to their path. The adventurers are quite concerned by this apparent vandalism, but decide it’s best to press on, rather than heading off on a tangent. The lighthouse is close and they might be able to solve the puzzle quickly. The forest gives way to bushes, and then to dunes peppered with sharp marram grass. As they carefully rise over a high dune, the compound comes into view.

Seawell: arrival and signs of trouble

  The storm has cleared up, and they head off early towards Seawell, having easily found the road. It’s a fairly easy journey, and they see little but the odd group of traders, a couple of hunters and some wildlife. Once they leave the valleys for the coastal plains, they pass farmers and small villages by the wayside. They pause briefly for a quick meal at a farmhouse. Eventually they reach the first turnpike for Seawell, watched by two guards. They present their papers and signet ring, and are waved through, with instructions to call in at the garrison when they arrive. They pass two watchtowers (a precaution against bandits and raiders) before the road winds down to the town itself. It’s a pretty, well-situated port town, with perhaps two thousand residents and strong palisade walls that speak eloquently of pirates. Murals and mosaics lend a touch of colour between the elegant columns of the public buildings, and two small aqueducts arc across the walls from hillside streams. The town is apparently designed to impress, probably to bolster its standing as a trading port. There are two temples, one for the Pantheon, another dedicated to the gods and spirits of the sea, and Raylin mutters about the superstition of the coastal people. They quickly find the garrison, whose sturdy stone construction, watchtower and slit windows are unmistakable.

  Reporting to the watch officer, they are left in the care of Fhastina, an elven guardswoman. She arranges for their mounts to be cared for, their baggage stowed and offers water to wash their feet. Lawson gives a brief account of the tomb they discovered, and their encounter with the bandits; the authorities need to keep an eye on the place. Fhastina informs them that as well as the arrival of the emissaries, the town is on edge because of tension with the local lizardfolk, who live on the adjacent peninsula. Hunters and herb-gathers in the swamps have been confronted and menaced by the lizardfolk, but they lacked a common language, so it’s not clear what’s going on. The guards are on extra duties until things settle down. There also hasn’t been as much trade as usual for the last few days, but that may be down to the violent storms they’ve been having; nevertheless, it’s a worry for a trading port.

  They hand over the treasure for examination and assessment, before heading off to wash. Raylin goes to the Pantheon temple, makes her obeisances, and strikes up a conversation with an old friend who is now one of the priests here. Soon they’re deep into the technicalities and politics of the faith - mostly the latter. Lawson appears briefly to make the appropriate sacrifices for a safe journey (Raylin gives him an approving glance), then heads back to the garrison to chat with the guards and check his gear.

  After their rest, they meet the local merchants’ guild secretary, Fencher, a serious and slightly nervous man with greying hair. He explains that the emissaries’ ship will have been delayed by the story, but are expected that evening or tomorrow morning, and invites the group to join the guild for their evening meal (they accept). They learn a bit more about the local situation from him and Fhastina. The town lies on one side of a swampy peninsula, sheltered at its base and in a perfect position for fishing and trade. The peninsula itself is no good for farming, and home to a tribe of lizardfolk; they’re quite territorial, and people only enter the swamps when hunting or seeking unusual plants. However, the other side of the peninsula is filled with dangerous reefs that make sailing a hazardous business, so a lighthouse has been erected on that side to help trading ships make the journey safely. A six-man crew operates and guards the lighthouse, changing over once a month; it’s been two weeks since the last change. Since then, the lizardfolk have become unfriendly and nobody’s dared to go far into the swamplands, especially after a couple of hunters disappeared. Local sailors have started to report that the lighthouse hasn’t been lit at night, though it’s not a problem for them. The group discuss the possibility of sending an expeditionary party to check the lighthouse, but realise that meeting the emissaries as agreed is their immediate priority. There are only thirty guards in the town, and none can easily be spared for a dangerous errand if the town might be in danger of attack.

  Professor Godalming decides to visit some of the local scholars to learn more about the lizardfolk, which he hasn’t really encountered before. In particular, he’s interested in their knowledge of illusion magic, and the superstitions they have that might be of use in a confrontation. Fencher introduces the diminutive wizard to Aloysius, a well-respected citizen and considerable landowner, who prides himself on his library. He’s happy to help a fellow-scholar, and once the fine wine and fresh dates have been brought in, they settle down to an enjoyable afternoon amongst the racks of scrolls. The Professor finds that the lizardfolk are primitive and reclusive beings, with little grasp of arcane magic and only simple minds. They produce simple canoes for transport, but generally prefer to swim. Their culture is animist, and many tribes place great importance on ancestor and nature spirits. There is little record of them being actively hostile, but they seem quite protective of their territory.

  Elefthenea heads down to the quayside and settles down to watch the sea, glad of the chance to soak up some nature. The dockers give her a wide berth, and she spends a few hours pleasantly listening to the waves, admiring the seabirds, and even spotting a dolphin in the distance.

  Once evening comes, they head over to the grand, bepillared guildhall and sit outside in the peaceful court for a delicious meal, looking out over the shore. The guildmistress is a decisive elfess named Iniatar, who engages them in pleasant conversation over their meal. Afterwards, they sit out in the twilight, entertained by a few musicians and dancers. After a while, a guard slips quietly in and speaks with Iniatar, who follows him outside. Soon afterwards, she returns and draws the group aside with her to a private room.

  A couple of disturbing reports have come through. Trade from the west has been thin in the last week, which they put down to the weather and chance, and perhaps a lack of piety amongst the citizenry. However, a ship has just returned from a week-long voyage north, and pulled in a sailor’s body and some flotsam on its way to Seawell. Of course, ships do sink, and the weather has been bad recently. More worryingly, a fishing boat ventured west yesterday evening to take a look at the lighthouse. Not only was there no sign of its light, but in the small hours there was unmistakably a large fire burning on the coast; he daren’t venture very close due to the reefs and the poor weather, but suspected it was a ship. The Professor asks her to pass on his commendations to the captain for this show of initiative.

  All those signs together are a strong indication that something is wrong at the lighthouse, and the emissaries are undoubtedly in danger. Iniatar has already asked the guards to send a messenger for more aid, but it’s urgent that something be done immediately. As agents of the Duchess, they are the obvious people to handle such an expedition, and they have a wide range of skills to cope with whatever awaits them. Since Iniatar is a merchant rather than a general, she hands over command of the expedition to Fhastina, who has been to the lighthouse before and knows the peninsula moderately well from serving two years in the guard here.

  The others are willing enough to make the attempt, and realise how important it is to avert any threat to the emissaries. However, they ask whether any guards can be spared for the trip. Iniatar says she’ll have to consider it and speak with the guard captain. She offers a boat to drop them off within a few miles of the lighthouse, but considering the trouble boats are having, they don’t want to risk it; a trek across the swamps seems safer, and they should be fairly dry at this time of year.

  It’s too late to do anything tonight, so they plan and make preparations, then hurry to catch a good night’s rest ready for an early start. If the emissaries arrive overnight, all well and good; otherwise they’ll be ready to leave.

Tomes and Times, part seven

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 7 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

Tomes and Times, part six

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 6 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

Tomes and Times, part five

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 5 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

Tomes and Times, part four

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 4 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

The road to Seawell: Ozymandias

  Having recovered from the worst of the poison, Raylin takes advantage of the rest to heal Lawson, who’s taken a few blows over the course of their fights. Divine power replenishes his strength and halts the flow of blood. Despite many misgivings, they decide it’s time to see what’s lurking behind the last and grandest of the stone doors. As with the three others, its magical ward seems to have been broken by the storm, and it leans precariously against an imposing frame. A gentle tug is enough to swing it aside, to thud against the wall and rest there.

  The room inside is large, grand – and occupied. Heavy spiral-carved columns jut upwards, apparently more decorative than functional. The stone walls are inlaid with panels of etched bronze, still highly polished and free of green patina despite the march of time. Dozens of spears are piled along the walls, each broken carefully in half. In the centre stands a large stone slab, and a large figure is stretched out on it. Coins, nuggets and gold dust have been poured over the bier, and spilled out onto the floor beneath. The creature is clad in a long robe and many ornate cloth belts. Its face is goblinlike, but it is far larger than any goblin, and has a mane of coarse hair. It looks dry and withered, but otherwise intact.

  “This is very interesting!” remarks the Professor. “I’m fairly sure this is what they call a ‘bugbear’. Their civilisation was quite prominent in Thelos at one time, but they vanished centuries ago. I’ve seen a few other bugbear antiquities, but this one is remarkably well-preserved.”

  Raylin is beginning to feel somewhat jaded, and sense a certain inevitability to the creature’s remarkable state of preservation. The room tingles with old magic. Taking a firm grip on her sword, she strides over to the corpse, and seeing an eyelid twitch she stabs it with all her strength. It emits a low, gasping croak and slowly heaves itself off the bier. Raylin calls on the gods to destroy the creature, and it cowers back as brilliant light washes over it, searing its flesh. Interposing his armoured self between the mummy and the lightly-armoured priestess, Lawson manages to trip it over with a well-aimed kick. They seize the opportunity to variously hack, stab, shoot, and in one case bite at the thing while it struggles to recover itself. Despite the quarrels protruding from its torso, it lurches back to its feet and swings a hulking mace at Lawson, cracking his ribs and sending him sprawling back against the wall. Thankfully Mr. Barky leaps forward to distract it, giving him time to recover himself. With its attention firmly on the nimble wolf, the others have time to pound it with crossbow bolts and swords, hacking it apart until the necromatic bindings dissipate and it finally lies still. Apart from Lawson’s injury, they have escaped this battle more or less unscathed.

  Now that the tomb is cleared of dangers, they can finally rest. They tend their wounds and doze by the fire. The rest of the night passes uneventfully, and the storm gradually blows itself out. When morning comes, they poke around the ruins in a more leisurely fashion. They gather up the treasures they’ve found, since nobody else has any need of them. The chieftain’s tomb yields a sizeable bag of gold fragments, and they load the bandits’ loot carefully onto the horses. Raylin and the Professor take a few notes on their discovery to report when they reach civilisation. With their preparations over, it’s time to continue their journey.

Tomes and Times, part three

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 3 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

The road to Seawell: not alone

  It seems a bad idea to leave anything able to sneak up behind them, so they decide to examine the other side-passage before heading up the main tunnel. It leads down a similar corridor, whose carvings are a little better-preserved. These seem more devotional in character, perhaps funereal or religious scenes? At the end is a substantial stone chamber, with no door and only simple geometric shapes marking the walls. It is empty, except for a stone box in the centre, several feet wide and deep. Wary of further monsters, they peer around cautiously, but discover nothing lurking. At last, the Professor suggests Lawson examine the chest. The others step back cautiously, which proves to be a wise move. As the guardsman carefully heaves up the lid, a hidden catch triggers and bronze flechettes whicker out in all directions. Lawson yelps in pain and reels back with two of the darts protruding between the rings of his mail shirt. Fortunately, the wounds aren’t too deep, and any poison has long since lost its potency. Having pried out the darts, he finds the box carefully packed with what seem to be offerings. A number of wooden items have long-since rotted away, but there are small nuggets of precious metal, two large pearls, and a strangely-patterned circlet of iron and leather that shows no signs of rust. With the danger clearly over, the others cluster round to examine the items, and promptly announce that the circlet has a faintly magical aura. They spend some time studying it and muttering minor incantations, and eventually decide it strengthens the wearer’s mind against attack.

  “I think Lawson should have it,” suggests the Professor, and the others agree, perhaps a little too unanimously to be flattering. However, Lawson accepts the circlet and slides it carefully onto his head, a little suspiciously. It doesn’t seem to do any harm. The rest of the treasures he stows away in his pack, despite a couple of desultory protests.

  Heading down the larger central passageway, they hear the sound of dripping water. There’s the faint light of a storm lantern and voices muttering up ahead; Raylin can just make out complaints about the weather interspersed with what sounds like a game of cards. Someone mutters that there won’t be any pickings to be had in this sort of weather. Bandits, it seems.

  The long stone hall opens out into a larger space, furnished crudely with rotting tables and rusted iron implements. The walls are moss-grown and any decoration is long since lost to the ravages of time. Rain is falling from a crumbling hole in the ceiling, and a knotted rope hangs down from it to the floor. The water trickles out through a opening in one corner, clearly designed as a drain. In a dry corner, a pile of surprisingly new sacks and boxes has been heaped up, and a heap of rags and furs lies nearby. Clearly, someone has been using the place. The lantern casts a faint glow over the room, and picks out Cedric like a white ghost swooping overhead. The Professor feels a pulse of warning from the owl; someone’s here. Despite the rumbling of the storm, the group are making a fair amount of noise stumbling through the stony passages, and two men rise from their game to look around. There’s no opportunity for talking; as soon as the men spot the intruders, they brandish their swords and charge forwards. Mr. Barky dashes forwards to snap at one of them, while Lawson closes with the other. There’s a flurry of clashing metal and the fleshy thud of crossbow bolts, and their attackers are down.

  Searching the room, they confirm their decision that the two men are bandits. The random assortment of sacks, boxes and amphorae look more like plunder than anything. They couldn’t expect anything but execution from the authorities, so it’s no surprise they attacked on sight. Discarding sword and shield, Lawson hauls himself up the rope overhead. In the ruined building above, he finds a recent camp and a sizeable rubbish pile, but nothing else. They leave the goods for now and continue on. Raylin takes a short sword from one of the bandits, as the crossbow is a bit unwieldy in these close quarters. As she does so, she spots arcane symbols on the man's belt, and carefully removes it. It bears a mild load-bearing enchantment to help the wearer carry heay burdens, which the delicate priestess decides will prove quite useful.

  The passage splits now, with a narrow side-tunnel heading off on a sharp angle, while the main passage leads to an ornate stone door. They debate what to do: head into what looks like the most important chamber, or make sure nothing’s lurking behind them? There could easily be more bandits here, or some other horror like the vargouille. Examining the ground, there are signs of footprints near the door, but none seem to go through. Presumably it’s bound with the same enchantments that held the outer doors, so the bandits couldn’t get inside. Even if the spell is now broken, nobody seems to have gone inside, so they decide to check the side-passage.

  The passage is too narrow to walk side-by-side. Ghosting ahead, Cedric suddenly flutters wildly, and a sense of violent alarm makes the Professor wince. The owl barely avoids tangling himself in a large spidersweb that stretches across the ceiling. He balks at the danger and swoops back to the safety of the main tunnel. Feeling the need for stealth, they leave the clanking Lawson as a rearguard. Up ahead they find a doorway whose wood door lies rotting in the corridor. It’s quieter this far into the mound, and smells of dust and time. In the dim glow of the magic light, the floor of the chamber ahead is greyish and irregular. Raylin, Elefthenea, Mr. Barky slip forward to investigate, and the wolf suddenly squirms as he finds himself trapped in another of the webs. As Elefthenea and Raylin try to free him, a huge spider drops from the ceiling above and sinks its fangs into the priestess. Panic ensues. As the injured Raylin staggers away to safety, Elefthenea conjures a giant centipede from thin air to fend off the spider. The two monsters struggle with each other while Mr. Barky tears his way free of the web. Though the centipede can't get a grip on its enemy, the others take advantage of the distraction to hack at the spider in relative safety. By the time the centipede evaporates, the spider is badly wounded. It’s a nasty fight, and Raylin struggles against the numbing poison, but they manage to finish the creature off. As they pause to recover their breath, the Professor spots something glinting amidst the silk-wrapped animal remains: gold! One of the larger bodies turns out to be humanoid, perhaps an unwary third outlaw who stumbled in here? A rotting pouch has spilled its contents, and the Professor gathers up a heap of coin and a small pearl.

Tomes and Times, part two

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 2 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

Tomes and Times, part one

A quick link to an article on my Call of Cthulhu blog at YSDC. Part 1 of a series called Tomes and Times about reading rules for Mythos tomes can be found here.

The road to Seawell: unwelcome developments

  The storm draws closer and closer, until it’s echoing right overhead.  Lightning strikes the forest nearby.  Looking around the room, they find it carved with stylised images, which show goblin-like creatures and geometric patterns.  The carvings are clearly very old; traces of paint are barely visible in the glow of witchlights.  There are three further doorways in the other four walls, each barred by a stone door carved in an ancient style.  On closer examination, the Professor senses the faint tingle of magic barring the doors.  It is no spell he recognises, and weak as it seems to have grown, none of the spellcasters know how to breach it.  They sit for a while, manage to start a small fire after the Professor dries out some wood, and recover slightly from their journey, though conversation is all but impossible.

  A brilliant flash and simultaneous cataclysmic rumble of thunder overloads their senses for a moment, and with ears ringing they hear crashes from overhead, and the solid thunk of falling stone nearby.  The horses rear up madly and some nearly break their tethers.  It seems the ruined tower has been struck by lightning.  A coppery scent wafts through the room, and looking around, they see the stone doors have toppled, their aging wards finally overloaded by the storm.  An ominous rustling sound grows louder under the howling of the wind, and all at once about a hundred large rats pour out of a doorway and rush across the room.  The travellers scramble out of the way, kicking and swiping at the frenzied rodents, until they melt away into the stones or vanish outside.  The odd painful nip aside, there’s no harm done, though it takes a while to calm the horses after the incident.

  With the doors now open, curiosity and boredom overwhelm caution.  Besides, the dark emptiness of the passages is a little unnerving; not something to have at your back in the middle of a stormy night.  The group decide to quickly check there’s nothing else to worry about, before they bed down for the night.  They retrieve weapons and armour from their packs and make ready.

  They head down the corridor that the rats came from, Mr. Barky and Cedric ghosting ahead quietly to check for danger.  A rat or two scuttles out of sight as they approach.  At the end lies a smaller stone chamber, its floor covered with water that seems to be trickling from one wall.  They conclude that the rats probably had a nest behind the wall, which was damaged by the lightning and started to flood, driving the rats out in a panic.  The water seems to be draining away through the floor, so there’s probably nothing to worry about.  At one end of the room is an oddly-shaped stone sarcophagus, showing a bat-eared figure.  Cedric swoops close to it, intending to perch, but is startled away when the head abruptly rises from the sarcophagus and lets out a piercing shriek.  Several of the party are momentarily dazed by the sound, and the vargouille swoops forward to attack them.  Lawson manages to fend off the cackling head with his shield long enough for Raylin to send a bolt through one of its wings; while it flutters off-balance, he splits it in two with his sword.  They’re rather alarmed by their encounter, but there don’t seem to be any more of the creatures lurking here.  Examining the sarcophagus, Raylin finds the carven head has been worn away to provide a perch for the vargouille.  The rest of the sarcophagus is ornate, in a crude, ancient style.  Inside is mostly dust, but something glints in the light; a small ring of twisted bronze, which exudes a faint magical aura.  The scholars examine it and determine that it aid the wearer in understanding other languages.  Perhaps the owner was a diplomat of some sort?

The road to Seawell: a mighty storm

  The Duchess of Phedes is expecting a trade delegation, who are due to arrive at the port of Seawell in a few of days. Her ministers have assembled a group of emissaries to receive the delegates at Seawell. No problems are expected with the trip, so their main purpose is to meet the delegates and provide an appropriately eminent escort to Phedes; with the secondary mission of subtly tapping them for information and softening them up before the negotiations begin. Once they arrive, more senior officials will take over. The emissaries have their own guards, and such a large party is unlikely to meet with trouble, so the escort is mostly a diplomatic one.

  The group are representatives of various official bodies, and junior agents recently appointed to the Duchess’ service. They’re respectable enough to be both gratifying and unthreatening, but junior enough not to give an obsequious impression. In any case, the higher echelons don’t waste their time on simple tasks like escorting delegates.

  Eleftheana is a druidess from the elven communities of Phedes. Professor Godalming is a gnomish mage of good family, and a member of the Phedic arcane school. Raylin serves as a priestess of the Pantheon and has been favoured with their blessings. All three have some experience of trouble-shooting and basic militia training, and between them should easily handle any problems that arise, social or practical. Just in case, the Duchess sends along a guard for protection and to handle the travel arrangements; Lawson is a professional soldier with no allegiance but to the Duchess, which ensures her interests remain paramount.

  The journey will take nearly two days, despite the excellence of the highways. It’s early summer, but the weather has been stormy recently, and rain pours down most of the day. The road is well-maintained, but their progress is still slow and miserable. In the early evening, as the road descends through a series of wooden valleys, the rain begins to turn to a full-blown gale, and the spellcasters are forced to conjure light to guide their way (Lawson has to rely on a simple lantern). Suddenly, they find their way blocked by a landslide, presumably caused by the torrential rain. After some shouted discussion amidst the howling winds, they turn their horses off the path to look for a way round through the thick woods. The geography is steep and rocky and they’re forced to make quite a detour.

  As they trek wearily through the trees, occasional flashes and rumbles of thunder approach. A cacophonous crash sounds almost overhead, and Lawson and Eleftheana’s horses bolt in fright, plunging off through the trees. The others are forced to follow them. It’s quite a while before they can regain control, and by then they’re lost and wandering uncertainly through thick woods. They decide to follow the slope uphill to try and get their bearings.

  As they approach the top of a hill and start to break free of the trees, a flash of lightning outlines a ruined tower jutting out from it. Heading towards it in search of shelter, they find a rough stone gateway into the hillside itself, and a large stone that seems to have once blocked it. The chamber inside offers enough room for them all and their horses, and seems dry; they decide to head inside and wait out the storm.