The Cast:
John Dole of Bisque, a Firlish stew captain, John Dole has gained a little dramatic flare since he maxed out his Distress. It hasn't helped, much.
William Ottleson of Fir Reach, Firlish Ironmonger and a brute. Ottleson would be best described as a human ork if anyone on the Coast had gotten around to inventing the Battle-Mace historical fantasy table-top gaming franchise.
Padre Faustino Calderon Capard del Monte Rubio, Algorán Venturesome Priest, Padre Faustino's boyish good looks are heightened by a mysterious disease usually found in novels about lonely aristocratic housewives, and marred only by the gaping fléchette wound he received from John Dole.
Youree, Revenant Delver, short for You're Re-animated, Youree doesn't think it fits, but nobody else really cares enough to help her try out any other names.
Vinkle, Lothrmensch Moonshiner, he just wants the crew to sit down for a few weeks so he can brew his hootch.
***
The session begins, like so many others, while the crew is at rest. Last session, they discovered a stone crannog sitting in the marsh and decided to camp there. After building a fire and a meal of porridge, John Dole took the first watch, looking out into the darkness of the Marsh. He fails a Perception roll as something scuttles up the wall and makes its way through the smoke-hole at the top of the structure. Three grues climb into the campground, but nobody stirs until they strike.
Incredibly, the first two miss their attacks against Youree, and the third only manages to grab her, waking her up. Immediately, she rolls Terror, freezing up as she comprehends her mortality for perhaps the very first time. John Dole is also surprised, gaining two Distress and rolling Terror. This can't be real. He fires two shots at the grues, hitting two, to little effect. Everyone left asleep rolls Perception -4. All failures.
Youree tries to fight back, pushing against the writhing skeleton of black fungal mass. It bites through most of her hand, severing four fingers, spraying gouts of sticky blood over the combatants. Youree screams, which wakes the rest of the crew, who startle in terror when faced by the ambush. Vinkle and John Dole both flee the crannog, running out into the marsh as the Padre reels backwards, stumbling and pushing himself against the wall until he feels the comforting weight of his hastella. There is nothing he can do but fight. He charges towards the grues, slaying one and fending off another as he tries to reach Youree in time.
There's nothing he can do. She's grappled and bleeding bad, and the grue on top of her rips her to pieces with its razor-sharp claws and rotting teeth. It's hard to watch, but there's nothing that the crew can do, as Mr. Collier screams and closes his eyes, plugging his ears in an attempt to drown out Youree's cries for help. Missile launcher barks in rage and he tackles the grue, slamming the rotting skeleton against a wall and biting its leg as he shakes it around like an ugly, man-sized toy. Together, he and the priest are able to fight back against the forces of darkness, but not without their losses. It's too late for Youree, whose blood pools on the cold stone of the ancient structure.
When Vinkle and the Stew Captain return, they find their ally giving Youree her last rites. She is dead, and the world is a little darker for it. The crew decides to eat the Drowsy stress and bury her the same night. The finish the grave at around 9 am, and the Padre says some prayers as he hands out the last of the apple brandy. The crew drinks in silence, bloodshot eyes carefully turned away from the dim interior of the crannog, watching the cold sun rise.
***
With your stews n grues n grues n stews, hurroo, huroo
With your stews n grues n grues n stews, huroo, huroo
With your stews n grues n grues n stews,
The enemy fine'ly slew ye
Oh cutter dear, you look so queer
Oh Youree we hardly knew ye
***
As the crew is feeling drunk enough to get going, they spot a pair in the distance, wearing large stilts. The larger figure is burdened by an impressively large sack, and he calls out to the crew, saying he has wares for sale. The crew is little in the mood for a social encounter, but call out in the affirmative, slightly taken aback once they're close enough to see that the peddler is a ragman, and his assistant is a mouse. The Mouse introduces herself as Ms. Flitters of Delft, and after a bit of tense negotiations, the peddler sells the Padre a few grisodate tonics and Ms. Flitters agrees to lead the crew out of the marsh. The crew agrees to proposition, and the peddler encourages Ms. Flitters to accompany the crew to Fenn Blaine, saying that the life of a ragman caravan is none for a respectable mouse such as herself. (As if the cutterly lifestyle is any better!)
Anyways, that was session 10.
***
Session 11 begins back on the road, as the cutters return to civilization, coming across a sign for a town:
Aferdale
Population 1.183
Walking past, the crew watches a bizarre funeral procession, as pallbearers carry an empty stretcher over to a symbolic funeral pyre while children pluck poorly-made instruments, following the crowd of mourners. The cutters decide to ignore this (they didn't know whoever died, why should they give a hoot they died?) and head over to the nearest watering hole, a tavern called (as luck would have it) Cutter's Rest.
Cutter's Rest is about a mile out of town and built like a miniature fortress, complete with guards and a palisade, that drops down as soon as Ottleson tries to walk in. The doors are flung open and three nearly identical slabs of meat with big, red, bushy eyebrows interrogate the cutters as to their business at Cutter's Rest.
"We jus' wanted a pint," John Dole offers, cupping a hand over Ottleson's mouth before he can curse out three men 1.5x his mass.
"Oh, tha's fine then." One of the guards gives the signal and the portcullis is pulled back up, and the crew is 'welcomed' into the tavern. It's a dive, burlesque performers slapping away wandering hands as they perform and a musician playing his accordion as he dodges bottles and tries to ignore the jeers.
John Dole feels right at home in this environment as he works his way through the crowd to the bar. The barman is a slim, dark-haired youth of perhaps 16, and he charges Dole a silver shilling for his pint, which turns out to be mostly water, anyways. It's clear that the crew isn't welcome here, and so Dole & Ms. Flitters pull Ottleson out by his ear before he can pick a fight with the bouncers, and they explore the town to look for a better location.
Exploring the town, Ottleson grows more and more distraught. The town is evidently an agricultural community, but he can't find a single blacksmith or metalworker anywhere. Desperate, he heads over to a nearby horse ranch, in hopes that there will be a farrier on staff that will be able to help him forge a prosthetic, or, at least some iron knuckledusters.
As luck would have it, the horse ranch, run by a cult, does have a farrier, but he's already put his tools away for the day (it's like 19:00-20:00), and he tells Ottleson to stop by, first thing in the morning.
"Come, brother, we have a service at dawn. Join with us, and hear the news of Aveth's Promise!"
"Errr, sorry, buddy, but I'm already saved."
The farrier smirks and shakes his his head. He's shaved bald, and is wearing roughspun, simple, undyed clothing. "Listen, brother, just come to the service tomorrow morning, and you will see."
***
The crew decides to spend the night in a modest inn. Wagon's Rest is a small, one-story building, run by a woman named Marinetta of Aferdale. She offers beds for a tuppence and stew for a penny, so her prices are hard to beat, as long as one doesn't mind the bugs. It's while the cutters are digging through their purses that they come to an unfortunate realization.
"Didn't you take the money from that otha' crew?"
"Wot? I fot you wuz grubbin it!"
"What other crew?" asks Ms. Flitters, completely innocent.
My players ask me for a Mulligan, and I am willing to give it to them, on one condition: they must succeed on a single intellect roll (which is in itself a gross exaggeration of what Intellect can do, but what can I say? I am a generous Bookkeeper). It is no matter, they both fail. The swag is left somewhere in that great forest, and there is barely enough coin to pay for the night.
The crew all succeeds on their Immunity rolls for the bugs, and they all sleep well, at last in a real bed. In the morning, John Dole sneaks an extra serving of the breakfast stew into his own pot, and he asks the innkeeper for advice where he can get a bath. Marinetta replies that most of the locals bathe and launder in the nearby creek, but any of the nearby farms should have a tub if he really needs one. Dole asks which one he should go to, and Marinetta thinks a bit before she answers.
"Of all the farmers... I'd say John Baggs is the... friendliest..."
John Dole thanks her for her time on his way out. As he heads to the Baggs Farm, William Ottleson and Ms. Flitters head over to the horse ranch. Dole meets Baggs, a middle-aged man who's a little on the portly side, on his way out.
"Oh, howdy there, cutter! I was just on my way to go bathing in the creek, sure I'll help you out! My wife and kids have got the rest of the morning chores handled!"
Dole discovers that John Baggs of Aferdale is a very friendly man, and after he earns a point of Comfort, Baggs tells him all about the mysterious disappearances around town on the walk back to his house, the mysterious vanishing of one of his farm workers.
"After a few months, we burn another pyre, some people are worried about where the bodies are going, they're saying that once we find them, it'll be like the Middle Ages all over again. Almost two-hundred people in the last year, all of them good workers. When the harvest comes in, I'm worried about how many people will leave with it. Soon the town will just be my family and those Avetheans."
John Dole strokes his chin as he lugs the enormous jug of water back from the creek. "Why don't you just install a pump at your farm?"
"Oh, I did last year, but something just makes the creek water better in every way..."
***
Meanwhile, at the horse ranch, Ottleson and Ms. Flitters are having trouble finding the Farrier, and it's not for a few hours that the 'utopian sectarians' begin to filter onto the farm. The Farrier finds the two waiting outside his workshop and pouts.
"I missed you at our Mass."
"We didn't go."
"A shame," the Farrier frowns, "but one cannot force the doubters to accept Aveth's Promise. I'm still willing to do that work for you, if you like, William. What do you want?"
Ottleson wants the Farrier to essentially welt two horseshoes together, into a sort of makeshift set of knuckle-dusters. He's able to do this after a few tries, but Ottleson is impatient, and quickly takes over, suffering the -4 roll, but still managing to eke out a success, thanks to his Topic: Metallurgy skill.
When the work is done, the Farrier makes an offer to the cutters: The organization is willing to offer them a crown apiece if they help escort a stud to a farm near Fenn Blaine. They're willing to offer some horses to the cutters for the trip, turning the two-day walk into a one-day ride. Initially, the crew (lead by John Dole) turn the job down, but when the Farrier offers 2 crowns each, that no turns into a yes.
"Excellent, I'll let the others know. Come get your horses, you'll leave right away..."
***
Session 12 begins, again, on the road, but this time the crew is on several horses, and they are escorting three cultists: Juan, Bier and James, a stunning example of the internationality of its recruits. After a few hours of silent plodding, the dam breaks, and this particular break involves theology. The Padre, Ottleson and Ms. Flitters (who was originally from a family of church mice before she became a wickie) are all interested about what's specifically up with Aveth's Promise, and the cultists are more than happy to distribute their literature, a 16-page pamphlet simply entitled Aveth's Promise, a Topic: Aveth's Promise 1 book (small) that explains their strange beliefs, including the sin of 'worldly' marriage, reproduction, alcohol and grisodate.
Suffice to say, the debate is a spirited one, especially when the Padre gets to page 16, and finds out that Aveth's Promise is merely the first pamphlet in a series, and that the cult scorns Aveth's Writ as an "Algóran Fabrication." Luckily, the cultists are too smug to be drawn into a fight.
At around 16:00, the crew rounds a bend, and finds a massive log laid across the path. Bier rides a bit ahead, and makes a big show of shaking his head.
"It's too big to move, besides," he makes a big yawn, "this is a good enough place for a camp."
He waits, Ottleson makes a face "Wot are you grobbin' about, boss? It's barely four!"
"I said 'this is a good enough place for a camp.'"
I ask my players to roll Perception. All but Ms, Flitters pass, they can see the shine of gun barrels in the brush.
"I said 'THIS IS A GOOD ENOUGH PLACE FOR A CAMP!'
The brush rustles as a man, dressed in the burgundy costumes of yester-year: A great bicorn, lacy shirts and breaches, and wielding two pistolettes, jumps onto the log.
"I am Captain Irham Winslow, I greet you kindly and give you fair warning: you are outmanned and outgunned. I command ten men, and several riflemen, and if you resist, you will be shot. If you surrender, hand over your arms, your valuables and your horses, then we will let you on your way. I regret that we must take your mode of locomotion, but the nature of my profession means that I must do so."
Without a moment of delay, John Dole looses a fléchette at the captain, and it embeds itself deep into his skull. There is a momentary gout of blood that pours onto his fine clothes, and he falls off of the log onto the ground. Both of his guns go off, and the horses spook, spilling the all the cutters (minus Ms. Flitters, who manages to hold on as her mount bolts) and the cultists onto the ground. John Dole makes for the trees, swapping longarms before he sends another fléchette into one of the shooter's throat, kirking him and breaking his companion's morale, which causes his partner to flee.
In the brush, 2 of Captain Winslow's crew breaks and flees at the sight of their dead captain, and the crew hears curses as they flee deeper into the woods. Only two of his mooks emerge, one wielding a pike and the other a hatchet, and Ottleson charges the pike-bearer. The piker counterattacks, and deals a severe wound to Ottlesome, jabbing him in his abdomen and causing a severe wound. From behind, flanking the crew, the set of triplets from Cutter's Rest emerge, one with a sledgehammer, one with a bullwhip, and one with brass knuckles. Brass Knuckles flanks Ottleson from behind, forcing him to abandon his defense against the Piker and the Hatchet, as Bull Whip Provides support, while Sledgehammer threatens Vinkle and the Padre.
Down the way, Ms. Flitters realizes that there's no way she'll be able to get the horse under control, so she tumbles down, landing on her feet and sprinting towards the battle. When she gets there, it's brutal. She sees the Padre disarm Bier, his right hand flying through the air as James and Juan attempt to grapple him and Vinkle, failing horribly. The Padre turns around on a dime and decapitates Brass Knuckles with his hastella, as John Dole takes down the hatchet-man with his suppressing fire, unfortunately not before Piker jabs Ottleson in the upper arm, causing another severe bleed.
Brass Knuckle's death causes the enemy to route, as Ottleson stumbles towards the crew, holding his guts in. This gives the cultists the opportunity to escape, and they do, sprinting down the road as the party struggles to stop Ottleson's bleeding. The arm wound binds easy, but as the turns tick by, it doesn't look good for Ottleson. At 11 Stress, he sits up, pulling out his pistollette in hopes that he might nick one of the bastards that killed him, but they're out of sight. Delirious with blood loss, he grabs Vinkle by the moonshiner's shirt.
"PUT ME IN THE IRON, LAD! MAKE WILLIAM & WILLIAMSONS IRON OUT OF ME! LET THE FIRM TURN ME INTO A WEAPON, THAT OI MOIGHT SPITE DE ORTHA ONE LAST TIME!"
Next he grabs Dole, with the ice of the grave in his voice "Don' let dem get away, boss. Kill the lot of them! No one nicks da warboss an' gets away with it!"
And then, almost in awe, the Padre steps away. "He's good, I did it. I stopped the bleeding."
Ottleson perks up "Oi'm gonna live? Oh, nevah mind all dat, den."
The day's soup is more molasses, lard, flour, with rainwater to make it slightly easier to eat. Just one more day, and they'll be living the high life in Fenn Blane. John Dole takes a double watch to give more time for Ottleson to heal. He'll take the stress, he'll just take a big nap, once they're in Fenn Blaine. Just another day to Fenn Blaine.
***
A few weeks late, but a good long write up.
As always, I'm really enjoying this campaign, though some of my players have confided in me that they wish there was some more historical guns and weaponry. I think that if ever I were to hack Incunabuli, (which would be a mutilation, to be clear), I would make a hack for the European Wars of Religion, what with arquebuses, black powder, gouts of flame and smoke, clogging up the lungs, causing coughing fits and obscuring the very targets you hoped to hit. Something about the brutal wound system, the disease, I think all of it would fit just as well in a Simplicius Simplicissimus setting. Maybe that specific example is a little too much, but the gist...
But that's beside the point. I love the Coast, and I love exploring the Coast, and I love the Incunabuli community, so this Campaign has a long life left ahead of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment