From the Tales of the Nameless Few

• Mir with Baskar
• Wilkin with “Sir” Jared

The party, having abandoned Fagan in the festering slums of Foznak (or maybe Fagan just fucked off, who can say), hired on as guards to Akadie the Flenser, who was travelling with a substantial cavaran of exotic skins, furs and meats to the Canabria Summer Fayre. Safely reaching the Fayre the party departed ways With Akadie, going on to spend their coin on much that was on offer.

With the leaves falling from the trees that lined the meandering river that flows across the wide valley hosting the Fayre, all but the most desperate merchants have departed, including Akadie. Having decided to head off themselves, the party are joined on the road by a group of redneck yokals, also returning home.

• Jeb: A burly beardy, carrying a nasty wound to the left thigh and little gorm
• Fritzlang: A wild youth, already missing an eye, skin burned and cut from many scrapes
• Heidi-hi: A valkyre of a woman, with a personality to match
• Svendag: A browbeaten man, prematurely aged, his rare speach monosyllabic mumbles

Some weeks in, the two parties still on the road together but not, are now deep in the heavily forested hills of Canabria, the weather makes a turn for the worse as the daylight quickly fades.

Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night

 

The party makes its way up a narrow path to an open plateau, and is greeted by a looming stone monastery. The night is clear and the stars bright and uncaring, the cold stillness causing a thick clinging mist to form on the ground, turning the land a sea of harsh, bleak white under the distant stars.

There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
“This could be Heaven or this could be Hell”

 

A woman, face pale and ageless, greets you at a small sally door and leads you all down a narrow coridor into a long room, the walls and vaulted ceiling bare stone, with small stained glass windows high up. The floor is covered in bracken, mosses and ferns, and in the center a merry fire burns bright, filling the room with flickering shadows and the thick, cloughing scent of pine resins.

The party accept the invitation to stay the night and after settling their mounts in the connected stables ask for victuals. Several small barrels of dark winter ale are brought in by the hostess, along with a large ceramic bowl of cut raw meat, covered in a rich oily sauce, along with a dozen skewers.

The pine logs in the fire burn hot and fast, and as last of the ale is consumed the parties settle down while the light remains. Our heroic adventurers, comfortable but with a wary paranoia of ones long on many roads, keep a quiet watch. Their opposites seem less concerned, and are soon sleeping soundly.

Some time later, near the bewitching hour the fearless, reckless and feckless youth Fritzlang stirs and quietly sneaks to the far door and passes into the dark, freezing fog, beyound. Mir, spotting this and fearing the fool with breach hospitality and bring wrath apon the party from a vengeful patron, wakes and remonstrates with Heidi-hi.

Heidi-hi seems little concerned but sends the ill-equiped Svendag out to corral Fritzlang. From without a distant bugle can be heard, possibly a jolly hunting tune had it a bright spring’s morning, but sinister and omnious in the dead of night. With this Heidi-hi returns to her rest while Mir watches across the flickering embers.

The watch passes from Mir to Wilkin and as that too is soon to pass the great double doors facing the inner courtyard fly open, a wave of thick, leaden fog snuffing out the last of the embers. Through the roiling whiteness stumble Fritzlang and Svendag, collapsing before they fire onto the cold stone. While Wilkin rushes forth to keep out the night and close the doors Mir, previously feining sleep, rises to examine those that have returned.

Both appear to be on death’s door, their nakes bodies cold to the touch but still oozing blood from a multitute of whip cuts and grazes. From without the bugle sounds again, this time near and all too present. Through the dark stained windows small and high a flickering light can be seen, and the sounds of many beings making a revel can be heard.

From deep within the shadows of the far walls many rats appear, growing in statue. The brave followers leap forth to do battle while Wilkin attempts in vain to relight the fire with oil and wood from ale barrels. After slaying several of the enlarged rodents it becomes clear without armour the rats superior numbers will prevail. Mir unleases the might of Sleep, and the peril is immediately ended, the creatures then ruthlessly put down in their slumber.

After checking the stables via the covered corridor Mir finally rests, along with Wilkin, both drained from their spell casting. The followers Jarad and Baskar take watch.

Baskar, his skills as an eel whisperer, spies through gap under the courtyard doors, and observes the wild dance of monsterous crows and wolfmen around towering pyre of burning bones, with many a skull whose eyes seems to glow while the mouths gout forth flames.

After some debate and attempts to coerce Svendag, still wounded but awake and clothed in blankets, that the happening outside should be left to run their course.

As the dark retreats and the light from the rising sun appear though the windows and onto the back wall, Baskar and Jarad stir and discover Fritzlang did not make it though the night. Opening the doors to the courtyard they find a scene of ruin, the courtyard choked with weeds and broken stone, save a large patch of old cinders in the center.

At the northern end of the courtyard, opposite the main entrance, and surrounded by broken tombstones, is the remains of the tower, a stone spiral staircase leading up to a stone upper floor, the wall facing away still standing while the wall towards the yard missing.

While Baskar explores the surrounding ruins Jarad spies something in the tower and investigates. There, on the upper floor, is a black book upon a red dress, all on a large stone alter. This sparked chaos and somehow the body of Fritzlang ended up in the dress on the alter. Clearly this was supposed to be some sort of ritualistic offering to the spirits of the place and was gratefully accepted, the skin and then flesh of the corpse being consumed, summoning a fey creature in the shape of a fox, which bound into view and up onto the alter, transforming into a woman with a fox’s head.

After an exchange of words the party set apon the creature, who was forced to slay Jarad in self defense, before being forced to flee away, transforming back into a fox and forced to retreat into Jarad’s armour for a moment, consuming the flesh in the process. Faced with hostility from all quarters the fox is forced to flee, followed by arrows from Mir and his follower.

The party, feeling victorious, search the ruins but find no nothing more of interest, except a brand of the mule, which they remove without actually killing the poor animal. Riding away thought they saw Jarad amongst the ruins but when they looked again he was gone.