The following narrative gives only a glimpse of what a portion of the party experienced under Saracenic Hall. There will be more added to this tale. And it may seem a bit disjointed, but before our brave heroes are swept from the board it is appropriate their trials and tribulations should be accounted for;
“We're
taking the girl?” Tomas nodded to the bound redhead in hand,
catching Ralph out of his reverie. Ralph looks around, grabs his
lantern from the floor.
“Yes.”
The house servant resists a bit as the Frenchman pulls her along. She bites her lip as if afraid to raise her voice in protest within
the dark subterranean hall. Ralph strides forward down the hall, lantern held aloft, in search of the grinding and piping noise
issuing deep within the dark. The passageway is narrow, barely six
feet in height so the party must watch their head. Ralph's light
reveals the walls are riddled with small holes. The horrid grinding
and piping sounds come from these holes, weirdly amplified and the
group quickly pushes on.
Ralph
is stopped short at the entrance to the next chamber. Their appears
to be no floor. Open cells, square pits really, drop into the dark
leaving a thin walk of stone, a mere six inch span, to provide a
pathway to the outlet on the other side. Holding the lantern high
Ralph is able to illuminate the pit before him. Ten feet across and
fifteen feet deep, smooth fitted stone walls. Skeletal remains
huddled pitifully at the bottom. There are seven in all. The narrow
lip proves to be sturdy under Ralph's searching feet.
“We
walk across, to that exit.” He informs the hostage and the
Frenchman.
“The
corpses, they have been mutilated,” mentions Tomas. In the middle
of the room the exiled noble is able to survey four of the pits at
once. “They all are missing a foot and a hand. What do you suppose
that was for?”
Ralph, silent and noncommittal as per his way,
shrugs. The two warriors instantly come alert at the sound of a
grotesque skittering. A clicking of legs and cold chitin as two
monstrous ticks descend from the black ceiling, down along the far
walls, and gingerly make their way towards the group along the narrow
cell rims.
Both
Ralph and Tomas give oaths under their breath, each recognizing their
precarious footing on such narrow ground. These blasphemous, these
ugly, overlarge insects suffer no disadvantage with a multitude of
legs. Instinctively they place their female hostage between them. Her
bound hands making her defenseless they debated not on protecting her
from the gruesome onslaught which was about to spring.
The
giant ticks leapt at the pair, savage mandibles spread wide intent on
gorging on blood. Tomas struck with his long thin rapier while Ralph
made a windmill swipe of his ax. Both warriors were able to land
telling blows against the thoughtless insects, large as they may be,
but it was Tomas who lost his balance. He tumbled roughly onto the
moldering bones at the bottom of one of the pits only to stir up more
foul-smelling outsized insects. Tomas desperately clutched at the
ear-wig like insect who writhed and strove to snip his head from his
neck. The close grapple preventing him from wielding his deadly
rapier effectively. Ralph saw nothing for it. He leaped into the pit
bringing his booted heels square on the giant insect's back. There
was a sickly crunch and the beast lay inert.
“I
thank you my friend.” That was a tight one.” Tomas tipped his hat
to the burly Puritan.
“We
should leave this chamber”, Ralph replied.
The
red haired hostage had an opportunity to escape her captors while
they battled in the pit, but she had not. The dark nightmare tunnels
had kept her fast to her captures better then any iron cage or chain. Outside
the insect infested pit room the tunnel walls turned from stone to
natural cavern. A noxious stink was now readily apparent. Like pigs,
like a pig sty which had never been cleaned. When
the stink came to be almost a physical cloud making the trio's eyes
water the tunnel gave way into a cavern. Mewling sounds came from
below. They stood on a ledge overlooking rough, rocky ground below.
It was packed with moaning, pig-like beasts where the awful stench
emanated from. The beasts were revealed in the lantern light as
flabby, loose fleshed swine on unnaturally long legs sprouting a
gnarled horn from their white skinned faces. Hairless, their long
stay in this subterranean sty left the pungent beasts albino white.
The ledge the adventurers stood on gave access to the lower cavern via time worn
stone steps while an additional tunnel continued on from this horrid
stockyard. For stockyard it surely must be. A smooth granite stump
projected from the floor of the ledge. Upon it laid boning and
skinning knives. Discarded hooves and snouts nearby added to the
feted smell. Rats squabbled over bits in the gloom. Hanging on nails
banged into the cavern wall dried, pale skins hung drying.
“So
the promised pig skins by Mr. Carter. I believe this is where they
would come from.” Ralph comments soberly. Tomas wrinkles his brow
in confusion.
“A local leather worker was grousing about Thomas
Carter not showing up. Wasting his time and all that. He was hoping
to purchase a bundle of pig skins. I think this is what Carter
intended to sell.” finished Ralph. The hulking Puritan turned to
the Frenchman and handed over his lantern. "I'm
going to look for an exit out of here. Maybe there is one in the
sty.”
Both Tomas and Ralph had clocked two exits leading out
from the ledge they now stood on. One reintroduced the worked and
finished walls they had already encountered while past the skinning
block another natural tunnel plunged downwards. Before Tomas could
comment Ralph gingerly navigated the worn steps into the sty. The
ungainly beasts moaned and bleated but caused not a stir as Ralph
pushed down into the far corner of the pit. There was a drainage
grate at the lowest point. Wholly inadequate for the amount of filth
it needed to filter and the smell at this point made Ralph wretch.
“Which
way then?” Tomas hollard out. Ralph tugged his chin than strode
back up the worn causeway directly to the girl.
“Which
way out! What is down here? Speak, and be quick.”
“Truly
I never come here.” gasped the red haired hostage, trembling at the
terrible visage and rough handling. “It is forbidden. Our Lord
makes requests, but we set table in the manor house and he joins us.
Joseph, the groundskeeper, he speaks with Edgar directly. I just see
to the house.” Ralph
looks to Tomas.
“I
suggest the finished passage. A terrible stench comes up from that
other tunnel.” Proffers the Frenchman.
“I
think we should return to my cousin. Tell him what we have found.” Answers Ralph.
Ralph
routinely turns to the educated Dr. for direction when events
befuddle him. Now deep in the bowels of Saracenic Hall the Puritan
soldier starts to feel he is a bit at a loss.
“Back
we go!” smiles the rakish noble and returns the girls gag, pushing
her ahead as the group retraces their steps.
It
is not until they recross the pit laden room that they hear a tittering and clattering in a great cacophony. Lantern held out Ralph and Tomas witness a cascade of oily black haired rats boiling
out of the holes in the corridor. A horde unimaginable must courses through the underground confines to disgorge such an endless stream of rats. The whistling and grinding
were nothing but the echoes of the beasts which scurried through the
cracks and sludge deep beneath the wash! A literal tide of rats
advanced on them as more and more poured forth from the walls.
“Quickly
back!” urged Tomas. Ralph hurled his lantern in anger at the swarm.
A conflagration erupted amongst the bodies. A foul stench and smoke
erupted. The lantern oil spread and squeals of roasting fat of the rats drowns
out the terror which engulfs the trio. It was only the hasting
flames feasting on the packed horde of vermin which provided the
orange light which guided them back to the sty.
“Perhaps
the finished hall will bring us back around to the others? Tomas
proffered. “I don't like the looks of the other.”
“Makes
no difference I guess. “ Ralph replied. "Retrieve that old torch in the sconce and get it lit. I have no desire to blunder through these halls in the dark."
The
passageway here was marked by large rectangle blocks stacked for the
walls and ceiling. Archways were trimmed out with thick neo-classical
cornice sculpted molding giving the hallway a squat, oppressive and
heavy feel. The passageway made several turns to the left and right
with no branching halls or doors. Soon though they entered a larger
chamber distinct in that it was a room of many archways and alcoves.
The thick sculpted trim work was on display around the archways and
base molding. Each of the various rooms and alcoves were stacked by
dusty, but well made furniture. Tables, chairs, mirrors,
candlesticks, bureaus, suits of armor, goblets and flatware. All were
piled thick upon each other so that many of the alcoves were nigh
impassible. A zig zag course could be made through the middle of the
chamber and the men, with hostage in tow, pushed into the cluttered
chamber. It was near a small circular end table they notice a light.
A pale, cold white light flared from a smooth clear stone. Cards and
other parlor games were also stacked on the table and moldering
carpeted chairs. The cobwebs were noticeably absent in this spot as
if it was regularly used. The house girl in tow rolled her eyes
wildly and appeared frighten. Before Ralph could interrogate her
further another woman appeared as out of air. Tomas could swear,
later, she definitely drifted into the room, but truth be told the
rooms felt totally empty, and then she was there. A mature woman, not
terrible to look at, very pale and blond. Her hair seemed so fragile
and light that it floated on an unfelt breeze. Her dress was
horribly out of date, the obtuse Norton could even see this. The
fashion-conscious Frenchman was appalled at the dried, crusty brown
stain on her bodice.
“Have
you brought food?” she questions the group. “Food would be
nice...” her nails drag across one of many stacked end tables. She looks through each of party members if they were nothing but so much
gossamer. When her gaze lands on the house maid they come alive and
joyfully exclaims,
“Rebecca, is that you? It has been so long. I
last saw you but as a child. We could play a game. You remember Dame
Fortune's Folly? We must play, I have the cards right here.” The
haughty lady literally trilled she seemed so pleased.
“Of
course m'lady as you wish.” the house maid answered, visibly shaken
and despairing.
“Your
friends must play as well, you will join us won't you? The game plays
best with four.” She whirls in speech drilling down on Tomas and
Ralph.
“Sure.”
They agreed.
The
group sits upon dusty chairs and the woman moves aside an antique
chess set and some silver forks. She asks Rebecca to fetch the pale
crystals which offered a clear white illumination to the immediate
surroundings, leaving much outside the circle of the table in
darkness. While there were many candle sticks and lanterns available
in the clutter none seemed to have been used, no wax candles or oil
was to be seen.
“You
will be dealt two cards face up. You will then have a choice to wager
on the chance of the next card landing between the two face up cards
value. If your cards are say a 2 and a 6 you will require a 3,4, or 5
to collect on your wager. If you pass on the wager you will face the
Dame’s fortune or folly, which is decided by this third card which
your wager would have been decided on. The fall of the cards will
also tell a story, some even say the sensitive are able to hear their
future predicted in the story played. Oh, and of course, if you wager
it must be something of value. I don’t want your dusty hat or
stained wine skin.” The women explained all this breathlessly,
shuffling the cards rapidly and fussing with the playing surface.
Looking directly at Ralph she played two cards in front of him. A
four of clubs and a nine of diamonds.
“A
warrior continuing a battle, one which calls on all your strength and
endurance. Will the goal be accomplished? Will there be a rest from
action?” The strange lady in the stained dress pours over the
upturned cards. “Much like the legend of Sir Galhalt and the Iron
Siege. Shall you wager, or tempt the Dame’s fortune?” she asks
Ralph.
“I
will wager.”
“What
do you have to offer?”
Ralph
pulls out his hatchet and pries several gems embedded on the handle.
They click onto the table and roll across the cards. The lady
circles the brilliant stones with a long finger.
“Very
well young knight, I accept your wager,” she coos.
A
five of hearts is turned and the lady tells the tale of Sir Galhalt
and his tragic end. Both Ralph and Tomas fall adrift in her oratory.
While her tale ends with the turning of the card both men feel as if
they have traveled on an epic journey and endured the hardships
Galhalt suffered. Ralph feels as if the blood in his veins has been
leeched out and replaced with ice water. He comes out of his fugue
with the lady congratulating him on his win. She rummages about the
stacked ornaments and books next to her and pulls forth a golden
buckle trimmed with small diamond-like crystals. She presents it to
Ralph.
“To
the victor.” She hands Ralph the buckle, wipes her chin and
presents two new cards to Tomas. “Jack of Spades and Eight of
Hearts. The rebel, playing naught for love but a cause. Long
discarded emotional attachment it seems you now must make a hard
choice.” She looks at the Frenchman expectantly.
“Dame
fortune's folly,” he answers without hesitation.
“The
Candle.” she smiles. “A flickering light in the darkness...”
Once again the turning of the third card takes but an instance but
the men feel transfixed within an ancient ballad of heroes, dark
forests, and lost love. Coming out of their revere Ralph is first to
notice the change. With a horrified gasp he yells “Tomas!”
pointing.
Sprouted like a mushroom in the rain a thick, short-haired
tail curls from Tomas' backside, to the floor and back up twitching
near his head.
“By
the three beards of the drunken lady I have a tail!” gasps Tomas.
The
lady claps her hand in obvious delight. Ralph explodes into action.
“Sorcerous!”
he yells, grasping his axe, he rears back to split her skull.
A
look of rage consumes the lady's face, her eyes go black, and she
hisses like a scalded cat. Before Ralph's arm can come down she moves
with blinding speed. In a blink she is behind Ralph
lifting him out of his chair. Shirt and flesh split open as long
yellow claws splash Ralph's blood in a spray to the ceiling.
Ralph
groans from the gruesome blow and falls to the floor. The lady,
panting, looks to drive both long nailed hands deep into his body,
but Tomas leaps to his fallen comrades aid.
“Stand
back hell spawn!” he screams. His rapier darting and slicing at the
demon witche's face she steps back, then backhands the Frenchman and
sends him sprawling into a pile of chairs like he was a paper doll.
She looks down, drooling in her blood lust intent of scooping out
Ralph's guts. But the Frenchman's desperate attack gave the
grievously wounded Puritan soldier time to roll under the table to
the other side. Laying on his back bubbling gore he deftly lights a
grenado, the wick cut short by his gritted teeth, and tosses it at
her chest over the table. There is a stunning blast which leaves the
men concussed.
Eventually
they come to their feet from under the blasted furniture and
gimjacks. Surely there must be something left of the she beast, but
lo, there is nothing to be seen except the sturdy groined walls and
archways and the destruction of housewares from the blast.
The
girl Rebecca was clearly dead. Her broken body lay over a crumpled
armorie. Splintered shards of wood protruded from her chest, neck and
face. She must have been standing when the grenado detonated. But no
trace of the demon whore could be found. There were some scraps of
cloth that may have been from the dress she wore, but there was no
flesh, no blasted body parts.
“It
was a deft toss Ralph,” the Frenchman acknowledged. “It was like
she cared little for your bauble and then whoosh!” Tomas flutters
his hands in the air simulating the blast.
“We
must find my cousin. He needs to know the dangers we face here.”
Ralph winces as he makes his way back from which they came.
“Perhaps,
being a doctor, he can tend your wounds?” Tomas adds looking at
Ralph's exposed back. The man's flesh hangs in ribbons, dripping
blood with each step. Tomas grabs up one of the light radiating
stones and follows after the bloodied puritan warrior.
Back
at the subterranean sty Ralph muses. “Nothing but to take the last
remaining passage, foul smell and all. Perhaps it will lead back to
the passages the others took.”
The
pair picked their way carefully down the natural cavern away from the
sunken sty packed with the pale pig-like creatures. The passage was
slick with moisture and a few squabbling rats. Fortunately the horde
they encountered by the room of square pits had not come all this way
otherwise all would have been lost. The further they traveled through
the more foul, wet and steep the way became.
Tomas was in the lead
holding the illuminating stone aloft when Ralph, weakening from his
wounds, lost his footing and slid rapidly down the incline colliding
with the surprised Frenchman. They tumbled roughly gathering speed
and landed with a lurid splash in a mud and fecal laden pool. It was
a separate tunnel they had fallen into. The opening of the tunnel in
which they were traveling was at shoulder level returning upwards in
such a sharp angle Ralph just shook his head when Tomas suggested he
could boost his companion back up the way they had fallen. This
new tunnel ran straight and apparently level. A stream of
foul, stinking water flowed in one direction, so there was at least a
slight incline to the passage. Ralph groaned under the pain of his
wounds. Tomas hollered as a pale, grotesque worm rises from the foul
pool, wrapping around his leg and climbing up his chest.
It was a
horridly large maggot, grown fat off the refuse of rat, pig, and
offal. Its eyeless head ended in a sucking maw ringed with small,
saw-like teeth. Tomas grasped the thing with both hands desperately
trying to keep the carrion beast from latching onto his face. Ralph
swung quickly, reopening his coagulating cuts. The sharp hatchet
sliced through the beast's neck, the decapitated head flying off the
cavern wall and into the muck. Tomas dropped the now dead maggot in
time to pull his pistol. Another giant horror had risen from the pool
and looked to bury its snapping maw into Ralph's raw back. The report
of the wheelock echoes down the fetid tunnel. The Frenchman's aim was
true, and the pistol's lead round obliterated the head of the maggot.
It's convulsing body flops back and is submerged into the muck.
“Enough
of this hell Ralph. Lean on me and I will lead us out.” Tomas'
agitation and worry was magnified by his thick animal tail swishing
back and forth behind him.
“But
which way? I despair of ever leaving this horrid place.”
“We'll
trust to the lord, and our resolve,” answered Tomas. “I say we
follow the stream as opposed going up. Methinks this is the drain for
the sty above.”
Ralph shrugs. On the edge of blacking out from
blood loss he had little strength left to argue or think.
It
seemed like an eternity, but the pair emerged eventually from the
tunnel into a sharp sided hillock. A marshy stream crossed the
opening carrying the effluvia further into the thick reeded meadow.
Trees on firmer ground gave the gully deep shadow in the late
afternoon sun.
“We
must return to the manor.” Ralph rasped. “We must hope our
companions find a way out as well. We will need to assist them if the
Irish mob still prowls the grounds.”
“Very
well. The ground is difficult, but I will continue to aid thee.”
An
hour later the sweaty, shit stained heroes collapsed among the tall,
unkempt grass at the rear of the manor. It was obvious the fire the
good doctor had started within the hall had not taken for Saraceninc
Hall still stood with no sign of damage or smoke. It was also obvious
the house staff and laborers were still on their guard. Stirred like
a swarm of angry bees they moved about between the house and the
cottages farther back.
“What
do we do now?” asked Tomas.
“We
wait.”
#3 Splitting the Party! One player went one way, one another, and still others clutched their wounds and looked for a place to lie low. The old OSR maxum of keeping your player group all together during the session must surely be tossed on the junk-heap of gaming history by now. 2018 saw the campaign enlivened with the players finding themselves making split-second decisions and getting cut off from one another. This spawned a couple of bonus sessions and overall made a greater campaign world. This doesn't mean a Keeper does not need to work extra hard on pacing and keeping everyone involved. I did have to schedule seperate sessions and find time for them, but it shouldn't be shied away from in session either. Zak's Frostbitten & Mutilated has a nifty adventure which gives any Game Master an example on how tension and interest can be maintained while splitting the party.
#3 Splitting the Party! One player went one way, one another, and still others clutched their wounds and looked for a place to lie low. The old OSR maxum of keeping your player group all together during the session must surely be tossed on the junk-heap of gaming history by now. 2018 saw the campaign enlivened with the players finding themselves making split-second decisions and getting cut off from one another. This spawned a couple of bonus sessions and overall made a greater campaign world. This doesn't mean a Keeper does not need to work extra hard on pacing and keeping everyone involved. I did have to schedule seperate sessions and find time for them, but it shouldn't be shied away from in session either. Zak's Frostbitten & Mutilated has a nifty adventure which gives any Game Master an example on how tension and interest can be maintained while splitting the party.
