#Warhorse band

[hammill-goes-fogwalking]

The heck. There's this silly little known 70s band called Warhorse which I discovered some days ago... now I found out Nick Simper was in there.

DEEP PURPLE E V E R Y W H E R E

[despazito]

i love when they add pissed off sounds over an animal actor that looks totally chill in the scene

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

BEERS ON THE ROAD WITH THE "HEAVIEST BAND IN THE UNIVERSE" -- THE GOLDEN YEARS.

PIC(S) INFO: Mega spotlight on behind-the-scenes shots of English stoner/DOOM metal band ELECTRIC WIZARD, bygone memories from the U.S. "Apocalypse Now" tour with WARHORSE, @warhorsedoom, c. 2001. THE WIZARD were:

Jus Oborn (vocals, guitar)

Tim Bagshaw (fuzz bass, effects)

Mark Greening (drums & concussion)

Source: www.picuki.com/media/3419598690139343244.

[krispyweiss]

Song Review: Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros feat. Tyler Childers - “Mama Tried” (Live, April 3, 2022)

Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros are authentically outlaw, wrapping Tyler Childers in country immunity as he leads the band through “Mama Tried.”

Recorded professionally April 3, 2022, at Radio City Music Hall and freshly released, this owes more to Merle Haggard’s original studio recording than to the Grateful Dead’s live arrangement. Which is not only the aim with Wolf Bros’ instrumentation of pedal-steel and electric guitar, acoustic piano, double bass and drums, but well-suited for Childers, who dwells in that space.

Weir’s guitar solo could’ve - and should’ve - yielded to Barry Sless’ steel. But expecting Weir to cede that territory after ceding the mic to Childers is folly and this “Mama Tried” is a refreshing Dead-world take on a Grateful warhorse.

Everybody say, “Thank you, Tyler.”

Grade card: Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros feat. Tyler Childers - “Mama Tried” (Live - 4/3/22) - B+

12/6/24

[cosmic-dichotomy]

Necomancers hate them! Local half-orc has huge ass and even bigger heart

The Stormbringers were a tribe of orcs that were, for centuries, feared. Their warhorses were said to bring a fear into your heart like you were facing a tempest.

The leader was a powerful wizard named Ferin. Her style of necromancer was particularly heinous: she drained the life of her victims, using them to fuel her own life, and then puppeted their bodies in battle. Those she drained were utterly destroyed, not merely killed. Their very souls fueled her.

It was into this tribe that Golnar was born. Its life was already storied, for its mother was a noblewoman, Zoreh Tilki, who had eloped with its father shortly before its birth. Its father was Ferin’s own son, Fregga.

A band of adventurers, led by the paladins Selna and Sturm marched on the Stormbringers to “liberate” the noblewoman Zoreh among others. Led by their own self-righteousness, they slaughtered almost the entire clan, sparing only the other elves and humans they believed had been kidnapped and bewitched by Ferin. Selna also refused to allow the young children to be killed, a choice that nearly brought her and Sturm to blows. Only Golnar and its infant brother Firouz survived the night.

During that night of death and justice, Death looked upon the child Golnar, and Loved them. While it has been maintained that Golnar was made to serve Death, it was on this night that, despite every warrior swearing that they kept their blade from the children, Golnar received a wound over their heart. This is Death’s mark upon them, for their heart beats despite the deep hole.

The orphans were raised by Selna, or at least were allowed to live in her house. When a sickness went through their community, Golnar became truly enshrined with Death. They began working as a healer at fourteen, learning at the shoulder of Selna. Even after the plague was gone, Golnar chose to heal. But their focus was on the elderly, the ill, the frail, the dying. As time went on, they began to dream of the gods of death, and became dedicated to them.

In its dreams, Golnar serves Death still. While it sleeps, its soul is transported to Death’s domain where it tend the souls of the recently deceased as a soul gardener, digging grave-plots for the souls to slumber until their next step. Over the years, it seems that Death became truly fond of Golnar, doting on it and favoring it with magic and gifts. When it dies, its soul will return to his domain for eternity, to serve him in death as it did in life.

As an aspiring Gravedigger Paladin, Golnar’s adventuring life is primarily that of a monster hunter. They target the undead and those who raise them, as well as those who cause great amounts of unnecessary death. These types of jobs are not very frequent, so functionally Golnar is a traveling healer. They tend to the sick and dying, but also ease the pains of birth and broken bone with holy magic, a gentle hand, and an even gentler manner. They never stay in one place for long, both due to their calling.

Unfortunately, the way it’s lived its life has led to Golnar being a recluse. It is so preoccupied with death that it’s lost sight of what makes death worth it all: the life you’ve lived. It has no friends, no close family, nothing to look forward to or care about besides the dead and dying, and see no value in its own soul except for what it’ll be when it dies.

Golnar is also a romantic, a devoted soul who has a great deal of love inside that has only ever been aimed towards the dead and dying. It has a strong sense of politeness and chivalry, and loves stories and song. It doesn’t remember its surname, but has taken the moniker “Strifeslayer” to remind itself what it aims for. Its heart and kindness are obvious to any who speak to Golnar, but said heart is guarded and uncertain. Though it has had quite a few flings and dalliances, the one intended long-term romantic entanglement Golnar allowed itself in its youth ended when its partner abandoned it and the community they had been defending to a grim fate. Golnar prevailed, but it never sought out its first love again. It fears that its purpose and dedication have left them with a heart incapable of experiencing deep lasting love.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Tom Verlaine - Cooky's, Frankfurt, Germany, April 6, 1987

More Verlaine! I've posted this one before, but it was at least a decade (or more) ago, and it deserves a little more love. Any of the 1987 Verlaine shows I've heard deserve a little more love, really — I think of that year as the culmination of Tom's musical searchings up to that point in his career. There should be an official live album from '87, I think it would blow a lot of minds.

For one thing, the band here was a real band, as much as Television ever was. Patti Smith’s drummer Jay Dee Daugherty was behind the kit, Fred Smith was on bass, and Jimmy Ripp filled in ably on second guitar, adding rich textures behind Verlaine's flights of fancy. This recording doesn’t sound like a solo artist with an anonymous group — it sounds like a cohesive unit, the songs often blending into one another, seamless and sleek.

The first half of the set is focused on tighter-than-tight rhythmic interplay — guitar riffs bouncing off one another, bass and drums locked in a death grip. Verlaine’s guitar sounds gorgeous here — much more melodic, playful and lyrical than the Television days. The second half sees the Verlaine Band loosening up a bit, stretching out on “Kingdom Come” and the old warhorse “Marquee Moon.” Tom’s solo on the latter is something to behold! Things finish off with blazing renditions of “Glory,” “Psychotic Reaction,” and “Red Leaves.” Not sure if Verlaine says more than a few words to the crowd throughout, but he's said enough.

[dickinson-devotee]

Paul Di’Anno (Iron Maiden, Warhorse) Interview – Defenders of the Faith

This past weekend, you met Bruce Dickinson for the first time, which I found rather surprising as I thought Maiden and Samson would’ve crossed paths in those early days. What was that meeting like for you and how was Bruce?

PD: It was good! He’s a good guy. The press brought all that shit up. It’s not the first time either. Me and Bruce have known each other. I knew him from the Samson days and all that stuff. We met here and there. No big deal, but it was good to see him. I thought his concert was bloody great. It was really good, slightly different as well, kind of like what I’m doing. It was good. I enjoyed it. Half his band came back to see me play. I did three songs in Zagreb as well. I was doing a signing, so they came down to see me as well. But yeah, Bruce is looking good and sounding good as well!

Sweet Jesus, thank you, Paul. Those headlines were driving me insane, anyone with half a brain would know that they had met each other before, but of course once that headline caught on it just spread. 🙄

BUT ALSO:

In closing, what does the rest of 2024 have in store for Paul Di’Anno and Warhorse? PD: Oh my God, here we go! We just finished up the logistics now. I leave here next week and go back to London where I’m shooting something for Iron Maiden at the Iron Maiden hotel (Sanctum Soho). They’re doing some sort of documentary thing.

Has to be something 50th anniversary related, I imagine 👀 2025 is going to be so good to us, I can feel it!

[porterdavis]

Bone-deep

This picture was taken in 1965 for my high school yearbook picture. Few things have been constants in my life, but a love of the Stones is one of them. There have been ups and downs, fallow periods, albums I couldn't stand, but also scores of concerts around the globe and many friends made along the way who shared my passion.

The last few decades have been a little sparse in terms of new material and the band was on the verge of becoming a tribute act of themselves (I could name 15 of the 20 songs they would play on any given night, and horror of horrors, I've left concerts before the 'warhorses' started to get a jump on traffic).

All of which is to say I had only moderate expectations for the new album Hackney Diamonds (why they would risk such a close name to 'hackneyed' is beyond me). My fears were tempered when I heard the kick-off single "Angry" -- a nice rocker with the signature Stones riff, tasty solos, and a great video.

Today I was able to get my hands on the entire album and pump it through my headphones. When the last notes of "Sweet Sounds of Heaven" finally faded away I had tears in my eyes. Damn near a religious experience. This new producer, Andrew Watt, has guided them to a Phil Spector wall-of-sound in the best possible sense of the term. The crescendos, the false finish, the fills are all perfect in their purpose and execution. Lady Gaga and Stevie Wonder are supreme value-added.

I've only given the rest of the songs a once-through, all seem complete, no filler. If there's any complaint it would be with Mick's lyrics, but then an 80-year old man isn't going to come up with "Rape...murder...it's just a shot away" more then once in his life.

Call me an old softie but I'll say it again -- I was moved to tears.

[baronetcoins]

six sentence sunday, because it's still sunday if I haven't gone to sleep yet. right? anyway, more of this i've been brainrotting over recently but I think this bit actually gestures towards the inciting incident.

“Ah, the herald.” The dauphin waved him over and he dismounted with a squish and thud, removing his chaperon. “We need you.”  He dipped his head in acknowledgement.  “Find the lord Exeter, or whoever speaks for their sorry band, and tell him this: bones we were promised, and bones we will have.” Montjoy’s eyes passed from over his shoulder to beyond, where his prize warhorse was still standing. Behind it was a shape made indistinct by the thick cake of clay which covered it. “If their king would wager his life, he will pay out his oath with his flesh.”

[rastronomicals]

8:39 PM EST December 26, 2023:

Warhorse - "Solitude" From the compilation album   Mojo Presents Heavy Nuggets (2007)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Giveaway with the December 2007 issue of Mojo. "Fifteen Lost British Hard Rock Gems 1968 - 1973."

Warhorse was the band started by bassplayer Nick Simper after he was fired by Deep Purple. Originally from their debut, Warhorse, released November 1970.

--

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Matty Kincaid Species: Vampire Occupation: Musician Age: 76 Years Old (Looks about 33) Played By: Gray Face Claim: Sam Claflin

“I don’t live with anything, man. Technically.”

They were supposed to be a forever kind of thing, Matty and the band. That’d been more than the idea, when they started out; it was a promise, stacked up on all the promises that came before. Like I’ve got your back, dickhead, and can’t get rid of me that easy, asshole, and always - so many alwayses, which everybody knows never, ever turn out that way. But you want to believe, yeah? Matty sure as hell did. 

And he believed in the music, too. In what they could make, together. It showed, and people noticed. Fast. Matty spent his twenty-first birthday touring the country to sold out shows, and by his twenty-fifth, it had all gone global. They were legends, and he was thriving on it. And on the fiercely tight-knit family he’d found, in his bandmates. They weren’t gonna be like the rest, falling out and apart. No way. Not that there weren’t highs and lows, of various kinds. But they made it through, for love of the music. And they always would, despite all the drama, and the distractions, and… yeah, the drugs. Hey, they were rock stars. Par for the course. 

Through it all, Matty didn’t just believe - he worked for it. Blood, sweat, tears, a throat sang hoarse, apologies tugged out like cactus spines, pride choked down, a heart laid bare, guts spilled. All that musical, creative stuff. All that human, growing up, figuring yourself out crap. All that real shit that none of the there-and-gone, stone-faced people in his army brat life gave a damn about. Not like the band did. They were worth it. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad nights. 

The worst night, though - they were there for that, too. His best friend in this life - and the next, as it turned out - was there, wide-eyed, horrified, searching from the blood-soaked hotel room he’d died in to the dingy alleyway he’d stumbled to, neck still torn wide open but working, working, as he gnawed the life out of an unfortunate cat. Which was fucked up, man. He’d always loved cats. 

It should’ve gone worse. But it didn’t. The band, they’d read their comic books growing up; they could tell a vampire when they saw one, and Matty sure looked the part. There was a certain amount of trial and error from there - but it wasn’t like Warhorse could just go on without him. They’d figure his bloodsucker shit out. They had to. Matty was one of them, no matter what. 

For a while, a good while, it seemed like they’d managed it. Actually! Sure, rocking with a vampire frontman took some tricks. But a band of their caliber could be eccentric, if they wanted. Just added to the mystique, right? Yeah, it might’ve been nice if he hadn’t got drained and dumped with no idea what might come next. He didn’t need some deadbeat old vampires hanging around, though, telling him how to live his life. Unlife? Whatever, man. Matty and the band, they had this covered. Seemed like. 

Seemed less that way, as the years ticked by. Or didn’t, for him. There were weddings, and divorces, and weddings, and kids. Laugh lines. Gray hairs. Reunions he couldn’t go to. And accidents. And addictions. And, almost, a death - too goddamn soon, way too soon. Cradling his best friend in his arms, Matty did the only thing he could think to do: what’d been done to him. At least, he tried to. Too bad he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. How hard could it be, though? His “sires” had just abandoned him, and he’d turned out… fine. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because he screwed it up, and - then what? Well, shit, he’d find a way to make it right. There had to be a way. If things like him, like them, could exist at all, then… was it so crazy to hope there was some sort of fix? Matty could believe, again. Was desperate to, in fact. How couldn’t he be? His best intentions had gone so goddamn bloody. The band, the band they’d built, was dead. Dead like his best friend could’ve been. They were both still here, though, even if it was all fucked. Which meant he could keep trying. Yeah? 

So he has. For months, then years. Then decades. Matty’s tried, and, man… the things he’s done, to keep that fucked-over friend as safe as spawn can be. He’d do it all again, too. He would. He will, in Wicked’s Rest, he’s sure - the rumours said this place was different, but how different can a place be? A vampire’s a vampire, no matter where you go. After so long spent cleaning up the ongoing, ugly consequences of his own stupid hopes, his own selfishness, his own reckless, thoughtless mistakes - whatever you want to distill it on down to - Matty’s starting to run out of all that believing he used to do so well. Now, on bad days, he wonders if his friend’s still somewhere inside the monster he made at all. And on bad nights? He’s petrified by the thought that they are, that they’ve been there, all this time, fully present, knowing, feeling, howling to escape the hell of an unlife he’s put them through. That even if he does manage to save this best friend to the end, and beyond… they’ll never really be themselves again. Never be able to survive this strange world of theirs, still shadowy and mysterious even after all the time Matty’s spent in it. Never, ever forgive him. Yeah, that - that’s unbelievable.

Character Facts:

Personality: Passionate, creative, quick-thinking, affectionate, loyal defensive, conflicted, guilty, reckless, fixated

So far as the old fans, managers, record labels, lawyers, and so on know, Matty Kincaid just… retired, back when things went wrong. Warhorse hasn’t performed since, but their music never really disappeared - like with Journey, REO Speedwagon, ELO, Fleetwood Mac, and other headliners of their time, everything that’s old is new again. There’s usually a song of theirs on your average radio mix of standard summer tunes, and since the band’s gone official on Spotify, they’ve popped up on plenty of those “Essential 80s” and “Roadtrip Classics”-style playlists. A few of their big tracks have even made their way into blockbuster soundtracks lately. One of those bands that you’ve definitely heard, even if you don’t really know them. 

Matty has mostly moved with the times, fashion-wise. But the rockstar hair has stayed, unchanged - obviously - and his sense of style absolutely skews retro. Some of it is even vintage. Like really, really vintage. He hates to throw things out, honestly. We could psychoanalyze that, but he’d rather we don’t. The only thing that’s saved him from becoming a real hoarder, frankly, is how often he’s had to move around to keep his friend as safe as feral vampire spawn can be. 

On that note. His best friend, that one, is currently hidden away in a crypt in Eluria Cemetery. Specially paid for, for the purpose. Seemed the safest spot, given the cemetery’s haunting legends; who’ll notice a few more vampiric roars? Hopefully no one. Matty would rather have his friend closer, and usually does - he’ll find somewhere they can hang. For a given definition. Honestly, they’re a hell of a roommate. Well, basementmate. But he owes them better than a mausoleum. He is well aware - maybe over-aware - of the psychic connection between him and his spawn; it does feel like a kind of closeness, even if he's not exactly sure how it works.

Matty’s acquiring his first vampiric “upgrade” - a second set of fangs, beyond the usual canine set. Gnarly. This, like much of his experience of vampirism, is not something he’s at all aware is coming or prepared for. Man, couldn’t those asshats have left a pamphlet?

Though he spent most of his time with Warhorse at the front, singing, Matty is also very capable on the piano and guitar. The rest of his artistic side shone through in the work he did designing the band’s album covers and show sets - so, for some viewers, his art has seriously nostalgic vibes. Even if they’re not sure why…

[doktordismemberment]

5ive

No, not the UK boy band, this 5ive were a monstrously hypnotic two piece sludge unit that happened to be local to where I grew up.

Still one of my absolute favorite bands (Right up there with Sam Black Church, Grief, Warhorse, and Nightstick as far as Massachusetts bands go) … The sound of continent drowning tidal waves rendered via crashing guitar chords, cascading sheets of amplifier howl, and dimension warping EFX overload.

[harmonyhealinghub]

Echoes of Silent Heroes Shaina Tranquilino November 12, 2024

In a dense, ancient forest touched by sunbeams and whispering leaves, lived a young stallion named Valor. His coat was as dark as midnight, glistening with strength and spirit. Born among oaks that spoke the language of centuries, he never imagined that the world beyond his green sanctuary would soon call upon him.

The war drums thundered one fateful autumn morning, vibrating the very ground beneath the hooves of the woodland creatures. From his meadow, Valor watched as a band of men clad in iron and fear appeared. They spoke in hurried voices, their eyes flickering like the wildfires that had once scarred the forest. A trumpet sounded, sharp and urgent, and Valor was led away, his neck adorned with a bright, red ribbon — a mark of his new destiny as a warhorse.

In the days that followed, Valor’s world became a blur of galloping nights, cannon smoke, and cries that shattered the silence of twilight. He ran with the speed of wind, his breath steaming in the chill of battle, carrying messengers whose words meant life or death. By his side, a dog named Patch, a scruffy terrier with a coat speckled like the stars, raced with messages clutched between his teeth, dodging the chaos with astonishing agility.

The front lines were a cacophony of chaos, where pigeons like Misty flew high above, her wings slicing through the air to deliver coded slips of paper to men hunched over makeshift tables. Her eyes, sharp as the needles that stitched soldiers' uniforms, scanned the fields below for glimpses of friend and foe alike. It was here, amid the mud and shrapnel, that the loyalty and lives of animals were measured not by gold, but by heartbeats and feathers and the gleam of loyal eyes.

Weeks turned into months, and the battles wore on like stories carved into stone. Valor, Patch, and Misty moved like threads through the fabric of war, each stitch a silent testimony to courage. Valor’s muscles ached from the unyielding weight of riders, and Patch's paws were worn raw. Misty’s once-sleek feathers became ragged from endless flights. Yet none faltered; they carried on, driven by bonds unseen yet unbreakable.

One storm-lashed evening, as the skies wept in torrents, an ambush erupted at the edge of a field. The clash of iron and the roar of artillery filled the night. Valor surged forward, eyes wide with fear but heart full of duty, when an explosion ripped through the air, sending him tumbling to the ground. Patch, who had been racing to deliver an urgent command, halted at his friend’s side, barking wildly, urging Valor to rise. But the stallion, eyes glazed with the dim light of departing life, lay still. Misty circled overhead, her wings beating desperately against the night as the battle swallowed them whole.

The dawn rose on silence. The fog of gunpowder and grief lifted to reveal the battlefield strewn with remnants of valor and sacrifice. In the cold light, the generals and soldiers stood, eyes cast downward. They walked among the fallen, pausing to place their hands on lifeless muzzles and feathers that would never fly again.

Time passed, and the war became another story in the long history of men. Yet, monuments were raised not only for the soldiers in boots, but for the silent companions who served without question. A statue was placed in the town square, cast in bronze, depicting a stallion mid-gallop, a terrier at its side, and a pigeon with wings wide in eternal flight.

Children would gather around this memorial, asking their elders, “Why is there a statue of animals here?” And the old would reply with voices tinged in both sorrow and pride, “Because they too were soldiers. And their bravery bore no less weight.”

Today, flowers are laid at its feet, and the memory of Valor, Patch, and Misty lingers on the breeze. It is a reminder that gratitude extends beyond the human heart, stretching into the realms where feathers flutter and hooves pound. It is a silent thank you, whispered into the wind, for those who had no voice but gave everything they had.

[radiomaxmusic]

In Memoriam / Paul Di'Anno (1958 - 2024)

Paul Andrews (May 17, 1958 – October 21, 2024), better known by his stage name Paul Di’Anno, was an English heavy metal singer who was the lead vocalist for Iron Maiden from 1978 to 1981. In his post-Maiden career, Di’Anno issued numerous albums over the years, as both a solo artist and as a member of such bands as Gogmagog, Di’Anno’s Battlezone, Killers, Rockfellas, and more recently, Warhorse.…

[krispyweiss]

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Day No. 1, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, Sept. 29, 2023

- Rickie Lee Jones, Christone “Kingfish” Ingram, John Cragie, Peter Rowan and others highlight first day

Rickie Lee Jones opened the 2023 edition of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass - and christened the festival’s new, Horseshoe Hill stage - by reading from her 2021 memoir.

And Peter Rowan played country - not bluegrass - music during his late-afternoon set on the Banjo stage.

These were just two highlights from Day One at the long-running festival, which also included Christone “Kingfish” Ingram redefining the blues and John Craigie finding his quirky spot alongside Todd Snider in folk-Americana.

Seated on the small stage set up to resemble a living room and flanked with clothes drying on the line, an animated Jones embellished her reading from “Last Chance Texaco” with playful asides and wise cracks. She talked about how Laura Nyro made her feel connected and how Neil Young made her realize odd voices can be successful voices.

“I like it up here,” Jones said of being on stage. “I think artists sometime mistake the excitement for fear.”

Jones read about hitchhiking through California as a 14-year-old in 1969 as a foggy drizzle enveloped Golden Gate Park. She had soundchecked with a snippet of “The Horses,” but ended her well-received spoken-word gig by playing her father’s composition “The Moon is Made of Gold” solo and acoustic and earning a standing ovation from the small crowd seated in grass surrounded by tall trees.

Afterward, Mr. and Mrs. Sound Bites took in a couple of numbers from Vetiver - think the Byrds with a slide guitarist - on the Swan stage as the blog couple headed for Ingram, who played before an audience of thousands on the Towers of Gold stage.

Borrowing Stevie Ray Vaughan’s tone and adding equal measures of funk and R&B, Ingram and his band were super-charged during 50 minutes of electrifying blues as they continually tore the music down before building it right back up. The guitarist sang of lost love on “Fresh Out;” walked off stage, but kept playing out of sight, to showcase his band on “Not Gonna Lie;” and engaged powerful call-and-response with his keyboardist during the set, which ended as Craigie took to the adjacent Swan stage.

Backed by electric bass and guitar and playing acoustic axe and harmonica, Craigie mixed humorous stage banter with tunes both playful (“I Wrote Mr. Tambourine Man”) and serious (“I am California”). Stage presence and song craft made fans of the Sound Biteses, who got their second dose of Craigie in as many days following the previous evening’s benefit for Camp Winnarainbow.

Bluegrass legend Rowan was the biggest surprise of the day, turning in a country and blues set that found him alternating between electric guitar and mandolin, supported by guitar, bass, drums and fiddle. This was exhilarating, though low volume at the Banjo stage lessened the impact of the instrumental guitar duel of “T Bone Shuffle” and made “Panama Red” -> “Freight Train” -> “Panama Red” sound like they were coming in on the winds from Ocean Beach.

Small price to pay for the opportunity to hear Rowan perform such warhorses as “Lonesome L.A. Cowboy,” “Land of the Najavo” and “Midnight Moonlight” in novel musical settings in the bucolic landscape of Golden Gate Park.

9/30/23

[ravens-inquisition]

SESSION 3

III. Ramblings of a Bhaalist

Translation:

The Elf: Rahadin

The Big Guy: Pikehead

A Pool: Tser Pool

Fancy Guy: Prince Sergei

[The following is an out-of-character session recap]

Freshly plucked out of death row and having fought their way out of the burning prisoner wagon, the band of convicts dressed in rags were brought before Strahd in his office atop a castle in mourning. The deciding proposition was brought up: temporary servitude under the von Zarovich name for a bargain of freedom or favor. The convicts each made their requests:

Cain bargained for the freedom of his people that were previously under Barov's oppression. Strahd promised him a place in his court.

Caland asked that his order of knights -- The Order of the White Swan -- be pardoned for their crimes. Strahd not only apologized for the cannibalism amongst their ranks but expressed that he would grant the pardon willingly.

Violet wanted to be able to conduct her 'experiments' with ease. Strahd offered her the ability to do so under his law.

Frank wanted for nothing, suspecting there to be treachery.

Omen did not make a bargain, for his desire was not his own. Strahd only gave him a letter denoting a transfer of ownership from his previous master to his hand.

Pikehead only asked to serve again, this time under a much better hand than his previous superior, Lord Foltest. He was the first of the six to be knighted as Inquisitor of the Holy Office of Barovia, Ordo Solis.

Although not officially ordained by the Holy Office, with the six now carrying the title of Inquisitor, they were also expected to act under the Church of the Morninglord. Thus, they were briefed on their mission of conquest and inquiry throughout the Tsolenka Valley. Strahd informed them of the urgency, that half a year of resources had been stolen, constricting the war campaign to a very limited time window; they must be finished by winter or else everything will be lost.

The newly knighted Inquisitors were then shown a map of the valley alongside territorial divisions of the factions currently residing and involved in it. The map, alongside the legend, can be viewed here.

They were also introduced to established and potential allies across the valley:

The Vistani: Ally. They are merchants and nomads, saved Strahd's life and were given protection under him. They now reside at Tser Pool.

The Dusk Elves (Purple) : Neutral and does not want to take sides. Rahadin called them cowards indirectly.

Argynvostholt (Blue) : Defenders, will only offer protection if one is attacked. Residence of the Silver Dragon Knights.

Berez: Neutral, a town under the protection of the Silver Dragon Knights.

Vallaki: Ally, a town won over in huge part because of Prince Sergei and his ambassadorial duties under the Church of the Morninglord.

Afterward, the Inquisitors were tasked with their first mission: to prevent the assassination of the Baron of Vallaki. For this, they have about 4 to 5 days to reach the town, gather information, and devise a plan of action. They agreed to take a short visit to the Vistani camp at Tser Pool so that they could travel under the cover of merchants. They were treated to a feast and a brief respite before they had to depart atop 4 warhorses and 2 steeds on the same day. Not long after, Prince Sergei caught up with them and asked to join in the convoy, having needed to go towards Vallaki as well.

It was the first day of the Raven's Inquisition.