#he checked up with an expert on repair costs and it was absurdly high. so he's trying to carefully do what he can

[navramanan]

A glimpse of hope: laptop turned on by being plugged in after my brother removed the battery. He suspects the battery might be the issue or any other component associated with it. He's being very careful and everything with what steps we should take next, but he's going to clone my disk just to be safe

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 8:  Difficult Neighbors

You’d think the time in between fighting monsters would be chill, but no. We finish up in Holzog, gear up for Mornheim, and deal with the one thing worse than monsters: locals.

We get down to brass tacks with appraisin’ items and stocking up. Gral and Valeria find out what their violin strings and Eyegis do, though the rest of  us will have to find out later. Valeria makes some holy water and Shoshana brews up a couple of healing potions during our downtime.

We briefly debate whether to tell Quentin everything. We decide we’re for it; he’s working with the Cursebreakers, and they’re the organization that can best use the info we’ve found to connect the dots on how the Curse works and how to fight it.

“It’s still a hot take that the Curse had agenda, and now we know it has 4 agendas and 4 bodies, all under some powerful ward? They’ve got to know that.”

We go to the mining guild office where the Cursebreakers are. We are all visually searched. Witness Beatrice searches the ladies, which is a fairly chill affair since she can be pretty easily told to back off. Clem is fine; this is not her first strip-search or invasive interrogation, she tells us. What?

Gral has no such luck, and is being searched by Ser Quentin. “Well, sir Orc? Lose ‘em.” His hands are exceptionally cold. (Gral does want a professional to take a look, but. A little bedside manner, Q?)

While the girls are downstairs in Bea’s library, Valeria remembers: “Oh! We have thing for you!” We give her the Char Mender, and Bea totally forgets about strip searching us. Her eyes light up and she takes it to the cabinet of charred books.

We discover we have enough Char Mender to repair one book.  (We should have evolved it, maybe.)

Bea focuses on 3 rare tomes that she believes were the target of the arson. “And it was arson, unless fires start on one end of the library, and then when I go to put that one out, another fire starts on the other end.

The books we must choose between:

The Study of Fiends, a demonology study commissioned by the Church of Torme. Unfortunately, the results ended up being a little too much of a how-to for summoning demons, so they never completed the full publication run, and it’s an extremely rare book. It regards demons and how they operate, different individual demons and what offers they are likely to make, the types of deals they make with people, etc.

Songs of the Druids, a study of the druids of the Greatwood, regarding their methods and secrets. There’s a lot of legend and poetry rather than purely academic research, but it’s the closest thing anyone’s ever really made to a comprehensive collection of information about them.

The Grimscale Essays, a collection of essays on necromancy and the undead, recovered from a Draco-Aquilian necromancer’s tower. It is banned to use the knowledge in these essays, but it is a valuable collectors’ item and may offer insights on how the undead function.

Though our upcoming trek to Mornheim tempts us toward the necromancy book, we select Team Druid, to know about our potential allies. Bea sighs wistfully. “That book had some beautiful illustrations. I hope those get restored too”

“Also, If Morozov asks - he was less interested in that one, but I’m gonna say you made me do it OKAY BYEEEE”

After we’ve all got our pants on again, Ser Quentin has us tell him everything. We do, withholding nothing except our spaceship adventure. Unfortunately, he’s an Inquisitive Rogue, and nobody lies to him. We fail our deception checks hard, so Shoshana awkwardly tries to explain their adventure on a space ship without having any idea of what a space ship is. It’s pretty disjointed, but she musters the defense that talking about the Confusing Forbidden Knowledge could have been a good way to get More Cursed. Fair enough. He can tell that we’ve got nothing else to hide, anyway.

“If what you say is true, you slew these musicians, who were responsible for the mist in the valley. If so, I guess we’ll have to see what happens. In the meantime it is now vitally important that I take these notes on your travels, make my way to Hoska Castle, and report to the other Cursebreakers. There are records there I will need to consult. The ‘Key’ you mention – my order is one of seekers of knowledge. So you can understand why I’m a little concerned that this is the very instinct targeted by one of our adversaries.”

We look at the tapestry again, to see if we can figure out any clues about the Prisoners. The foreground one has its antler helmet and wolf skin cloak - clearly the entity we know as The Hunt. The other figures are indistinct; the artist didn’t bother to differentiate them in this crude medium. All we can tell is that they are bound in roots.

We show Quentin the Eyegis. “In my professional expertise, this shield...is creepy. You should go ask an expert in magical items.”

Darius is called over to look at the Mysterious Pamphlet from the glove box. “Don’t some members of your order have the ability to read all tongues?” Sure, but he didn’t take Eyes of the Rune Keeper as one of his invocations though. Ooooops. 

Daikon receives scritches! He finds a seed in Shosha’s hair from the woods, and eats it.

Valeria tells Quentin about us choosing the Druid Book for Bea, Luckily, she successfully Persuades. He sighs. “Considering what we have learned, it does make the most sense. You got this repair substance from Sturmhearst? We’ll see if we can get any more.”

Oh yeah, those guys. We warn him that being so close to the mists of the Key, what with them being seekers of knowledge, is probably Less Than Optimal.

Ser Quentin looks down his nose at us. “We have explicit instructions not to antagonize Sturmhearst, as they are a valuable ally and formidable foe. You understand that Ser Brigid has done this with the explicit intention of making us keep a close eye on them, yes?”

Oh, he has one more important question re: Sturmhearst. “You told them you were going to investigate the house? In that case, Darius, please send a request to the Baroness and her Condotierri.”

“In three days, a supply caravan will leave for Mornheim. Be there that morning and I will brief you. In the meantime the Fairgolds have interceded to have some rooms prepared at the Greencloak Inn, and I recommend you take up those rooms. Our offices are less than comfortable. If we need to reach out to you, I expect we’ll send Daikon."

After we leave the office, Clem goes back to Hammerstein and Sons to get that sword silvered. “It’ll be 150g to coat your greatsword in silver, but it’ll be hard to get it done in three days; an extra 50g will get you to the front of my queue,” says Bluma Hammerstein. 

Clara Sons, her partner (business partner? life partner? We Just Dont’ Know), interjects “Bluma does have an apprentice she’s training; perhaps she could-“

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to teach her the process. If you’re willing to let the kid work on your baby there, I can bypass the 50g.” 

“Is the kid proficient enough? I don’t wanna lose my ‘baby,’ as you call it.”

Bluma shrugs. “Ehhhhhhhhh? She’s very talented…yeah, sure, she’s a helluva hand with a whetstone, pretty good with a hammer, but this is a pretty complex process. Not gonna lie to ya: I think the kid can do it. And I’ll be there to supervise.”

Clem hands them her remaining bottle of High Elven vodka. If I give you this, will you be Extra Careful? They shake on it.

Clem also asks after a suit of splint mail. They have a Ventallan style one in the shop they could resize for her. Clara was refitting it for a Condotierri, but then he skipped out on paying, so they kept it. “It’ll cost 200g total. It’s quite a nice piece! I can get the black rook sigil off the shoulder for you.”

Clem’s about 40g short, and is thoroughly disappointed. Shoshana has come with, though, and has done all the shopping she needs to for her healing potions. And, because of the reward from Sturmhearst and Ser Quentin’s advance payment for the Mornheim expedition, still has more money in her pocket than she ever had as a poor villager.

“Here’s 50g,” she tells Clem. “Use it to not die; you can repay me by making sure I don’t die.”

Clem is ABSOLUTELY FLOORED. Why are you just giving me money??? It’s a pretty big thing for Clem. No one has ever given her money without expecting something in return???? What could Shoshana possibly mean by this huge gesture?????

Shoshana is like, no, we’re going to Mornheim, if we all die none of us can spend this cash.

“Oh, you’re going to MORNHEIM?!” Clara exclaims. “Here, why don’t I just inscribe a holy symbol of Lethe on that, free of charge.” She points to an absolutely destroyed chestpiece she has on her workbench. “That’s what’s coming back from Mornheim.”

Because Clem is an absurdly big lady, she needs a few parts taken from other pieces of armor around the shop to make it all fit. She has a Pretty Woman montage of coming out in different suits of armor for the armorsmiths and Shoshana. She ends up with kind of a hodgepodge of random armor. 

“What are your thoughts on asymmetrical shoulder pads? I’ve got one from an old elven regiment, but I’ve only got the left one.” It has a bit of filigree on it, but nothing as distinctive as a regimental insignia. Clem smiles nostalgically and says she’ll take it. 

Clara is momentarily distracted by Clem’s buff physique: “Nice shoulders.”

“Thanks, I made them myself?”

Anyway, we all agree that a clothing montage but with buff ladies in armor is The Future That Lesbians Want.

The Fairgolds want to party with us. Clem is like “are they paying?” No, so Clem’s out. 

Gral has his responsibility to perform the Death Song for his squadmates. We attend and listen to him sing their death songs to pay our respects. The DM is disappointed he doesn’t get to roll on the carousing table, but the mood is decidedly not carousing.

The next day, we wake and stretch. Clem is a little disturbed by the décor of the inn – it features elven helmets over the mantle, and the owner claims the original curtains were made of the green cloaks of elven officers. Clem was excited at first to hear about the Greencloak Inn, but less so now. The story is that rebels scared some elves out of their camp by imitating howls of wolves and owlbears, and then stole all their stuff. It’s just sort of awkward, even though Keva and Valdia are no longer enemies.

Shortly after the town gates open in the morning, a familiar cart pulls up, pulled by two large lizards. “Bjorn! Get us some rooms! Ingborg! See to the mounts! I require breakfast!”

Professor Lucinius Galvan enters the inn, looking a bit more tired and scarred than last time. “Bjorn, Ingborg, stay in the cart, you’ll scare the locals! Innkeep, I would like two rooms, one with the largest beds you have! Where might I find a library, or a local guide! Oh, perfect – wait, what do you mean there WAS a library?! OH HEY, KYR ARGENT! Bjorn, Ingborg, bring the luggage in!”

We greet Professor Galvan with open arms, mildly surprised he hasn’t been eaten. “Any luck on your expedition?”

“I found truly fascinating results! Also ghosts. I saw some skeletons, but only after Bjorn and Ingborg were done with them, so...fragments of skeletons.” 

“You’re certainly in capable hands with them,” Valeria accedes politely.

“I was able to dispatch the spectre who assaulted me. It was no match for good old Aquilian magic. The old spells still work! The good old ‘Scorpus Arcana,’ or ‘Magic Missile.’ They claim the new way’s more elegant, but is it really?”

Ooh, we ask him to tell us about the ghost.

“It was an Aquilian ghost! I attempted to ask it several questions, but it attempted to rip my face off. And truth be told, you don’t get a Ph.D. in archaeology without knowing when to abandon a line of inquiry!”

“I found the old Aquilian watchtower I was looking for! But the sigil for legion stationed here wasn’t for a standard flying legion. I’ve been trying to decipher exactly what their symbol means. I did find some records – inscriptions and pottery shards, describing how the Aquilians were working with locals. Very surprising! Especially with the Valdians’ reputation as - forgive me - rather backwards and uncooperative.”

The tower he’d found was clearly designed for both Aquilian (Aarakocra) AND terrestrial (human) soldiers and inhabitants! Elsewhere it wasn’t unheard of that they’d recruit locals, but the common narrative says that the locals were highly resistant to occupation. He’s been looking up stories about the original occupation from the perspective of the Valdians.

We tell him to go hit up Witness Beatrice if he’s looking for stories and knowledge. Also, Valeria takes the chance to talk to a proper magic practitioner. She says, “I found something interesting and, I wanted to ask you about it! Ser Quentin isn’t much for arcane artifacts, but you might be able to tell me what it does! And whether it’s going to multiply my eyes.”

“That’s a weird concern, but okay.” He examines the Eyegis. It behaves like a wizard’s familiar. One who is attuned to the shield can see through it so long as it is within a 120 foot range of the wielder. Valeria’s player LOVES it; Valeria accepts it warily.

Gral has already attached the strange violin strings to his lute and attuned (heh. TUNED), so he doesn’t need to Identify them. (He made a Deal with the Curse, the players find out, though he is not consciously aware of it.)

Valeria goes and introduces Lucinius to Bea, to make sure he doesn’t scare Bea. Bea is like “cool, a Professor!” Then she eeps and hides behind Valeria’s legs, because Valeria forgot to warn re: goliaths. Darius gives Valeria the stink eye for scaring Bea again.

Valeria makes sure to make her Holy Water out of water from the lake. Encouragingly, the Mist does not rise again during our time in Holzog.

We hang out with the Fairgolds. Flynn is a bit pompous, but likable once you get to know him. He and Fiona train every morning in the square. At night he’s busy telling stories and she’s busy drinking. There’s a portrait of them at their uncle’s inn of when they were younger. Flynn looks similar, but Fiona looks way different. Her hair is longer, and she’s not as muscled or scarred – she looks much more similar to her brother, and a lot happier. In the picture, she’s clutching a book. Shoshana, always interested in languages, learns a couple of Fiona’s hand signs over the next few days.

On Friday, we arrive at the Cursebreakers’ office early in the morning for a mission briefing. We approach to Morozov’s office. He hands us information packets, and begins his monologue:

“On my last expedition, as you may know, I was accompanied by squad of Elven veterans from an elite unit known as the Red Hand.” Clem nods intently. “They had worked with me on several other expeditions of a similar nature. Lady Aubrey von Mornheim, leader of the survivors of Mornheim, informed us of indications of some flavor of cult activity. We suspected perhaps a necromancer of some sort, but something odd happened as we neared the von Menzer family crypt, the resting place of noted mage Johann von Menzer, of Sturmhearst. Due to the patterns of undead activity, we believed this crypt was our goal.”

“We were attacked by an unusually large number of undead, working in concert. We were separated from one of their number, Sokolov.” Clem’s eyes widen as she seems to recognize the name, but she does not speak up. Quentin continues. “We were badly injured and I insisted we return to town. My companions refused to leave their comrade behind. I split with them and returned back to Mornheim to be in safety before the sun went down. They returned to Mornheim the next morning with Sokolov in tow, and immediately told me they’d no longer be in my service, effective immediately. I had to abandon the expedition.”

“Sokolov did not look especially well – not unusual for somebody trapped in that place. The strange thing is, and I mean no offense to your compatriots, Sgt. Haxan – I did use my contacts to have the Red Hand followed after they left service. I thought there was something off about them. Some left the wood, heading towards the Crownlands and old battlefields of the Ascension War. Some traveled as mercenaries, fighting for hire, never staying one place too long.”

He pulls out a map with pins stuck in it, red and black. “The red pins mark places that members of the Red Hand have stayed more than a single night. Black pins mark fresh instances of undead attacks.”

There is an obvious, recognizable correlation. “It’s not at every stop, but it always occurs about a week after they left. It’s not provable by any means; there’s no shortage of death in the Cursewood.”

Clem stands, her bulk becoming a menacing loom. “I’m sorry, are you implying that these men may have been behind these undead attacks?”

Ser Quentin is unmoved by her imposing presence. “I do not imply. I conclude, and I accuse. I am doing neither at this time. However, this obviously merits further investigation.”

“We learn nothing by sitting on our hands. Your mission is to enter the von Mentzer family crypt and find out what you can. If this is another one of these “prisoners,” I want to know everything you can find. A supply caravan leaves for mornheim tomorrow. I’ve hired the Fairgolds to help escort it – they will get the merchants there and back. You will not leave with the caravan. Stay in Mornheim and investigate as long as you feel able. You can reach out to me through any Cursebreaker outpost. Page 5 of your packet has names and addresses of those who can reach me. I will accompany you for the first leg of the journey, but part ways to go to Holska.”

“One more thing, Kyr Argent.” He hands her a sealed letter. “This is for the Lady Aubrey, please secure it among your belongings as you pack. It is a letter of introduction stating your mission and asking her to assist you.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” We hear armored boots click-clacking down the hallway. The door opens, we turn around, and the Baroness, somewhat disguised by a cloak, enters the room.

Valeria salutes.

“The Baroness would like to speak with you in private,” Quentin tells us. “Well, I’ll be here.”

The Baroness Francesca von Holzog appraises us with a calculating eye. “I take threats to Holzog very seriously.” Two knights enter behind her – one is a standard human Condotierri, while the other a is green skinned tiefling with solid red eyes and curling horns, wearing a black cape and fine armor with the Condotierri’s black rook sigil. “Now, allow me to introduce Captain Stefano Mozzeti, my cousin.”

He bows and says hello. The Baroness tells us, “He is the Captain of the Black Rook Condotierri, abd he would like to hear what you have to say as well. Ser Quentin has communicated a detailed report, and I have dispatched some of Mozzeti’s men to deal with Sturmhearst. They are an enemy I don’t enjoy making. Tell me what happened.”

Gral explains, rolling persuasion with Valeria helping. He reassures her that the musicians who were opening the portals are dead, and the mists should be gone for good.

“If a month passes and mists do not fill the valley, though they usually come once a week, we will see what we can do. The Condotierri are to search this house and burn any sheet music they find. Sturmhearst had already gone to the house, scattering like like pigeons when we kicked them out. I believe it would be unwise for them to have access to this music. If you truly have rid my barony of this threat, come to me in a month’s time and we will see if there is a reward for you.”

Captain Stefano looks Gral in the eye, as well as he can through Gral’s mask. “Orc, if those mists come back and my men die, you better be confident. If they die, and they were guarding that damned house in that damned hole, do not return to Holzog.”

“Yes, I would consider it a failure on my part,” Gral agrees.

“No, we would have….how you say, beef.”

Gral responds in his most diplomatic tone. “The Key works by getting agents. We want to stop it getting more agents in Sturmhearst, and you are doing that work to keep us safe.”

Still giving their best intimidating vibes, the Baroness and her cousin swoosh outtie. The Crown, everybody!

Clem rolls a few dice, as we return to Hammerstein and Sons later that day. 17! We find Bluma and Clara and a teenage girl. Clara has the armor, painted and dyed mainly a dark muted red-orange, with black trim, to make the cobbled-together set of armor a little more cohesive. She has drawn a little clementine tree on the pauldron. 

Bluma says “All right, Reyna, c’mon, give the drow lady her sword back.” 

The teen, hands shaking a little, gives Clem the greatsword, wrapped in cloth. “I silver-plated it for you, ma’am, Miss Bluma was watching me and I think I did a pretty good job.”

Bluma smiles. “The kid did fine. I got a dummy set up out back if you wanna test out the edge.” It’s kept its edge! Good rolls mean the trainee didn’t screw it up. At first glance, it still looks like dark elven steel. (This was NOT standard issue for the Red Hand, Clem stole it off some cultist during the war, probably.) She has to look very closely to see waves of silver worked in. There are no imperfections or nicks, and the edge is sharper since it’s freshly whetted. 

“We’ve got a patented technique here in Holzog, leads to that nice wavy pattern. Recommend us to your friends, here’s a card,” Bluma tells her.

Clem approaches the apprentice, Reyna, and tells her, “It looks perfect. You are a credit to your family and your community. I thank you.” Reyna immediately tears up. “Sorry, we shoulda warned ya,” Bluma whispers. “She’s from out in the woods. Don’t think her family made it. We haven’t been pressing. We’ve kinda taken her in.” We bid a fond goodbye to the nice lesbians, and head on out.

In the morning, we meet in town square. We’re traveling with a merchant named Feivel, his drivers and three carts. One is loaded with food, one with medicine and building supplies, and the third has smaller locked chests and has room for passengers. We get on the road! It should be 4 days of travel to Mornheim.

1st day: no incident. We stop in a small village and camp in the town square, since there’s no inn big enough. Flynn entertains some children, telling a story about fighting a “moss ogre,” and then they play moss ogre and he lets several children take him down with sticks. Fionna watches and laughs. Her laugh is a weird wheeze, like she can’t quite form the sounds.

The second day is less peaceful. Along the road, Valeria nat 20’s a perception check and hears a person running through the woods – panting breath, tearing frantically through the trees, stumbling over brush – some medium-sized humanoid running desperately. Behind her, there are sounds of heavy footsteps and ferocious growls as she bursts onto path. 

It’s a terrified-looking red-haired human teenager. “MONSTERS! HELP!” 

Valeria is ON IT, positioning her formidable self between the woods and the carts.

“They’re right behind me!” the girl says, gasping for breath as she reaches the wagons. “At least three of them! Big, with sharp teeth and long- long claws! I think there’s others with them. Bandits, maybe?”

Shoshana insight checks her, and she genuinely seems terrified. “Feivel, we got incoming!” the sorceress calls. The Fairgolds step up next to Valeria to defend the carts.

The sounds of monsters get closer, but Something Is Wrong. The sounds aren’t getting close as fast as we would have expected? And then we hear something behind us – something on the other side of the carts.

The ‘terrified’ girl has a gun to Feivel’s head, and a line of bandits step out from among the trees.

A sly-looking halfling speaks for the group: “Bonjour, madams et monsieurs, my name is Henri deCannes, and these are the Free Thieves of Valdia. It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that we are robbing you today. I will not be so crass as to deny you your weapons, but you would please hand over all your valuables, if you will not mind. We will place all your weapons in this sack, and we shall put it in that tree. Then you can go get it, once we are gone.”

It’s right around here that we realize Ser Quentin is nowhere to be seen. Also his stuff is gone. Fuckin’ rogues with high Insight, amirite?

Shoshana raises her hand, like a kid in school. “Uh, we have like four knights with us?”

“Yes, that is why we are attempting to resolve this peacefully. Disarm, please.”

Shoshana places her staff primly across her knees, waiting to see what everyone else is going to do.

Flynn and Fiona are watching us, but like hell Fiona’s gonna disarm. It’s clear she’ll bust some heads first. No one else moves to give this guy their swords.

“My, so ferocious! And is that an orc with you! I must hear this story someday.” 

Gral snarks, “You don’t make a good first impression.”

“Oh? If I am befriending you, I am not robbing you. If I befriend and then rob you, I am betraying a friend, and that would be a sin.”

Clem and Val go for the Intimidate. Valeria, the minor corruption of the Hunt glistening on her fangs, hisses, “Go find someone else to rob, this one is Ours.”

Clem says, “Excuse me, Mr. ...?” 

“Henri deCannes, you may have seen my face on a wanted poster?”

“Henri, if I may offer some advice. I once tried to fight something much bigger than me, much as I am much bigger than you. Do you know what happened?” She leans in. “It nearly CRUSHED me under its foot. So I would much rather make friends.” She ends with the sort of smile that implies much, much danger.

He’s intimidated. Henri doesn’t want to fight her. But he’s not giving up, and tries to pull a few heartstrings.

“This Curse especially targets those who reside in the woods. We are especially prone to corruption. My people, the Free Thieves of Valdia - I have been called here to help them. We do not wish to be monsters, or savages taken by the curse.”

“You’d just be a different kind of savage, wouldn’t you?" growls Valeria.

“You wound me. My men, they would go to the towns, but they are not welcome there. They would leave Valdia, but that takes money. And time is running short.”

“Running short until what?”

“Until we lose our minds, madame! I want to get as many of my men out as I can.”

He asks where we’re headed. Shoshana cheekily tells him “Nunya.”

Gral speaks commandingly: “There is always another way. Forge new papers and live an honest life. You are not leading your men to safety, you are leading your men to pain. I would get out of our way now.”

Henri persists. “I will take those medicines, and nothing more. We have sick and injured. We will leave you your food and other supplies. We seek the price for a Galwan ship, or to pay for the false documents you suggest we get.”

Gral does some internal math. We have about 100g worth of medicine, but we’ve seen posters in town with this man’s face on them. His bounty is set at 400g. 

The bard proposes a solution: “I see you care very much for your men. This medicine will be yours if you come with us and turn yourself in. Surely, if you are so concerned for their welfare, you would be nobly self sacrificial enough to trade yourself for their well-being.”

Henri nods. His bandits make protestations, but he shouts “Non! The orc is correct. If I must sacrifice myself for the Free Thieves to prosper, so be it.” 

“Please hand your medicine to Anya here,” he tells the merchants. Valeria insight checks and rolls a 3, seeing that he is clearly honest about taking the bargain. 

“Dmitri, Dmitri! Those shackles of yours, please! Dmitri, a bandit, hands Val some halfling-sized shackles. Clem’s kinda disappointed that the wanted poster specified “alive,” but ah, well. 

Anya, the red-headed girl who tricked us, takes the crate of medicine and sprints back to bandits. 

“Non! Do not wait for me! Be free, free thieves of Valdia!” Henri cries, dramatically. Valeria moves to cuff him, and the shackles go straight through his arms. 

“Oh, and I am quite sorry, but...Ceci n’est pas Henri deCannes.” He vanishes, and the bandits sprint into the woods with the medicine. Trickster clerics, babyyyyy! 

Valeria is FRUSTRATED at having been tricked so easily. Gral commiserates: “I see I am a bit too trusting in my aim for diplomacy.”

WELL. That’s a story that will seem funny to us later. At least we have halfling-sized shackles now, signed on one cuff by one Henri DeCannes. Gral adds, using Minor Illusion, “is a buttface.” On the other side is a holy symbol of Guile.

So having been hustled, we hustle along. Morozov rejoins us. “You lost the medicine?”

“Yeah, we’re idiots.”

Morozov has no regrets about his vanishing act. “I couldn’t run the risk of losing the evidence from my investigations. Couldn’t let it be damaged by a stray pistol ball.”

We arrive at next town and see Wanted posters of Henri, Anya, and several bandits. The camp mood for that night is decidedly subdued.

In the morning, Ser Quentin heads off in a different direction. “Alas, this is where I must turn aside. Best of luck to you.”

“And you as well,” we tell him politely.

“I don’t need luck, but I’m not so foolish as to refuse it. Good luck in Mornheim.”

As we head out, we commiserate about how much of a dick Henri is. Flynn concurs. “No offense, but I think I’ll leave this one out of the next story. If you do go after him, though, invite me. I’ll have a few pointed comments to make,” he gripes, playing with the hilt of his sword.

On the third day of travel, we make good time towards the spot we’ll have to ford a river. Fiona scouts ahead, feeling restless. Flynn is unconcerned. “If she finds anything, just listen for- well, you’ll hear her, trust me.”

She comes back a couple of minutes later, seeming kind of put out. She shakes her head and signs rapidly to Flynn. “She says the bridge is out,” he tells us glumly.

Sure enough, the bridge is quite smashed up. What happened here?

One of the players make a joke - what, was there a troll under the bridge? And we all suddenly feel the chaotic energy in the air of on-the-spot worldbuilding.

“Well, there WAS a troll!” We turn, and there’s a friendly local yokel passin’ by, a cheerful dad-looking farmer. 

“Aw, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya there, folks. Yee-ep, we had a troll! Fella named Trolskiv. A good one too, kept the bridge safe for us. Reasonable tolls, took payment in potataters. Real nice fella. But something got in his head, a while back. I think the ol’ Curse finally got to him, poor guy. 

“Anyhow, couple weeks ago, the Hedgehog Knight came through with his crew and put an end to all that. Had to be done. Poor Trolskiv didn’t stand a chance. Just a real shame, all round. Even more a shame that he threw the Hedgehog Knight at the bridge and broke it! 

Now, if you folks come by in the mornin’, we got a ferry comes across the river, that’ll get you across no problem. That’s what we’re doin’ these days ‘till we get the bridge fixed up. If yer gonna stay overnight, I’m sure you’re lookin’ for a place to stay. There’s an old farmhouse up the road, the family up and left a while back, tryin’ ta avoid the Curse. I’m sure no one would mind if you holed up there for the night!”

Shoshana rolls Insight: Nat 20. The guy hasn’t lied to us so far; everything he’s said has been 100% true. Yet... there’s something wrong. He’s got an agenda, somehow. Something is unsavory about this man.

We take a look at the bridge.There is in fact a sign on the bridge saying Troll, and a series of potential payment options. 5 potatoes per cart or for 3 people to cross. Nearby, the locals have constructed a modest grave for Trolskiv.

“Yep, it’s a shame,” the farmer continues, rambling like a proper small-town old boy. “One ‘a my sons went down south, there’s a troll couple work the bridge down the river. They got a youngling, ‘bout the age he’d be lookin’ to move out on his own. Once we get the bridge fixed up, we’re aimin’ on inviting him up here! It’s a good solid bridge with a nice den underneath, already all set up. We always said, it’s not a proper bridge without a troll under it. Important part of the local economy.”

Before this conversation, bridge trolls didn’t exist yet, but now the DM informs us that Shoshana knows all about bridge trolls. There’s plenty of stories about them in Valdia. Sometimes they’re bad guys, but mainly they’re responsible for guarding against bandits, maintaining the bridges, and collecting tolls from travelers passing through to help fund the town.

Valeria is so confused, because she’s used to Regular Trolls. They don’t take potatoes, they take your head off! Gral knows that the more mountain-dwelling orc clans have had skirmishes with the huge, vicious mountain trolls. Clem knows there are horrible ice trolls on the northern steppes of Keva.  They’re right there with Valeria.

(We decide that there’s definitely a Beggar Knight who’s a troll. Lost their bridge in a battle, wanders the woods as a knight errant. We name her Ser Unkig. She’s great.)

Valeria decides to get some more info from this nice fella. “We’ve been out on the road quite a bit. Usually there’s generally some sort of danger, being outside of a big town. What’s the local lay of the land?”

“Well, it was Trolskiv until about a week ago. We mostly hid in our houses when he was out and about, but he kept the other nasties away. Ended up bein’ pretty safe, unless he tore down your door. He got real big and mean at the end there.”

He leads us up a dirt path through some farmland, and points us to a small house in fairly good repair.  

“There’s the intact one. The folks livin’ there headed on out. Didn’t feel too comfortable with Trolskiv rampagin’ about, y’ understand, so they kind of up and left! Left their field, loaded up a wagon, took what they could and got out of here.”

Shoshana, her nat-20 insight still rattling around in her brain, is Very Nervous, and is nudging people and whispering that something is WRONG, she doesn’t TRUST this guy. Everyone else cannot figure out why she’s so squirrelly about some ordinary-ass dude who has been nothing but kind and pleasant.  

Valeria,to placate her, Detects Evil and detects nothing. Nothing around the farmhouse, either. There’s a barn, and enough floor room for all our people. Just walls and a roof, and what sparse wooden furniture the previous residents couldn’t carry. 

Weirdly, we’ve seen no villagers but him. We ask him about that.

“Aw, well, it’s really just me an’ my boys! Most folks live on the other side of the river, and my boys went down the river to get that troll.”

There ARE a few other houses; we could canvas around and corroborate his story. Valeria wants to trust him. Shoshana insists we knock on a couple of doors. The couple of neighbors we ask are very confused, agree with everything the farmer said, and give us literally no reason to be suspicious of anything. Everyone agrees Shoshana is probably paranoid. Shoshana is like “True, but we live in the Cursewood?!”

Still, the argument goes, “We can sleep in the farmhouse, or we can sleep outside. Outside is probably...not safer.” We settle in to the farmhouse. Shoshana insists on at least setting up a watch. She and Gral sit out on the porch, probably in cliche’d and picturesque rocking chairs, and wait.

In the moonlit darkness, the wind gently ruffles the long stalks of wheat. Especially in that one area, right over there.

Wait.

Shoshana rolls an excellent perception with her Curse-enhanced Darkvision, and picks up on a figure moving quietly through the wheat field - stalking, even, the DM would admit. The thing - no, now it’s things, plural, three of them - slip out from between the stalks and advance on the house.

Gral hits them with Faerie Fire, and Shoshana immediately blows her Horn of Silent Alarm to alert Clem. The rest of the house is woken by Clem surging out of her bedroll, screaming “AUUGH, FUCK.” Roll initiative!

(The DM lets us know that these creatures are called Blights. We disagree; they are clearly Wheat and Wheat Byproducts.)

As soon as the Faerie Fire hits, the Wheats abandon stealth and  break into dead run, charging up to hit Gral and Shoshana. One of them pushes itself down, seeming to merge into the floor, and vines burst out of the porch to make it difficult terrain. Shoshana’s claw-like fingers and Gral’s sickle make a decent harvest, but the wheat strikes back, twining long strands around them and restraining them. This gluten is intolerant! Shoshana retaliates with Burning Hands, catching them all in the flames but also wounding Gral.

Gral is informed he may Do The Thing, so long as he has his lute on his person. He manages to play some freaking weird melodies, and his body gets woobly, and he phases out of the grapple like a mirage. His strange woobliness allows him to avoid AOOs, so he slashes at them and then gets some distance.

Clem runs out on the porch but can’t quite reach the Wheats due to the viney ground. Clem has slept in armor, but Valeria naively has not. She casts shield of faith on herself as she runs, grabbing a trident, and busts out glowing onto the porch.

One of the scarecrows in the field turns and drops off its post. It looks up, its eyes glowing a terrifying red as it sprints forward on all fours. That same viney wheat has formed arms for it, with rusted metal shears as claws. It attacks Valeria, but misses.

Fiona awakens and busts on out, furious and holding both her hammers, unarmored. She crits the scarecrow, though she isn’t raging, and does 25 fucking damage, because barbarians. Flynn, right behind her, snaps his fingers and a pistol appears in his hands. He fires, and misses.

The Wheat holding Shoshana slams her brutally into the ground and begins to drag her away, back toward the wheat field. Shoshana NOPES hard, rolls good and squeezes out of its grasp.

Gral pops Shoshana’s kidnapper with a crossbow bolt and Psychic Blades for a nice chunk of damage, blowing through the thing’s chest. It crumbles to the ground, a mere pile of grain.

Clem whiffs, the wheat wafting aside in the breeze. Valeria tries to pitchfork a scarecrow with her trident, but also misses. The scarecrow turns to Fiona, and its eyes glow a demonic red. Fiona fails her save – her face freezes in fear, her muscles lock up, and she is paralyzed. Flynn is not happy about it. “FEAR NOT!” he shouts, stabbing the one fighting Clem and wreathing it in the vibrating energy of Booming Blade. “If it moves, it’ll suffer. Bring it down, Clementine!”

“I will!” she shouts. “On my turn!”

The Wheat grabs her, restraining her with amber waves of pain.

Shoshana twins her Chromatic Orb again and misses one, but the one on Gral dies in a blaze.

Gral throws a Dissonant Whispers at the last Blight. It saves, but takes some damage. Clem busts out of its wheaty clutches, its glutinous grasp. Fiona, paralyzed, gets hit twice by the scarecrow but regains her ability to act, slamming her hammers into its soft, wheaty body. Flynn takes down the last Blight with his blade. “Are there any more of them?”

Fiona makes a sound. AH YES RIGHT.

Shoshana barely hits, but it IS vulnerable to fire so it takes damage-and-a-half. Gral pins his Psychic Blades to another crossbow bolt – it’s resisting non-magic damage but psychic is another story. It dies.

“Okay, NOW I think that’s the last of them,” Flynn concedes.

Shoshana feels vindicated, but also pissy. “I feel like the farmer guy could have MENTIONED that shit!”

Valeria, meanwhile, thinks this all sounds very familiar. In Ser Balderich’s story about the Summer Palace, the rose garden sprang to life and attacked. 

Shoshana is ready to get up in the the old farmer’s grill, but his house is across that field. We don’t wanna go in the field at night. 

Flynn takes watch. “If anything moves…” he says ominously, flourishing his pistol, “…you’ll wake up.”

We get what rest we can, though no one sleeps well after that. 

In the morning, Shoshana marches over and bangs on the farmer’s door. “Hey. HEY. OPEN UP, YOU DICK, I HAVE A BONE TO PICK.” Nobody answers. She gets nosy and peeks through the windows. Empty. It looks lived-in, not abandoned, but there’s nobody there. The door is unlocked, so she goes on in to check it out. 

She rolls a good investigate check. Searching the house, she finds a couple things. Yes, it’s lived in, but relatively recently someone packed and left in a hurry. 

Second, and more importantly, she finds the floorboards all dug up in one of the interior closets. Coming out of the dirt there, and spreading out into the walls of the closet, there is a thick, sprawling growth of mushrooms and fungus. 

Shoshana immediately puts her scarf over her face and gets right the hell out of there. NOPE NOPE NOPE. MAYBE WE SHOULD BURN IT. 

Gral, outside the house, agrees. In the early days of the curse, before he went on the expedition, he saw creatures the orcs called “fungal zombies.” Fungus took took over what was near them, animated the bodies or other organic matter, and made them attack. Gral also knows that fire has historically been an excellent way to deal with THAT bullshit.”

Shoshana clears it with everybody that the plan is to burn this man’s house down. Then we burn the man’s house down. Other villagers come by to see what on earth is happening but it’s too late. They’re pretty upset and confused. But they look at how well armed we are, and decide not to question it. 

Shoshana does protest that we didn’t burn it down with the guy INSIDE, he LEFT, stop looking at us like that. And he was an EVIL MUSHROOM MAN.

One of the frightened villagers volunteers some information. “Come to think of it, the fellas who lived there, Lieb and his sons, they showed up just a bit before Trolskiv started goin’ bad. You don’t think he was involved in that?”

We don’t know. So he’s not from around here? 

“No, he’s a recent transplant from Bad Hersfeld. When Trolskiv went bad, everybody stayed in their houses and didn’t talk much. Didn’t know him all that well, but he seemed like a nice enough fella.”

We remember that the farmer, Lieb, sent his sons down the river to recruit a young bridge troll. Gral, knowing the destruction a violent troll can wreak, does not want this troll kid to be mushroomized. The Fairgolds are willing to check that out, if we finish escorting the carts to Mornheim. They’ll meet up with us there in a couple of days. 

“Fire is very effective,” Gral advises them. 

“Usually is,” says Flynn.

As they head off down the river, we can still hear them chatting. “Fiona, have you considered my idea of lighting your hammers on fire?” The hand sign she returns is one we all recognize. “Maybe I could figure out an ice thing with my blade. We could find a cool theme! You could dye your hair red-” Oh, she’s punched him. Another day in the life of the Knights Fairgold.

We take the ferry over the river without incident. It takes most of the rest of the day to reach Mornheim.

As we get close, the lush greenery of the forest along the road becomes thinner and more wiry, the trees less full of life. Animals look starved and diseased. The sound of carrion birds replaces twitter of songbirds. Everything has gone real fuckin’ Tim Burton. 

We see a sign that says Mornheim. “C’mon, the town isn’t far,” says Feivel. “We can still make it by nightfall.” We trudge ahead along the winding path. Eventually we come across rows of trees, still bearing a few apples but sickly and thin. The hills have clusters of graves on them. 

We crest a hill and see the town, a small cluster of buildings surrounded by a tall wall. In distance, we can make out several larger structures: a grand house on a high hill, and what looks like a cathedral. Heading downhill, there’s a sudden commotion inside a mausoleum to the left. 

Once it had been pleasantly situated in copse of trees; now they are cracked and broken, and we can hear shouts of battle. The door to the mausoleum is roughly wrenched open as we approach. A rotting zombie stumbles back outwards, and falls. A woman in a blue coat and tall leather hat, wielding a sharpened shovel, plants her shovel in its neck and stomps, decapitating it. “THE EXIT’S CLEAR, LET’S GO!”

There’s an answering whoosh of flame from somewhere inside the tomb. “THANKS!” the woman calls. Then she notices us: “Oh hey, Feivel. Just in time. Let’s get into town, I got your payment right here!”

A goblin in a brightly embroidered bolero jacket steps out of the mausoleum, wiping dust and soot off her slightly smoking hands. “You’re not the usual guards,” she comments.

“Nope!” Valeria agrees. “Oh, would you be lady Aubrey? Ser Quentin sent us, he said to give you this.” She hands the human woman Ser Quentin’s letter.

The woman slits it open with a thin knife. She is, in every aspect, the Graverobber from Darkest Dungeon. She carries a sturdy pick, a sharpened shovel, and a whole bunch of daggers. She reads Ser Quentin’s letter as we walk through the graveyard, casually, as if she hasn’t just run out of a tomb of exploding zombies.

“So!” she says to us. “Letter says you’re idiots. Well, it says you’re here to investigate and get to the bottom of stuff, so…idiots.”

“Honestly, knowing Ser Quentin, we’re just surprised and gratified he didn’t say it explicitly,” Shoshana quips. 

“Aw, Q’s a big softie once you get to know him,” Aubrey tells us, smiling. We’ve reached the town walls, and she shouts up to a couple of guards. “Open up!” The gate grinds open slowly, and Feivel hurriedly rushes his carts inside.

Now that we’re in safe territory, Lady Aubrey turns to inspect us properly. “Can I get your names?”

The DM confirms that Clem is no longer using her uniform, with its Red Hand insignia, as armor, so Aubrey doesn’t recognize it. “Sergeant Clementine Haxan,” she introduces herself.

“Sergeant, eh? Part of the Czar’s forces?”

“Indeed. I was stationed with the Red Hand.”

Aubrey squints at her. “I don’t know anything about the Red Hand, but last group Q brought… these folks wouldn’t wear red gloves, would they?”

“They sure do?”

Aubrey’s tone grows more hostile as she eyes Clem suspiciously. “You here to bring more trouble to my town, then? We’ve had enough of elven soldiers here.”

“Just the opposite. We’re here to help.”

“Yeah, that’s what the first ones said. The ones still here have been no end of trouble to me and mine.”

Clem is shocked. We’d thought all of the Red Hand had left Mornheim! “What do you mean, the ones still here?!”

Aubrey points outside the wall, where the undead roam. “Livin’ out there. The undead sure seem to listen to them. We’ve had to cut our expeditions short, which means I can’t pay for Mercedes and the other mercs to protect the town, or for Feivel to get supplies.

“You’re gonna go out there, fine. But if you die, do me the favor and have the courtesy to stay that way. Anyway, Aubrey von Mornheim, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Welcome to town! Hope you survive it.”

[gliddenqpmelgarxn59insuranc-blog]

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