Chapter 1: A Party Meet

General Summary

The man stepped inside the inn. The few candles there were, illuminated the occupants within. A musician played, the sounds of her violin creeping out the door, in to the evening, for a moment breaking the silence of Liam’s Hold. He appeared somewhat disheveled, scruffy, his hair looked like he had cut it himself that morning. He pulled his hood up, as his eyes flitted over every crevice in the room before focusing finally on the man stood at the bar. Large of stature, with an air of authority, the light sparkled of the portly mans engraved silver buttons as he spoke animatedly to the barman. His voice rose above the soft music coming from the corner. “I tell you John, he hasn’t got the foggiest clue what he’s doing. The place isn’t run like it used to be.” “You’re not wrong Barnard. You’re not wrong! Not like how you used to do it.” “Thank you! Thank you! Pleasure to have been of service.” “Another Captain?” “Oh go on then! And throw it on my tab! I tell you, this Smyth, or whatever his name his, couldn’t manage his mothers drawers, let alone keep Daggerford in order!” The two men laughed, and raised their glasses. Not two feet away a young man sat huddled on his stool. His shoulders hung low beneath his dusty, moth eaten jacket. Underneath it, his chain mail appeared as if it had been made for someone else. At the far end of the bar sat a young elf; the point of her ears revealing her heritage. She sat sipping a clear liquid, surveying the room with a calmness. The flickering light of the candles made it appear as if her red hair, hanging to her shoulders, resting upon her heavy dark cloak, was also set ablaze. At the mention of the word “Captain” her eyes jolted toward the two men in conversation. Behind her, a short, bearded dwarf sat in a booth, shield leaning next to him, his head buried in a book. Dressed in plain brown robes over clean chainmail, his lips moved with the muttering of worship as he turned from one page to the next. The man walked up to the bar and dropped a heavy, bloody sack atop of it. “How much for all of that?” “What is it?” John replied. The barman broke away from his conversation and turned toward the newcomer. “Rabbits. Mole’s. A squirrel or two. I’ll give you a good price!” The barman smiled, “we’ve all the meat we need already thank you. How about a drink instead?” “I’ll take one please” a soft voice drifted down the bar, as the young elf raised her glass. She waited for the barman to make his way close to her. “A water please.” John nodded, “right you are.” He grabbed a jug from the sink and leaned over to refill her glass. “Tell me,” the elf said softly, “have you seen any strange goings-on around here? Things out of the ordinary?” “Nothing I’ve not seen before little miss. What do you mean?” She leaned in closer, almost whispering. “Any people, bearing the crest of the moon?” Her eyes flitted toward Barnard, in particular his tunic. The barman scratched his head, “can’t say I have miss.” John saw the direction of the elf’s eyes and turned to face Barnard, a knowing smile crossing his face. “Oh you’re wondering if…HEY BARNARD. HAVE YOU GOT A MOON INSIGNIA ON YOUR BUTTON??” John roared across the bar. The elf shrank into her seat, wincing. “NOPE! DAGGERFORD CREST! ALWAYS HAS BEEN, ALWAYS WILL BE MY GOOD MAN!” John smiled as he turned to face the elf once again. “Well there you are, see? No Moons.” The young elf rose in posture slightly, a look of relief appearing across her face. “COME JOHN! More drinks are needed here!” Barnard turned to face the two men in front of him. The young man sat upon the stool attempted a smile, but presented more of a quiver. Feeling his cheeks blush he dropped his head once again. The man with the sack, did a better job, his lips parting to reveal a glimmering set of teeth. He moved up next to the round gentleman. “That sounds a good idea.” “John,” Barnard turned to the approaching barman, “A bottle of the ’71 I think.” “Right you are Captain!” John exclaimed, grabbing a bottle from the top shelf, blowing dust off the label. “71, sir. A fine choice might I say!” He popped the cork, pouring two glasses, before pushing them across the bar. “Add it to my tab!” Barnard smiled before turning to the newcomer, “A very fine wine indeed! Give it a try.” The man took a gulp of the silky red liquid, swishing it around his mouth. His smile slowly turned to a grimace as he gulped the drink down. “Not my favourite, I must admit.” Barnard’s face dropped, unable to hide his displeasure at the verdict, he glared at the hooded man, his attention only broken by the whispered mutterings of the young man next to him. “Ragged Scar, Flame Hair, Watchful eyes, Oakenshield…” There was a thud from the back of the room, as the dwarf closed his book. He looked around at the inhabitants of the room, as if seeing them for the first time, his eyes aglow with wonder. “By the Gods…You’re here!” The dwarf spoke under his breath, before crying out to the room, “YOU ARE ALL HERE!” “What do you mean ‘you all’? You mean us?” said Barnard. “You. Them. Me. We are all here. By the grace of the Lady Selune herself!” The young elf rose out of her chair, “He’s right. Watchful eyes. Inquisitive youth. Ragged scar…” “…Flaming hair.” The dwarf interrupted, looking at the elf. “…Oakenshield.” The elf said, looking back at the dwarf. “It’s us.” “What do you mean it’s us? It’s just a bunch of words.” Barnard blustered. “Have you been having dreams?” Alyric’s question silenced the room. No-one seemed able to look the dwarf in the eye. After a moment, the young elf spoke up, “I have had dreams, about a woman who speaks to me and tells me things about myself; things only I could know. She told me I needed to find you. That I had to come here!” “I have had similar dreams, m’lady, as I’m sure the others have too. A woman who speaks of horrible things.” The dwarf replied, looking down the bar towards the unlikely trio. “I believe you are most right. It is not by chance that we find ourselves here. We have surely been chosen, but the question is, what have we been chosen for?” Again the dwarfs question brought an unerring silence to the room. As before it was the young elf who spoke first. “Well we should at the very least introduce ourselves. My name is Esper.” “Detective Constable Barnard C Clomper. Retired. At your service.” The large man said, saluting the group. “My name is Alyric Brightshield. Well met.” Said the Dwarf, hands out wide, revealing a gold medallion hanging on an elegant chain around his neck, emblazoned with a symbol of a large A crossed by twin war-hammers. “M-m-my name,” the young man on the stool, steadied himself with a breath, “is Ichabod. Pleasure to meet you.” “The name’s Vass." Said the hooded man. “Anyone want to buy a rodent?” Vass smiled to the group, gesturing at the sack. Ignoring the question, Esper carried on, “Now that that’s done what else happened in your dreams? Did any of you get a card too?” She reached into her pocket pulling out a black playing card with an image drawn on to one side and words inscribed on the other. “When I woke up after the last one I was holding this.” She saw the others nodding, some reaching into pockets and revealing similar cards. “Mine says ‘The Thief’! I want you all to know. What do yours say?” She looked at Alyric first, the dwarfs gaze dropped to the floor as he shook his head. “…that, I cannot say.” Esper’s eyes turned beyond him and down the bar. Barnard spoke up, “Mine says The Innocent. Though I don’t know what it means. Innocent of what? How about you lad? What did you say your name was again?” “Ichabod” “Yes, that was it, Icapod” “Ichabod.” “Thats what I said, Icapod.” “I-Its Ichabod, and I-I Got ‘The Cattle…any ideas?” “Raven for me,” Vass added calmly. Esper nodded at him, before turning back to Alyric. “Come on! We’ve all said what are cards are. You should too. I’ll find it hard to trust you if you don’t.” Alyric, still looking at the ground let out a big sigh. “I am…” he looked up at Esper, “The Broken Man.” “‘The Broken Man’ I wonder what that’s supposed to mean?” The two held their gaze for a moment, Alyric attempting to show conviction in his eyes, but knowing that he failed to do so. Suddenly, the music came to an abrupt halt with a screech of rubber on catgut. In the corner, the musician packed away his instrument. The group in the bar watched him struggle to close the second clasp on his violin case, muttering to himself as he did. “… Blasted thing. Come on. What’s the point of playing here if no-one is even going to listen…” he finally got the clasp closed and picked up the case. Taking off his hat, he turned to the group holding it in front of him as he walked through the bar. “Any donation is welcome…anything at all…” with the lack of movement in his direction he turned to John, the barkeep, “This is ridiculous…Im not going to keep playing here for the measly coins you’re paying me. I’m off! I should have known. Everyone’s out of town visiting the travelling folk who have just set up. Vistani I think. I’ll make more money there than I can here, that’s for sure.” He stormed his way through the inn and out of the door. “Did he say Vistani?” Ichabod said to nobody in particular. “I think that lady in my dreams was Vistani. Maybe she’s there now, with the traveling folk.” Alyric nodded his head, “Yes my young friend, a fine idea. The woman also mentioned finding someone, a man with a cloak of many colours, perhaps he is there too.” “If that’s the case then we might as well get on with things.” Barnard pounded the bar in front of him. “I don’t know why we’ve all been put here together, but together we are. We’ve all been sent the same message, and I for one would like to know the reason behind it. I look around me and I see strength, determination, a desire burning inside each one of you! Let us stoke the flames of that desire. Let us show our determination, unleash our strength. We shall not rest until we have answers to our questions!” He slammed his fist on the bar top again, and looked at his new companions. “A more rousing speech, I have not heard in some time Captain. I agree, let us be afoot.” Alyric stepped in the direction of the door, “Once we are outside, ‘The Lady of the Night’ shall guide our footsteps.” “Or we could just follow that musician…” Ichabod interjected. “That we can son, that we can,” the Dwarf replied. The party stepped outside the inn, and began walking in the same direction the musician had taken. They soon found themselves on a path though the woods, naturally slipping into a formation of sorts. Barnard and Alyric had unconsciously pounded on ahead, leading the way. Esper, in the middle of the pack, attempting to lighten the mood somewhat, called to the two young men at the back of the group. “Watch this!” She swirled her hands around one another, before blowing into the middle of them, opening them to reveal an assortment of woodland creatures, made of mist and bounding around the air in front of her. Vass watched on with interest, his eyes immediately tracking the movements of the different animals. Ichabod merely turned and gave her a contemplative look. They walked for an hour or so, watching as the last rays of light slipped behind the trees, and the darkness of night swept across the path. Soon the only light that illuminated one another was that given by the moon. Alyric held up his hand, indicating for the group to stop “My friends are there any amongst you who are struggling to see?” Barnard raised his hand. Alyric closed his eyes, a hand outstretched to the rotund gentleman. “By the grace of Selune, may you be blessed with the moons light.” The medallion around his neck glowed for a second. Barnard’s exclamation that followed was almost immediate. “What have you done?” he asked. “I have shared with you my vision, so that you may see in this darkness. It doesn’t last forever but should hold until we find the townsfolk.” “Erm…” Ichabod, slowly raised his hand, “I can’t see either Mr Brightshield.” Alyric’s hand turned to the young man, “With the blessing of the Silver-lady,” he cried, his medallion shining momentarily. “Let’s carry on Captain,” he placed his hand on Barnard’s shoulder, his medallion shining one more time, “the moon shall protect you, and you shall protect us.” The party continued for a short way before Alyric silently raised his hand again, bringing them to a stop for a second time. “What is is now?” Barnard enquired. “Movement,” Vass whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Ahead. I’m not sure exactly what, but it came from those bushes.” The dwarf nodded in agreement and pointed ahead of the motley crew to a thick overgrowth on the right hand side of the path. Without a second’s delay, the unkempt youth hurried forward and leapt into the shrubbery. In the same moment two eyes appeared at a spot a few yards to the left. Vass had missed the wolf by inches, though seemingly the wolf had also not seen him as it stalked out of the bushes and made its way toward the others. Barnard immediately stepped forward, unirked by the advancement of the beast. “Now, now. No need to show those teeth,” Barnard spoke directly to the wolf, “we’re not here to hurt you. There’s no reason for us to fight one another.” For a moment it looked as if the wolf was listening; its head tilted to the side, yellow eyes piercing into the depths of the retired constable. Time seemed to stand still…before, with a cry that broke the echoing silence of the forest, Vass came flying out of the bushes, in mirror of when he had entered, only this time brandishing a short-sword and waving it in the direction of the wolf’s head. “It’s now or never,” he cried, swiping at the wolf’s neck, missing, but piercing it’s shoulder nonetheless. The wolf growled in anger, brandishing his teeth, blood dripping out of the open wound. It turned to the source of its pain and snapped his jaws at the human, catching Vass on the arm as it did so. Ichabod, already with his crossbow at the ready, took aim and loosed a bolt into the wolves belly. “What the bloody hell are you playing at?!” Barnard roared as he attempted to grab Vass by the scruff of his neck. “I was just getting through to it! There was no need for that at all! Why…I’ve got a right mind to place you under arrest! You can’t just go around trying to kill every animal you see!” “Under arrest? What are you on about? It was about to attack you! It’s a wolf!” Vass pleaded back to the Constable. “So says you! Come on! Let’s get those hands behind your back!” He took a step toward Vass, pulling a set of manacles out of the left back pocket on his well pressed trousers, making a grab for the youth as he did so. Being lighter on his feet, Vass was able to evade the larger man’s grasp, all the while keeping one eye on the wolf who he saw had been joined by three friends. At the sight of the full pack bearing down upon them, Esper’s eyes seemed to focus. She dived under a nearby shrub, waving her hands in front of her and muttering furiously. Simultaneously, the unmistakable, ear shattering roar of a bear, emitted out of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. The wolves, with the smell of blood in the air, licked their lips excitedly, undeterred by the sound. “Enough fooling around,” Alyric exclaimed, stepping forward and placing himself between the men and beasts, “it is time for you to slumber.” He waved one hand in front of himself, directly at the two wolves nearest to him, whilst, with the other, he clasped his medallion tightly. “The Moon-maiden calls to you.” His medallion shone with a now familiar light as the two wolves beneath his gaze fell softly to the ground, their eyelids drooping as they did so. With Barnard and Vass still arguing, Ichabod, showing little of the nervousness that he showed earlier in the inn, raised his crossbow a second time, aiming for the closest of the two standing wolves, but missing wildly. Alyric stepped forward once again. “The Moon-maiden calls to you all!” He shouted at the remaining beasts, “may you share in her dreams.” He made the same motion with his right hand, whilst holding the medallion with his left and watched on, as the other two wolves slipped to the ground. “Hurry!” He shouted to the others. “We haven’t got long until they wake,” he took off at a sprint, as fast as his dwarf legs would carry him, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw Esper and Ichabod quickly follow suit; shortly followed by the two arguing men. They ran for what felt like forever, the snarls of the wolves getting closer and closer, until the sound of their padded feet on the ground seemed to surround the party. Finally, when it sounded like the wolves were all but upon them, the five figures burst through the undergrowth and into a clearing. Their ears were greeted with the sound of music and the crackle of fires. Children screamed as they ran around the caravans that stood dotted around the open patch of grass. “WOLVES!” Ichabod shouted. The two children closest, a young boy and girl playing some sort of game with sticks and a ball, looked up at the five of them, unperturbed by their sudden appearance, or indeed the state at which they presented themselves. The boy smiled at them, picking up the ball as he did so. “Don’t worry, they won’t get you in here. You’re safe now.” “Quite safe,” the young girl added. “Yes…it appears we are,” said Esper, regaining her composure. The young girl seemed quite taken aback by Esper, stepping forward to her and running her fingers through her brightly coloured hair. Esper smiled reassuringly, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a man with a many-coloured cloak?” The children looked at each other, unspoken words passing through their gaze, “I think I know who you mean. This way.” The boy gestured for the group to follow him, taking the girls hand as he made his way toward the centre of the clearing where a group of caravans were placed together in an inward facing circle. In the centre of the circle, a large man was finishing a story, his watchful audience unable to tear their eyes away from him. “…and that is why you always check the length of a goats horn, just to make sure it’s not Sangzor, the demon goat himself!” Everyone broke into applause, and began refilling mugs and plates as they settled in for the next tale. “Father,” the boy cried as they approached, “there are people here to see you.” Out of the circle stepped the storyteller, who, the group could now see, wore a multi-coloured cloak draped over his shoulders. On his face he wore a mischievous smile as his gaze fell across the newcomers. “Hmmm. Welcome, welcome. And who, may I ask, might you be?” “DC Barnard C Clomper. Retired. At your service. We’ve been sent to find you, sent by a lady who appeared in our dreams.” “Ahhh. Eva. That explains things somewhat…” he looked over each of the figures before him, “come, sit. Rest your weary feet.” “Eva you say,” Esper replied, “is that her name?” “There will be time for all that later. First you must rest. My name is Grigori and this is my wife, Dorina,” the travelling man gestured to his left as a woman joined him from inside the caravan. The two of them sat cross-legged on the ground. “Would you care for some food and drink?” The five of them nodded, and fell to the ground exhausted. The children, under the instruction of Dorina, quickly placed a full plate of mutton and rice with fruits into the hands of each of the adventurers. Barnard’s eyes grew wide with glee. “A fine feast my friend. Come let me return the favour.” He rummaged around in his bag before finally pulling out a corked bottle of wine and pouring glass for himself and Grigori. “Its a ’71, my good man. A wonderful year for the grapes.” Once the plates and mugs were empty and everyone sat with bellies full, Grigori spoke once again. “It is customary amongst our people to welcome all who appear on our travels, the only thing we ask in return is that they share with us their story, so that we may learn of where they are from and the many paths of life.” The party looked around at one another, unsure who should speak first. Finally, Barnard rose to his feet. “It would be my honour!” The retired police constable proceeded to break out into song. Around the second verse, those with instruments in the circle, picked up the beat and by the end Barnard was leading the whole assembly through the final words… “Peredus the Glorius, His stature quite impervious, Aside a well stood standing thus, Without a hint of wariness. Standing full of watchfulness, Eldritch sword in readiness, Great defender Peredus, Would save us from the villainous. Bandits struck with heinousness, Scales and hides of fearlessness, Fear them not did Peredus, Stepped forward in defense of us. Our caravan in exodus, Fled the site so dangerous, While great defender Peredus, Fought bandits who had ambushed us. The bandits were too numerous, They overwhelmed great Peredus, With woulds to his mortalness, And knowing of their gustibus, He cast himself into darkness, He cast himself into darkness…” Barnard gave a bow amidst raucous applause, Grigori grabbing him by the hand and shaking it furiously, “a wonderful tale,” his wide smile taking over his face, “they shall be singing your song for generations amongst the travelling folk!” Barnard smiled back, “much obliged. Just a little something I put together.” “We are truly blessed,” the man in the multi-coloured cloak replied, “now, please allow me to return the favour.” Grigori cleared his throat, and threw some sand from his pocket onto the fire, causing it to erupt with a burst of green flame. He continued the practice as he spoke, causing the flame to jump and change colours as he spun his tale. “Long ago, there was a young man, born to wealth and nobility. His family ruled a gorgeous land full of hard-working people with riches the envy of all of their neighbours. But, as in every family born into such extravagance, they hungered for more. Even amongst his ambitious family, the young man hungered to prove himself. Like any child, he desired only the love and praise of his mother and father. But, as a man overcome by thirst might squeeze a stone for the forlorn hope of a drop, the young man’s hopes were left unquenched. Still, he tried. Taking his family's armies far and wide. He was a master at his art. Nations trembled at the sight of his banner. He conquered all that his eyes lay upon. Until he found something that resisted his implacable grasp; Love. The young man sought to control a heart the same way he sought to control everything. And it cost him… everything.” With a final throw of sand, the flame burst high between them all, as black as the night sky on a starless night. “The pain of a broken heart,” he continued. “The madness of a broken mind. The soul of a monster. These are the things we must all fear within ourselves. The heart is a powerful, fickle thing. It turns the strongest man weak, and the most pious to sin.” Grigori’s eyes seemed to have grown bigger as he spoke, each of the party seeing their own reflection in the dark depths. "But not me!" Grigori smiled and playfully squeezed his wife’s knee. She returned the smile in kind. “A lovely story my sweet, as always, but now we must let these kind people get some sleep.” “Right you are dear,” the jovial man looked at the tired crew in front of him, “we can continue our discussion in the morning, you shall have your answers then.” For the smallest of moments his voice faltered, and Barnard thought he saw some sadness behind the mans eyes. Whatever it was, Grigori shook it off and beamed at the adventurers, “You’ll find space to sleep just behind the caravan.” With a large hand he beckoned to the side of one of the taller wooden structures. Exhausted by the journey and subsequent fight, but their minds settled, the five of them took heed of Grigori’s invitation and made their way to the back of the caravan. Barnard began to undress almost immediately, “the key to a good sleep, is good preparation. A man must take care of his possessions, including his clothing.” He cast a raised eyebrow over the rest of the group. “Remember the way we are presented is the first thing people see, and first impressions are everything…” he trailed off as he rested his armour carefully on the grass and immaculately folded his clothes, piling them up next to his perfectly laid blanket. Alyric watched with great interest before lying down and resting his head upon his shield, muttering a quiet prayer to himself as he did, his eyes transfixed upon the moon above their heads. Ichabod removed his chain mail with a surprising amount of grace, given the size of the thing compared to his small frame, dropping it on the grass. He threw his aged jacket over himself as he lowered, resting his head atop his backpack. Vass took one look around the clearing and his companions in various states of undress and smirked, promptly dropping to the floor and falling into a slumber, his eyes closing before his back had even hit the ground. Last to move was Esper. The young elf remained awake for a couple of hours, pondering all she had heard that day. Finally she found a spot, slightly raised up from the others, and sat cross-legged and straight-backed. Her eyelids lowered slightly but not completely, as she fell into a trance. A quiet hush fell over the clearing as the last of the music finished. Hours passed. Unseen by any of the party, the very air around them seemed to change, a thick mist encompassing the camp. Esper was the first to open her eyes, slipping back into full consciousness. All was quiet, apart from the soft murmurings of Barnard, “no…no…not the….not the children!” Esper took a look around and realised something was very amiss. She quickly roused the others. “Its gone! It’s all gone! The camp, the travelling people… everything’s gone!” “Not just that,” said Ichabod, “Check your backpacks…mine’s near empty…and my armour’s gone too.” “My Warhammer too,” Alyric exclaimed, “but not my shield. It appears that anything we were touching is still with us.” Suddenly there was eruption at the back of the group, “WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS MY UNIFORM AND ARMOUR!” Barnard stood, dressed in nothing but his undergarments, clutching a badge bearing the arms of Daggerford. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!”

Report Date

04 Jan 2023