To make for a style difference between these write-ups and the previous AD&D ones, I am writing the adventure through the eyes of my character - there will be plenty of mistakes, misunderstandings and mishaps to begin with, but these are entirely down to my interpretation and no-one elses. I will correct future entries as my character learns more or has explained to him the errors of his ways.
Session 1: The Funeral (
The Pathfinders
Nicolai Alamrys – Human Rogue
Kazamir - FighterDucat - Cleric
Moebius - ?
Zef - Ranger
From the Diary of Nicolai Alamrys
Arrival in Harrowstone (Day 1 of my travels with the
Pathfinders)
There is a lot of distrust in this world of ours. Why do
people not wish to see goodness in others no matter their differences? Magic,
in all of its various forms is frowned upon and seen as the work of evil, when
I know it can be used for the powers of good.
I have been travelling from the coast for two days now. It
is constantly pouring down, and I am wet through, hungry and footsore. The
funeral of my long time acquaintance Professor Lorimar is to take place soon,
but it is possible that my long sea journey means that I may have missed the
event. The letter I hold in my hand talks of the urgent need for me to be
there; his daughter has some important news to be relayed to me and his other
close acquaintances.
On the muddy, rutted road leading to the village I bumped
into a band of weary travellers, all intent upon attending the funeral too. We
struck up a cheery banter that defied the inclement weather, and I feel we have
forged the first links in a strong bond of friendship. We have all arrived with
the same purpose, and all wish to see it through as we owe that, at least, to
our former mentor, guardian and friend Professor Lorimar.
The shallow valley opened up after a short while to reveal
the entrance to the village. A village in which the buildings appear gothic and
the leering monuments seem to watch every step one takes. Looking ahead I tried
to find a place to get out of the rain, but what caught my attention was the
number of poles outside buildings with notices attached; now turned to mush in
the incessant rain, they no doubt held exclamations of the utmost import to
those that live here. At the far end of what can only be described as the
village green a river flows, trying to sweep the small bridge that spans it away
from its very foundations.
Two fellows stood guard before the bridge, and from their
demeanour I could see they would brook no trouble and only allow those they
knew to be trustworthy across the span. The taller of the two, Benjan I think
his name was, did all the talking, and very belligerent he was too until we all
showed our letters from the Professor’s daughter that granted our access to the
further reaches of the village.
We passed across the bridge and headed towards the house of
our late friend under the directions of the two guardians. We rapped upon the
door and the portal was opened by Kendra, the late professor’s daughter. After
introducing ourselves and showing her the letters we had received, she
acknowledged us as friends of the professor, although for some reason she
seemed to take my tale of acquaintance with a large grain of salt. After asking
us our names, she informed us that the funeral was tomorrow at 10 o’clock, and
that we should find ourselves some accommodation until then; The Laughing Demon
being a good enough choice in these parts. She then promptly closed the door
leaving us in the rain.
We looked around the rest of the village and found that the
inn was not too far distant from the professor’s house, so we made our way
there. All except Ducat, who decided to take a trip to the local temple. Unfortunately,
Moebius’ mule had nowhere to go as the inn had no stable, so Moebius decided to
go look for a stable for his noble steed whilst the rest of us strode towards
warmth and food. A short distance from the inn, we espied a gaggle of young
girls playing hop-scotch and singing the most happy of songs. This struck me as
odd, but I could not put my finger on the weird feeling I had.
As we slipped in through the door, the owner of the
establishment, one Zokar, strode up and in a loud, jovial voice greeted us. He did
not allow us to get a word in edgewise but knew our wants and needs intimately.
We were ushered to a table and before we knew it had our room booked and a
hearty meal ordered. All of the dishes were titled after some grotesquery but
they tasted superb, my Corpse Chowder being exquisite. The Ghost Beer, a
glowing confection of no light weight, satisfied my thirst and opened a window
of curiosity in my mind; a strange concoction that glowed and no-one knew its
secret bar the inn keep.
Moebius returned from another inn in the village that had a
stable, followed a little while later by Ducat. Moebius mentioned that he was
able to stable his mule and the good wife, Soriana, that ran the establishment,
tried to get him to change his mind on where we stayed. No doubt this was just
a ploy to take Zokar’s custom and our money into the bargain. He said that he
declined due to already having paid for our lodgings at The Demon, but was
tempted to stay for a while as she had such a sweet singing voice.
The talk of entertainment spurred me into action. I hadn’t
tumbled or mummered for a while, so I made some entertainment for the patrons
of the bar. It did not go down as well as I hoped, but the coppers thrown, more
through disdain than appreciation methinks, more than paid for my meat and
beer. Kazamir had rather a lot to drink, and on throwing out time, we had to
help him stagger up to his cot. We all chose a bed that suited us, albeit all
were just hay stuffed mattresses smelling of mildew. The communal room had enough
beds for us all, and there was one tiny, patterned glass window that would not
open that let in the only light available to us. Feeling a little unsafe, I
bolted the door, and pushed my bed against it in case of night time intruders.
The Day of the Funeral (Day 2)
We all woke early, those of who had had a few drinks feeling
a little worse for wear. During their travels to Harrowstone, the other party members
had picked up some spare articles that they wished to be rid of; a byrnie of
chain mail, a jacket of scale mail and a medium sized steel shield. These were of
no use to our party as everyone who needed such implements already had similar
or superior ones.
I headed out with Zef to find a blacksmith to whom we could
sell said items. It only took a few moments to spot the tell-tale column of
smoke and hear the ting, ting-ting of the blacksmith’s art. I casually
strode up to the forge and was surprised by the appearance of a lady Dwarf.
Putting on my most disarming smile and ramping up the charm, I managed to seal
a deal with her that gained the party 75 gold pieces and me a dagger to boot. I
can still feel the after-effects of the bone-crushing hand-shake that sealed
the deal. I felt strangely drawn to this lady; she seemed to have a good heart.
After our short trading trip we realised we needed to get a
move on to make our ten o’clock
deadline. The rest of our companions had already walked up the hill and the
coffin cart had now arrived. No other villagers were present, so it was down to
us, the professor’s friends, to be his pall bearers; the sixth place, the one
of honour, was taken by his daughter.
We proceeded along the cemetery path towards the grave, but
before we got to the mausoleum beside the split in the path that would take us
to the grave we were accosted by a large mob of angry villagers. They were
proclaiming that it was not right that the professor was to be buried on
consecrated ground and that another grave up the hill would be a more suitable
location. Their spokesman ranted about necromancers deserved to be buried
without ceremony and left to rot away from those more civilised; one never
knows if they may wake from their eternal sleep and bring the rest of the
graveyard with them to the land of the living.
Kendra obviously felt this was unjust and decried that she
had paid for the plot and the professor deserved to be buried in the cemetery.
Tempers flared and the leader of the mob approached us in a menacing manner,
pitchfork raised to strike. Kendra and the rest of us quickly realised things
were getting out of hand, so we gently lowered the coffin and prepared
ourselves for a confrontation. The mob leader struck Zef with his pitchfork,
causing a large bruise to be raised upon his chest, but Kazamir stopped further
damage by tripping the mob leader with the long handle of his glaive. This
caused the rest of the mob to rush forward in a menacing manner, but I made
placating noises and tried to calm the situation. The leader of the mob saw the
error of his ways and decided to leave us be, for the time being, threatening
that we hadn’t heard the last of this. The angry mob quickly faded into the
mists beyond the gravestones.
Father Grimburrow apologised to us on behalf of the mob when
we got to the graveside; he had seen the whole event unfurl from his vantage
point. The ceremony went without any further glitches, and we all said a piece.
I was overcome with emotion and shed a few tears, but again this seemed to
cause Kendra some level of mistrust in my motives. That aside, we were all invited
back to the professor’s house for his wake.
Upon arrival, we were all given a bowl of thin broth and
asked to wait around whilst the last will and testament of Professor Lorimar
was read out. The local councillor and three of his helpers were present to
make sure the will was read out in accordance with protocol. The will was
produced but as the seal was broken, a key dropped from the scroll. I tried to
pocket it but I was spotted, so I presented it to the councillor who just left
it on the table whilst he read out the will. All of the professor’s property
was to go to Kendra except for the contents of a small ironbound oaken box. The
box was produced and, his job completed, the councillor left the premises.
I grabbed the key from the table and found that it fitted
the lock on the box perfectly. Inside were four tomes and some additional
parchment detailing that if we could stay with his daughter for the next month
to help her settle, and then deliver the four tomes to the addressees we would
each be rewarded with 100 platinum coins each – a small fortune! The rest of
the book was taken up with several diary entries that were confusing and
strange to say the least. I was more than happy to stay around for the month as
my fortunes were running low and the promise of such a sum upon delivery of the
four tomes in Lepistadt seemed too good to be true. I pinched myself and agreed
when the rest of my companions nodded their assent to be bound by the last
words of our benefactor.