#and those forms of evils can venture out in the daytime

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

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#read something wicked this way comes now having story idea #two kids are orphaned I think either brother and sister or two brothers both pretty young a #and they have to face some kind of supernatural threat (it's a kids book) like ghouls infiltrating the town #anyway they also have an older sister and she's useless about it all #and they have to save her and the two #except the evil is also in league with regular humans who want to take control of the family's house and of the younger kids and split up #the family and generally be horrible and if they won eventually the supernatural evil would get them #but the thing is it's generally agreed children recognise wickedness that grown ups cant see anymore #but at the same time it is a very foolish child who doesn't see that grown ups face their own kinds of evils every day #and those forms of evils can venture out in the daytime #so Tiffany #the sister #she's 19 and technically the will says because she's of age she can become her siblings' legal guardians and she can inherit the house #and she stands firm in that #the two kids defeat the supernatural evil and save her from that #and then she stands up and reads paperwork and remembers the relevant laws and defeats evil in its grown up form #idk just an Idea #and everyone learns to respect each other more blah blah blah #anyway Tiffany won best delegate at model UN twice in a row and her siblings always thought she was terribly boring for it #and obviously she thinks they're just dumb kids

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 12: He Gets the Visit of His Life

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4350

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 11: She Takes a Stand

Bucky had said that he’d give (y/n) a day at least to get back on her feet in terms of work, but he wasn’t sure exactly how much time she wanted. Was just one enough, or did she need more?

Eight days had passed since he’d left (y/n) at the border and, sappy and cliche as it might be, he missed her. He missed her smile and her laugh and even her sour glares she gave him when he said something stupid (which was often if he was being honest, but he only did it to get those damn glares from her).

He wondered how she was doing without him. Not that she needed him or anything—she was perfectly capable of living on her own—but she had told him she had a lot of work to do and he was curious to see how she was doing. He could only imagine how boring the paperwork was. He’d sat there and watched her do it one day and he nearly fell asleep. He felt so bad for her if that’s what she was stuck doing. Maybe he could rescue her and bring her to the island. Get her some sun. If there was one thing that was good about being in the Mediterranean, it was that it was sunny year-round.

Lying there in the grass under the shade of a tree to shield him from the sweltering sun, Bucky sighed and shut his eyes. He didn’t think it really mattered what (y/n) was doing at that moment and daydreaming about taking her out in the sun wasn’t doing any good.. The fact of the matter was that he missed her and he really wanted to see her. But he had to wait. Delayed gratification always paid out in the end and—

“Hey, Buck!” Sam’s voice called, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Bucky groaned, keeping his eyes shut. “Tell my mother I’m sleeping.”

Sam laughed and Bucky felt him sit down beside him. “It’s not your mother. I think you’re going to want to go get them before Steve loses his mind.”

Bucky peeled an eye open and looked over at Sam. “What are you talking about?”

He nodded his head forward. “See for yourself.”

Bucky opened his eyes fully and sat up to look at the clearing. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Standing in the clearing, talking to Steve, were two women and a large dog. He only just recognized the woman on the left as Peggy, the goddess of magic, but he would’ve known the woman on the right anywhere. 

(y/n) was dressed for a sunny day with a pair of loose black shorts hanging from her hips, a dark grey tank top hugging her torso, and a floppy black hat casting shade on her face. Cerberus stood by her side, nearly attached to her hip, as he sniffed Steve’s hand eagerly. (y/n) had her fingers tangled in his fur as she pet him absently, listening to whatever Steve was saying. A kind smile adorned her lips. When Bucky moved, he drew her attention and those striking eyes of hers landed on him. Her smile only widened when she saw him, and she raised her other hand in greeting.

He could only stare at her, his lips parted in awe. 

He’d never seen her venture out of the Underworld in the daytime and actually have time to appreciate her in the sun. The only time he’d seen her in the Mortal World like this was when she threw him out the first time. She was beautiful then, but it was a scary beautiful—the kind that came from radiating power and “I’ll kick your ass” energy. But now? She was stunning with the gentle glow that came with familiarity and sincerity. The sun kissed her skin, giving her a lively glow that seemed to send color to her flesh. She looked alive, and Bucky’s breath got caught in his throat.

He was on his feet and making long strides over to the quartet before he knew it.

(y/n)’s eyes never left him and her smile only grew brighter as he approached. “I thought you were going to come back later,” she said, her tone taking on a teasing tone. 

A smile to match hers covered Bucky’s face. “Oh, I was, Doll, but I wasn’t sure how much time you’d need to get caught up.” 

“Only a day or two. Eight was far too many.” She chuckled. “But time is irrelevant when you live forever.” She turned her gaze from him and looked back up at Steve. “Your friend here was kind enough to fill us in on all your moping over the past few days. Did you really miss me that much?”

“He did,” Steve confirmed, nudging Bucky with his elbow. 

Bucky hissed a “Hey” at Steve before rolling his eyes. “He’s exaggerating the whole thing. I was not moping.”

“Mhmm.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyways! Why are you guys up here? I’ve never seen you topside and dressed for,” he gestured vaguely, “leisure.”

(y/n) looked down at Cerberus. “Well, we needed a bit of fresh air, and Cerberus wanted to go on a walk, so we figured we’d pop up for a bit and see you. You’ve been going under for so long that I figured it was my turn to come up and see you.”

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest. She wanted to come and see him. She left her kingdom to come to him. If that wasn’t dedication, he didn’t know what was. He smiled at her and offered her his hand. “Then shall we give your beloved pup a walk?”

She took it without hesitation and nodded. “Yes.” She turned her head back towards her companion. “Pegs?”

“You go on!” the other woman encouraged. “I’ll be here talking with Steve.” She shot a grin at the blond man, eliciting a blush to rise to his cheeks.

(y/n)’s eyebrows rose in acknowledgment, a smirk playing on her lips. “Alright then. Come on, Buck.” She squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the trees that led out of the clearing.

He followed her, tugging her too. “This way,” he coaxed as he led her through the trees. “I know a good path for walking. Mortals rarely travel it.”

“Perfect.” She let him take the lead.

Cerberus trotted just a bit ahead of them, sniffing down at every little leaf he came across. His tail was wagging rapidly at the excitement of new surroundings. Bucky supposed he hadn’t really seen anything living in, well, ever. 

As if thinking the same thing, (y/n) giggled at her dog. “He doesn’t get out much,” she admitted sheepishly. “He’s a busy dog.”

“Oh, I bet.” Bucky hummed and pulled her closer as they emerged from the trees onto the vacant path. “I still can’t believe you came up here.”

“Honestly? Me neither.” She looked down. “But I needed a small break. Things in the Underworld… Well, they’re not looking too hot right now.”

He frowned and ducked his head to see her. “How do you mean?”

Her lips had formed a thin line as she looked ahead. “Kronos’ cage is… It was weakened. Like, so weak he could’ve broken out at any moment.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I thought that you went down every week to—”

“I did. We think that someone might’ve tampered with it. Our leading hypothesis is titans, but everyone’s been accounted for.” She growled under her breath and her hand squeezed his with frustration. “But we’ve quadrupled up on security and have spent countless hours strengthening the cage. Everyone is doing their best. Even my sisters have come down to help. At this rate, it looks like we’ll be back to normal within days and we can put this whole thing behind us as a fluke. But it’s just been so hectic down there and I needed a break.”

“So you came to me?”

“Exactly.” She rubbed small circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. “I feel calm with you, Buck. So when I needed a break to just chill out, the only place that came to my mind was by your side.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal, but the words made Bucky’s heart pound.

He cleared his throat and his eyes darted down to her. He was glad that he could put her at ease, and he thought to himself that he could help her by breaking the tension with a bit of comedic relief. So, with a teasing grin on his face, he asked, “Do you wear anything other than black?”

Her head snapped up to him, and she stared at him. “Pardon?”

He gestured at her outfit. “Screw me, I’m trying to make conversation and lighten the mood. You’re stressed.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways! I only see you in black. Do you wear anything else?” 

A skeptical smile crossed her lips, but she answered him, “Yes. Sometimes I wear greys or reds.”

“So only gloomy colors?”

“I suppose.” Her smile gave way to an amused chuckle.

“What about a nice yellow? I think you could pull off yellow.”

Her chuckle turned into a full roar of laughter. “Yellow! Bucky, the day I wear yellow will be the day I die.”

“So never. After all, gods can’t die.”

She turned to him, a coy smile on her lips. “Now that is where you’re wrong. It’s very rare, but gods can die or be killed.” She paused. “I’ve seen it happen; in fact, I’ve had to kill some myself.” 

“What?” He turned to look at her, his eyes concerned. He’d never heard of this, and it made him anxious and worried for her to know that she had killed a god.

She continued to walk, acting as nonchalant as if she were talking about swatting a fly. “Erebus, the god of deep darkness and shadows was rebelling against us, trying to set my father free. He was a minor god, so he wasn’t a real threat, but he was still guilty of high treason against Olympus. Carol hated to do it, but she had to sentence him to death. Who better to be the official executioner than the goddess of the dead?”

Bucky continued to stare at her, his heart aching for her. He’d never really witnessed death before, but he could only imagine how horrible it was for her. Despite being surrounded by death down in the Underworld, he never could imagine what it was like dealing it out. “Wh-What did you do?”

She glanced at him sideways. “I don’t want to get into the details with you, Buck. You don’t really need to concern yourself with it. Death is… Well, it’s not always pretty. I don’t want to make you worried or ruin your innocence. Death is a nasty business.”

He nodded, but there was still something that bothered him. Every god presided over some dominion or another. Every god controlled some important aspect of life. What happens to their role when they die?

“(y/n)?”

“Hmm?”

“If Erebus is dead, then what happened to his…”

“His charges? The deep darkness and shadows?”

It was like she read his mind. He nodded. 

“I took them. When a god dies, another has to take their role. Sometimes it goes to the god that already presides over something similar, sometimes it goes to the one most willing to take it.” She lifted her hand and instantly wisps of darkness curled around her fingers. “I was already Queen of the Underworld, a place that practically bathed in the deep darkness and shadows, so I took on the role.” She closed her fist and the shadows vanished. 

Bucky couldn’t decide if he was fascinated or terrified by the whole thing. He was impressed that she had more power because of the death, but he was frightened by the prospect that any god could become more powerful by killing another. 

“Don’t worry though. It’s extremely difficult to kill a god. Only one of the Big Three’s weapons or our father’s weapon can do it in one fell swoop, and my sisters and I keep our weapons under lockdown when we aren’t using them. The only other thing I can think of that could kill a god would be a sickness, and even then it would have to be a powerful sickness.” She shrugged. “Don’t fret about it, no one is dying anytime soon.”

“If you say I shouldn’t, I won’t.”

“Then don’t.” She fell silent for a bit before laughing. “Well, that was a failed attempt at keeping the conversation light. We go from talking about clothes to talking about death.”

“Well, when your girlfriend is the goddess of the dead, death and all its tangents are probably going to be normal conversation topics.”

At that, (y/n) froze and pulled Bucky to a sudden stop.

He grunted as he stumbled, pulled by his hand which was still holding hers. “You alright?” He hadn’t been expecting that, and he didn’t think she would stop unless she had good reason to. His eyes searched her body for any sign of sudden injury or disturbance, but all he could find was the startled expression on her face. 

She stared at him, still as death, her eyes darting all over his body. Her lips were parted in a silent gasp.

“(y/n)?” he called again, his voice cautious and timid.

She was silent for a few moments more before she asked, in a voice as timid as his own, “Wh-What did you just call me?”

“(y/n)?”

“No, before that.”

He paused, wracking his brain for the word. When he finally realized what she meant, heat rose to his face. “I called you m-my girlfriend.”

Hearing it again, she turned her head down, eyeing him through her lashes. “Bucky… You’ve only known me for seven months or so. That’s… that’s not that long at all.” She hung her head, her expression unreadable.

For the first time in a while, Bucky was scared he’d overstepped the unsaid boundaries they’d established. His heart sank in his chest. What had he been thinking? Where had he gotten the idea that they were a couple? Was it from the countless hours they’d spent together? Was it the both of them kinda admitting their feelings back at Pop’s Pastries with no one but the fluorescent lights to bear witness? Why had he thought that meant she wanted to be with him even when he hadn’t asked? Was he really so stupid as to rush into this too fast and just assume? 

He lowered his head in shame. “I… I know and I’m sorry, Doll. I shouldn’t have assumed anything and I—”

“No!” she said suddenly. “I mean, I don’t mind. I just… I’ve never been an official girlfriend before and it’s just… It’s different, y’know?”

“Like a good different?”

She paused for a moment, deliberating silently, before nodding. “I think so. But, if I’m your girlfriend, does that make you my boyfriend?”

“If you want me to be.”

She was quiet for a bit before she nodded her head. The motion was slow at first, so slow that Bucky hardly noticed it, but then she began to nod her head more eagerly and a smile that lit up her whole face took over. “I’d like that very much, but I’m changing the name. ‘Boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ sounds like something teenagers use. I think I’d prefer you to be my partner.”

He chuckled. “Then your partner I shall be. I don’t care what you call me so long as I can be with you.”

“But also,” she said staring at him pointedly, “you have to actually ask me out before we can be anything. Just because I like you doesn’t mean you can cut corners.”

“Fine. (y/n), will you go out on a date with me?”

Her eyes sparkled with joy and mischief as she said, “Sure. Aren’t we on one now?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by Cerberus yipping and the sound of footsteps approaching. 

(y/n) whistled sharply, drawing Cerberus to her side, and placed her hand on his head to hide his red eyes. She straightened up, her cheery manner being replaced with something more serious, and stared down the path where two figures were making their way up.

Bucky’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen mortals up here. Most of the time he only came across animals or nymphs, but these were full-fledged humans. He tugged (y/n) closer to him, encircling her waist with his arm as he pulled her towards the side of the path to let the people pass.

They were a pair of men, right around Bucky and (y/n)’s physical age, who were huddled together and murmuring in hushed whispers. They were American based on their accents, probably tourists, but that didn’t explain why they were this deep in the island. All the tourist attractions were closer to the bay or the city.

(y/n) had stiffened as she watched them grow nearer; she was not used to living creatures. Bucky saw her eyes flash a light shade of red.

He leaned into her so his lips were just inches away from her ear. “Easy,” he whispered. “They’ll be gone soon.”

She didn’t relax; her glare was fixed on them. “Why are they here?” she hissed. “I thought you said mortals don’t come up this far.”

“Sane ones don’t,” he confirmed before leaning back and calling out to the boys, “Hey! You kids lost or something?”

The one on the left, a brunet, perked up, his eyes startled. “Oh! Uh, sorry, mister. No, we aren’t lost.”

“Then why are you here?” (y/n) took her hand off of her companion’s head and crossed her arms impatiently.

The second boy, a blond, withered slightly under her gaze, his head bowing low. “We heard from locals that the gods roamed here in ancient times. The stories say that they still do. We’re theology majors in college and doing a project on Greek Mythology. We didn’t mean to trespass.”

(y/n) snorted, probably from the comment about the gods. “You boys came up here based on some stories? Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s all they are: stories. And pretty inaccurate ones if we’re being honest. I mean really? Where did they come up with some of that stuff.”

Bucky found her exasperation amusing, especially since most of the inaccurate myths were about her and her sisters. She looked about ready to rant about the truth of the gods but, although Bucky could listen to her talk for hours about anything, he really didn’t think that she should blow their cover to a couple of kids. He tightened his grip on her waist and whispered her name.

She slackened just a bit in his grip, but her eyes never left the men. “You shouldn’t be up here. It’s dangerous.”

The blond was the first to respond by saying, “Please. We just want to explore and maybe take some pictures for the project. Will you at least let us do that?”

Bucky was quick to answer. “Sure, but you guys are seriously going to want to get out of here soon. Not so nice characters venture out here sometimes, and they don’t like intruders.”

They gulped.

Bucky took (y/n)’s hand. “Come on, Doll. Let’s go.”

She whistled once more to Cerberus, giving him the okay to walk, and the three of them began to continue down the path. “Have a nice trip,” (y/n) said, her smile growing mischievous as her eyes flashed red at the boys.

The color seemed to drain from their skin as they stared at her incredulously.

When they were out of earshot, Bucky leaned down to her. “Really?”

She turned to him, her eyebrow cocked. “‘Really’ what?”

“Are you trying to blow our cover? Flashing your eyes at them?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Nah, just trying to scare them a bit. I never get to have fun with the mortals.” Her lips turned down in a pout. “Let me mess with them!”

“You probably scared them shitless, Doll. I know I’d be freaked if I saw a pretty girl with red eyes.”

“Oh really?” She closed her eyes for a second before opening them to reveal the red that had taken over her irises.

Bucky’s breath hitched in the back of his throat as the rouge stared at him, ensnaring him with their striking gaze. Her eyes shone like rubies, piercing his soul and seeing the very depths of his heart. They were gorgeous, enchanting even. He’d never get tired of that color. “Really really,” he murmured, leaning in closer and pressing his lips to her cheek.

The giggle that passed through her lips was music to his ears. “Gods, you’re such an idiot.”

“I know.” He slowed to a stop by a small bush on the side of the path and reached for it. Simultaneously, it reached back, a small red poppy to match (y/n)’s eyes blossoming as it grew. By the time Bucky’s fingers had reached the plant and gripped the stem, it was in full bloom. Bucky plucked the flower and turned back to (y/n), tucking it behind her ear. “But I’m your idiot.” He let his hand linger on her cheek.

Color rose to her face as she leaned into his hand. “Yes you are,” she mumbled. “Come on, idiot. We probably should be getting back now. Who knows what mischief Peggy and your friend have gotten up to.”

“What? Peggy and Steve? Nah, Steve might be a dumbass, but he’s the second most responsible out of the three of us.” Bucky had no doubt that they were fine, if not hitting it off swell. Ever since his growth spurt, Steve had grown more confident around people. Though, he didn’t know if “people” necessarily included goddesses. Well, guess it was time to find out. 

(y/n) hummed as she turned him and Cerberus around to head back the way they came. “So then does that make you the least responsible?”

“Heh, yeah. But hey, my lack of responsibility led me to you.” And it did; if he had been responsible, he never would’ve taken Steve seriously and ventured down to the Underworld to get that ruby.

“True.” 

They walked in silence the rest of the way back to the clearing. 

Sam had vanished, probably to head down to the city and get food, but Peggy and Steve were sitting in the center of the field. Peggy was laughing at something Steve had said and Steve had the distinct red tint of a blush on his cheeks. Bucky smiled softly as he briefly observed them. Steve and the goddess seemed to be hitting it off. He’d have to make an inquiry about it later.

(y/n) stopped him at the edge of the clearing, right before they exited the trees, and turned to him. “Thank you for letting me come up, Bucky. Even if it was just for a bit. It was just the break I needed.”

He hummed. “Don’t mention it, Doll. You’re always welcome up here. Any time I get to see you makes my day, so feel free to visit whenever.”

“And the same goes for you, Buck.” She looked down at their hands which were still intertwined. “The Underworld is always open for you. You have every right to be down there. And I…” She frowned and bit her lip as if she was confused by what she wanted to or was about to say.

“And you…” Bucky prompted her, hoping to help her get the words out.

She held her silence for a bit longer before pressing her lips together and nodding. “And I want you to come down and see me. My responsibilities keep me pretty tied down there, I won’t always be able to come up and see you like this, but I want to see you. I want you to come down and see me. So please don’t be a stranger.”

Bucky held one of her hands in his as he used the other to cup her cheek. He gently leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I won’t, my queen.”

Satisfied with his answer, she straightened up, a soft grin on her face. “Good. Then I think Peggy, Cerberus and I will be taking our leave.”

“Good luck prying her from Steve’s hands,” Bucky said, looking out at his best friend and the goddess.

(y/n) said nothing but walked out to the pair, Cerberus keeping pace with her wide strides. She crouched down beside Peggy and said something inaudible to her, probably detailing that they had to go.

Peggy nodded and stood. She turned down to Steve and smiled, murmuring something that made him smile back. Peggy stood next to (y/n).

(y/n) dug into her pocket and pulled out what Bucky could only assume to be an Asphodel seed. But, before dropping it, she looked up at him one more time and gave him a smile. He could practically hear her saying, “Until next time,” with the grin. She tossed the seed onto the ground beneath them and the three of them were swallowed by the earth. 

A single Asphodel was left behind.

Left alone with Steve, Bucky walked into the clearing, stopping just beside the Asphodel sprout. He stared down at the flower, a soft smile playing at his lips.

Steve watched it too, but a frown was tugging the corners of his lips down. “We have to pick it, Buck. You know your mom will flip if she sees it.”

“I know. Just…” He sat down next to the flower and looked it over, the feeling of (y/n)’s hand in his lingering. “Just let it live a bit longer.”

Next 13: She Makes a Confession

#pragma(tic) #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader series #bucky series #hades and persephone #hades & persephone au #hades & persephone #persephone!bucky x hades!reader #fluff #delicatelyherdreams

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 9: City of the Dead

We investigate Mornheim, the city of apples and graves.

We begin where we left off, meeting with Aubrey von Mornheim inside the walls of a city where the dead have risen.

We try to figure out the relative ages of Aubrey and our friend Ser Balderich, with whom she shares a last name. She’s in her early-to-mid-20′s, so he’s the right age to be a dad or uncle.

The citizens of Mornheim have retreated from its farmlands, withdrawing inside a hastily built wall around the city center. Inside the wall it’s pretty crowded, as the townsfolk have had to make room for the farm people to stay. Clem has seen towns like this in warzones before; it’s fairly standard Hunkering Down procedure. Seems like they demolished some of the houses on the outer edge of town and used the materials to build up the wall. Some of wall is actually made of broken gravestones and slabs from mausoleum walls. 

It’s not a total disaster; it’s a fairly functional town. We can see that during the daytime, braver citizens are still venturing outside the wall to tend and harvest what crops they can, though the plant life is withering. The biggest building in the walled city by far is the cider mill - Mornheim is known for its apple orchards and cider production, and it looks like the mill is still operating. 

In the distance, outside the walls, we can make out the old von Mornheim manor house and a large stone temple. Inside, there are small cannons and ballistas sent up on makeshift watchtowers, which are mostly bunkers set up on the rooftops of taller buildings.

Aubrey escorts us in, handing Feivel some rings and jewelry as payment. “You know where everything goes,” she tells him. “Food to the inn, building supplies to the shed, medicine to the doctor. Find Crabber. If he’s drunk, sober him up. If he’s sober, tell the innkeeper not to serve him until he looks at those ballistas. Meanwhile, I’m gonna sort through our loot.”

She opens a sack she’s hauled out of the mausoleum, and immediately pulls out a bottle of wine. “Spoils of hitting the wine cellar,” she tells us. 

Mercedes, the pyromancer goblin, nudges her. Aubrey looks back at us. “Oh, right. Come with me.” She leads us into the cider mill.

Parts of the mill are operating, but it’s clearly not at full capacity. Much of it seems to have been turned into an impromptu war headquarters – we can see an armory of weapons and maps pinned up on the walls. Aubrey plops down in a wooden chair and hands her sack of grave treasure off to a clerk. “So, what can I do for you?” she asks us.

Valeria is always ready to get down to business. “Ser Quentin sent us to find out what happened with the Red Hand. You said some of them are still here - do you know what happened?”

“I know they went to the von Menzer family crypt,” she tells us. “I told Q I’d heard weird chanting around there. He showed up with the elves in tow. They went in. He returned alone. Said they’d gotten cut off from one guy and had refused to leave man behind. Idiots. They returned the following morning, looking worse but alive. Then they just quit his service. Some headed out, a couple stayed around.”

“I spotted them lurking around, and I’ve heard from my cousin Leah, who told me they’ve taken up residence along with some others in the manor house, up where we keep the epitaph records. Y’know, the listings of all the people buried here.”

We need to get the basic lay of the land. She points to a map on the wall, passing us a similar-looking copy. (Valeria’s player adds one map to her Map Collection, which is now a thing.)

“There’s no central location they come from. The worst come from Gallows Hill, obviously.” Gallows Hill? “Undead couldn’t rise in Mornheim, right? So rich people would get buried here, sure. But you know, there are certain types of people who have a habit of coming back as nasty undead. And people like that might die in way that would make ‘em come back angry, yeah? So you’d bury ‘em in Mornheim. And now they’re all coming back.”

The von Menzer family crypt is circled in red. “We first heard about the cultists there. Since shortly after Q went, we’ve seen more happening in the east wing of the house. Stay out of the west wing, though.” She pulls a glass from under the table and pours herself a generous slug of wine. “You might be fine there, but. Well.” She takes a long drink.

Shoshana has to get clarification: “Um, is this a Spooky Ghosts kind of thing, or an ‘it’s my house, don’t wreck it’ thing?” 

“Ghosts, mostly,” she tells us, and conspicuously fails to elaborate. 

Maybe a topic change would be wise. Looks like there’s Penitents labeled on the map? “Cousin Leah was an acolyte working at the temple, a low-level cleric. After things got really bad, she took up with the Penitents. Got a whole crew of them in the temple there, now. Every so often they come by. Stand outside our gates, say we’re living a horrible debauched life without the gods. Apparently, I personally need to go to the temple to do some kind of penance that will purify Mornheim of its sins and stop the undead tide.”

Um, #doubt.

“Yeah, you might notice how I’m not at the temple getting purified. At least they distract plenty of shamblers.”

We’re pretty wary of the Penitents, but she seems mostly just aggravated about them. “I’m not worried they’ll attack us or anything, but I’m kinda worried Leah’s given her goons standing orders to drag me back to her.

Are they something we need to take care of while we’re here? She shakes her head. “Look, if they wanna be ghoul food, that’s on them. So far all they’ve done is hand out pamphlets and stand outside yelling at us. They’re welcome to keep to it. If you’re stuck out there and night’s falling, best to make for temple. It’s not a GOOD bet, but I’d rather deal with them than try my luck being out after dark.”

So: what can our paltry crew of protagonists do to help, besides just assisting in holding them off? Is there some big plan or strike we could help with?

She laughs bitterly. “Against WHO?”

“Well, this all started with those cultists, right?” Valeria asks uncertainly.

“It started YEARS ago! It began real slow, which was already pretty shocking, given our history. It was just a handful at first, but they just kept rising.” 

“Is there any kind of pattern or organization to the undead attacks?”

“Not really, no. Most just wander, or attack the nearest thing they see. Some die trying to get into the temple; others attack the town and we take ‘em out. Some slip into woods but don’t get very far, what with all the other shit lurking in there. Not our problem, once they’ve gone that far. Some fight each other. Some seem to be working together? The cultists definitely have some under their control, but not all or even most of them. It’s a big spooky graveyard full of undead, welcome to my home. Sure, a big military strike, we could kill every rotter we see. Doesn’t matter! They keep GETTING UP!” She takes a long chug from her wine glass.

“So it’s more important to get info than to kill shit,” we observe.

There’s not a whole lot else to discuss, other than to go over the map and pick our next move, so Shoshana picks this moment to ask the question that’s been hanging over all our heads.

“So, uh, I don’t want to pry. But we’ve been traveling, and we met this guy. And he’s, uh, definitely in the business of Fighting Evil Things, and he has kind of a familiar last name, so I gotta ask: ...why isn’t Ser Balderich here?”

Aubrey glasses her in the fucking face. As Shoshana shakes wine and glass shards out of her hair and tallies her Actual Hit Point Damage, Aubrey stabs her knife into the table with an ominous thunk. “DON’T. MENTION. THAT. FUCKING. COWARD.”

“So, uh, I definitely have ques-”

“GET OUT.”

We take the hint and skedaddle, as Aubrey starts drinking straight from the bottle. The door slams behind us.

Mercedes intercepts us as we tumble haphazardly out the door. “So that is two people you have upset tonight?”

“Who else-”

“The Doctor.”

“...yeah, that’s fair.”

“What did you do?”

Shoshana sheepishly admits, “I...said a name I shouldn’t have?”

“Ah, her father.” Mercedes nods. “That is a very sad family tale. If you want to hear it, it is not my place to share someone else’s family drama. You’d have to ask family.”

Shoshana stares at her. “Uh, seems like I should NOT ask, actually,” she deadpans, picking a shard of glass out of her chin.

“Ask the old groundskeeper, he’s basically family.”

Valeria starts helping Shoshana pick the last of glass out of her hair, adding a Lay On Hands to erase her cuts. “No no no stop putshkying stooooppppp” Shoshana whines, gratuitously Yiddishing as she bats Valeria’s hands away like a proper embarrassed teenager. Valeria, both in and out of character, Does Not Know What That Word Means. 

Mercedes ignores the slapstick. “Yes, Lady Aubrey has issues, but the last couple of years have been rather stressful. She blames her father. I do not. He is very nice. I originally came here as a favor to him; I was planning to stay about a month.”

 “...why didn’t Ser Balderich ever come back to help?”

“Different types of fear take different forms,” she says cryptically. “I’m gonna go keep an eye on her. You can find the groundskeeper out behind the mill, if you really want to know the story. Also, if you see a man with a burning hammer on his shoulder - If he is drunk, send him to me. If he is sober then send him to the front. I think he’s hiding from me.”

She turns to leave, muttering to herself in Goblin, and then turns back for one last aside.

“Oh, and if you see a person in a bird mask, run.”

We’ve met Sturmhearst guys, so that seems ominous???

“The doctor is not evil, she just want to kill you right now. I know the rumors you have heard about Sturmhearst. She is Sturmhearst trained, but hasn’t been there in years. One of the old school, before things got so strange.”

She heads in to where Aubrey is no doubt drinking at a highly unsafe rate. Meanwhile, we parley a moment to figure out our next move.

So the Red Hand has apparently joined up with this necromancy cult? What the hell?

Gral notes that the Prisoners recruit cultists by enticing them with what they need, the way the Key drew in the artists with promises of knowledge. “Clem, you know the Red Hand. The Astronomer said something about overcoming death, or reversing it. Would that have been tempting to them?”

Clem looks uneasy. “As much as any soldier, I guess? We’ve all lost loved ones. The Red Hand was basically family to me, and we lost plenty in the war. Who wouldn’t want to see their loved ones again?”

“Maybe it would be best to talk to the Red Hand at the manor house first?” Valeria asks. “And then maybe we’ll have a better idea what we’ll be up against?”

Clem nods. “I agree. We’re making a lot of assumptions about them. I admit the whole situation looks damning to my former comrades, but we don’t have the full picture. There’s nothing stopping us from going up and just talking to them.”

Gral shrugs. “IF they’re friendly.”

Shoshana is pretty distrustful, as a rule. “Yeah, that’s a big if. They’re hanging with necromancy guys. What if they send skeletons at us?”

“Well, that’ll happen everywhere in Mornheim,” Gral interjects reasonably.

Clem’s quite insistent. “They could have a good reason! We don’t know they’re totally evil.”

Valeria sees what Clem’s driving towards. “There could be some kind of magical influence or something, something that we could fight!”

Gral’s amenable to this. “We approach with caution, looking out for ambushes. Clem does the talking, we stay back and provide support. I would like Lady Aubrey not to be angry with us; we’ll inform her of the plan beforehand.”

Shoshana looks uncomfortable, like she’s going to talk, but thinks better of it. Some things are better kept private.

It’s getting on afternoon, though, and we’re all well aware that the necropolis is a much more dangerous place after sundown. We resolve to set out in the morning.

Clem sighs. “I’ve waited a long time to see members of the Red Hand again. I can wait another couple hours.”

In the meantime, Valeria wants to go apologize to the doctor about losing the medicine, and we’re all absolutely dying of curiosity to go get the groundskeeper’s story. We head into town and perception check around, and Shoshana’s player drops a die on the floor and rolls a natural floor twenty. Blaze it!

The town is gloomy, even though the sun hangs unobscured in the sky. The shadows are long and twisted. Yet one is sort of misshapen - wait, that’s a dude on the ground. 

We wander over to find a fella passed out against the back wall of the cider mill, a dribbling bottle clutched limply in his hand. He’s wearing the kind of clothing that would usually be layered under full plate armor, with a burning hammer insignia pressed into the corner. He’s got a warhammer on his hip as well. It’s familiar to the soldiers in our party - that’s a symbol of Lethe, the Forge Goddess, and specifically it is the crest of the paladin Order of the Hammer. 

Valeria, who knows paladins, and Clem, the experienced soldier, immediately notice something is wrong, if this guy is really a paladin of Lethe: his equipment looks battered and heavily worn. Clem has SEEN the Order of the Hammer fight. Until the Orcish berserkers joined the fight, these guys were the ultimate shock troopers. Flaming weapons, celestial steeds with sparking hooves, heavy EVERYTHING. And most importantly, the Paladins of the Forge Goddess always had pristine equipment, as if it had been freshly smithed. This man’s armor? It’s decidedly NOT.

Valeria wonders if Lay On Hands can sober people up. Alcohol IS technically a poison, right? Might as well try it.

Valeria cures one (1) poison or disease and gives the poor man an insta-hangover. “Are you all right?” she asks pleasantly, and probably too loudly for him. “I’m Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A Kyr? ….Rose?” he mumbles. She’s very shiny, and that’s definitely making his hangover worse. “...Didn’t think any of you survived.”

Valeria’s attention is instantly captured. “D’you know anything about what happened to the others?” she asks.

He squints up at her toothy face. “I was detached. Got left behind to rebuild a town, while everyone else went forward. More of a builder than a fighter, y’know? Heard what happened to the rest of ‘em after…”

He picks up his bottle and tries to take a slug, looking vastly disappointed when he finds it empty. 

We notice he did NOT introduce himself as Kyr, the title of an active paladin. “Horatio Crabber,” he mumbles, by way of introduction. He has a Galwan accent. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Ser Morozov hired us to figure out what happened in his previous expedition,” Valeria tells him helpfully. 

“Uh, I think Mercedes was looking for you,” adds Shoshana from somewhere in the back. 

“Shit, the ballistas,” he sighs, pushing himself heavily to his feet. “I’ll go take care of that. I know what she wants.” As he fruitlessly tries to straighten himself up, he looks back at Valeria with haggard eyes.

“Take it from me, Rose. Do what you came here to do, and get out. You look like a good knight. Armor still shiny. Just…don’t let this….you gotta get out of this wood. There aren’t many of your kind left, and this place will chew you up.” He slumps away.

Valeria chirps at his receding back, “I don’t think it will. 😊” 

We have completed Side Quest: Rouse the Fallen Paladin.

Valeria would know what likely happened to this man: Usually, in order to Fall, a paladin would have to commit evil deeds. But paladins of Lethe can Fall due to despair alone. If they give up and lose faith, their powers desert them. As Falling goes, it’s relatively more easy to come back from – they don’t need to redeem themselves from evil, but they truly Gotta Believe. Lethe does not tolerate quitters. (We assume her legions are made up entirely of hot blooded shonen protagonists.)

(Also, is everyone in Mornheim an alcoholic? They live in the zombie apocalypse and the only major business still running is the cider distillery. Of course everyone’s an alcoholic.)

Time to find the groundskeeper. We follow the river up to where it flows through a grate in the city wall. It looks like there was a house up against wall that was partially deconstructed and gutted. Next to it, there’s a massive, hulking figure sitting there, its feet in water. Holy shit, my dudes, that’s a big old Troll! One arm is oddly shriveled, like it didn’t regenerate properly. Trolls can usually grow limbs back like it ain’t an issue, so that’s not a good sign. It’s unusually well-dressed for a troll, wearing a stitched-together brightly colored leather vest and pants and a big straw hat.

Valeria’s claws immediately go to her sword. She knows the amphibian sea trolls who hit fishing villages, and what a terrifying menace they are. A troll attack from within, on a city this weakened, would be disastrous. Gral knows that the more mountain-living orc tribes have had to fortify heavily against mountain troll raids. Clem’s heard horror stories of the frost trolls of the northern steppes. 

Shoshana takes one look at all of them gearing up for a fight and complains, “Really? Who raised you?! Can you be polite for, like, three fucking seconds?!” 

Valeria is baffled and defensive. “Trolls attack people! It’s what they do!”

Shosana rolls her eyes and tells everyone to wait here for a fuckin’ sec. She ambles up toward the troll, telegraphing her movements like someone apologizing for intruding. She gently knocks on a piece of wood from the gutted house, starting to...sing? She does a couple lines of a dumb little nursery rhyme about a fumbly bumbly-bee.

The troll stirs, and speaks in a deep calm dopey voice. “This isn’t my bridge, you didn’t have to sing, but I appreciate it. Hi. What can I do for you?”

“We were looking for the groundskeeper?”

Gral whispers an aside: “I think we found him.”

“The one in the mask is right,” the troll says placidly. “I am Skelbor, groundskeeper here for past 83 years.” 

Shoshana can see he’s an old troll, but not especially healthy. There’s an odd greyish discoloration to his skin, and his left arm is withered & especially pale. He tips his hat with the withered arm.

Gral is confused, and tips his mask in return. “Hello! We are not from here, but-”

“Yup, I could tell. I woulda seen her before,” he agrees, pointing to the Large and Shiny Valeria.

“We’re friends of Ser Balderich,” Shoshana volunteers.

“Oh huh! How’s he doing? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s doing well! ...I mean, he’s wounded, but he’s healing up. He’s...actually staying in my house right now?”

“Mmm. Is it a nice house?”

Shoshana shrugs awkwardly. “Sure? It’s small, but it’s not bad. It’s full of weird cats?”

“That’s good, that’s good. He liked dogs better, when he was a boy.”

We awkwardly manage to stammer out that Mercedes sent us to ask what happened to Ser Balderich, why he’s not here to help the defense.

“Oh yah. Now that is a sad story. Come in, sit down.” He gestures to the hollowed out house; we realize it’s not been destroyed, just hastily renovated to fit a troll. It’s still pretty cramped for him, though.

“My apologies,” he intones in his deep slow voice, leading us inside. “Lady Aubrey convinced me to leave my very nice lair. I can’t stay there no more, it’s too far outside the walls.”

“Your new house is...very nice?”

“It’s a dump, but it’s mine. It is what it is.” He shrugs, and begins his story.

“So. I knew Ser Balderich a long time, since he was just a boy. I knew Rosalind, too. She was a gardener here, or she was, as a young girl. Even up ‘till the end she was always workin’ with the plants. Kept the flowers and things nice for the graves.”

“Did you work with any of that?”

“Oh ya, I helped with all that stuff. Fixin’ up the graves and mausoleums and such. Good stonework ‘round here. I’d help out with the liftin’ and carryin’.

“Soon enough, Rosalind and Baldy caught each other’s eye! Bit of a scandal, the noble heir marryin’ a commoner, but we’re not so uptight as to make a big fuss ‘round here, not like other towns. And then I don’t gotta explain to you where li’l Aubrey came from.

“And then one day all the dead people stopped bein’ so obedient! One tried to chew m’leg off. Had to give it a good smack. I told Baldy, he told me to keep an eye out. Kept getting worse. Soon myself and Ser Balderich and some of the guards had to patrol every night to keep ‘em down. Back then that was workin’ quite fine. 

“Until Lady Rosalind got sick. Went up the river to the old trollstones, one of her favorite spots. I found her collapsed in the water, an’ she was mighty cold. I brought her back to house and she got real sick. Didn’t last much longer, after that. It happens, sorry to say. Buried her in the family tomb. And then the tragic bit was, she came back. And, well. Ser Balderich couldn’t take that.

“First night she came back, well, uh, I took care of the corpse, as it were. And he went and was sad, but the next night, the ghost appeared. And that was too much for him. I can’t take care of that with these,” he says ruefully, holding up his meaty fists. “Ser Balderich’s the one with the magic sword.”

“Rosalind was seen out in the hills, shoutin’ his and Aubrey’s names. He went on out to confront her, and...he couldn’t. Heart as big as a mountain, that man, but some things ain’t about courage. He couldn’t do it. That was when he left Mornheim. Left his brother in charge, left Aubrey, and took the oath of a Beggar Knight.

“His brother was good man, but he didn’t last too long. Same with the cousin, Aubrey’s aunt Josephina. Been tryin’ their best, but dead folks have been gettin’ mighty rambunctious out there. ‘Fore long it was just Aubrey. Well, and Cousin Leah, but she went off tryin’ ta get some help from the Archcleric. Came back claimin’ she had a solution, but I don’t like it. Somethin’s wrong about her these days.

“Aubrey had to abandon the homestead, the ol’ manor. When I went back out there latest, I thought I heard Lady Rosalind out there, in the western wing. That was their old livin’ quarters.”

“Aubrey’s mighty upset at her father for leavin’. We don’t talk about Ser Balderich, but it’s good to hear he’s doin’ well. Knew him since he was a boy, an’ he always treated me right. Bein’ a Beggar Knight’s not the easiest life, but none are these days. We are tested by the times we live in,” he finishes sagely. 

We quietly contemplate Ser Balderich’s personal tragedy, and thank Skelbjor for telling us. In an effort to make everyone feel a little better, Shoshana tells Skelbjor all the news she has of what Ser Balderich’s been up to lately.

He nods. “I’ll tell those what knew him, except for Aubrey. Hope he makes it. Good to hear he’s upholdin’ the oath, good to hear he’s still walkin’. Still breathin’, anyway. Lotsa things here walk but don’t breathe.”

We ask him if he’s heard of the von Mentzer tomb, the one where Ser Quentin got separated from the Red Hand.

“The von Mentzer tomb? Musta been years ago I was out there - it was ‘bout a year ago that Lady Aubrey got me outta my den under the bridge. Now that tomb, it was a good tomb. Worked on it myself. Beautiful sculpture. It even had scrolls! Hard to do scrolls, but it was a family of scholars, so it seemed appropriate. Imported marble, very pricey, worth it for something like that. Well, the outside was marble - the inside was honest Valdian granite. Most of the family was in there, ‘specially accomplished ones.” 

No clues there. Maybe, as the groundskeeper, he was familiar with the manor house?

"Well, I didn’t go in there that often, for ceiling and floor-based reasons, but yeah, as familiar as I could be. When I first showed up, I could usually squeeze through the doors, but I’ve gotten bigger in my age, and you can only break so many frames before people start askin’ ya to keep outside. They were real nice about it, we had an understandin’.  Had all the staff parties on the ground floor outside, so I could join.”

Skelbjor is lovely company, and we’d love to make our DM do a dopey troll voice forever, but it’s probably about time for us to get going. 

“Well, I wish ya the best, good luck out there. Headin’ out in the mornin’, I’d guess?”

He hands each of us a pouch of something white and powdery, before we go. We don’t know what it is. 

“You’ll need somma dat in case you encounter specters. Don’t worry, I pulverized it myself, it’ll flow nicely. You sprinkle it over ‘em. Or throw it at ‘em, the pouch will burst. Then they’ll be vulnerable to smashin’ and slashin’ and such things. Lady Aubrey heard that trick from the Cursebreakers, and we got plenty of wizard bone here. You can go and make some more in the field, though I don’t recommend it. Works best with a li’l holy water and silver dust, but you do what you can do. Saved my life more’n once. Lady Aubrey made sure I had plenty. I can’t do much against a specter without it.”

“Fortunately for the town, they seem less inclined than most to come through the walls. We mostly get rotters and shamblers, the bony types. But if you’re goin’ into the necropolis, bring yer powdered wizard bone.”

We add our Bags of Powdered Wizard Bone (1 use, negates ghosts’ resistance to physical damage) to our inventories.

“I’m mostly here, unless there’s a wall breach they need me to hold, or need me to fix somethin’. Now I’m gonna go rest up, they might need me at the walls tonight. You’ll know if there’s an attack, we’ll sound the bells. Maybe my arm will come back!”

We hadn’t been tactless enough to ask about the shriveled arm, but he brought it up himself, so we do. “Yeah, a couple ghouls gnawed on it, an’ then a ghost got to it. So I chopped it off, as ya do, had a real nice meal. And then it didn’t come back right. That was ‘bout a year ago. It was what convinced me to give up my den. A troll with two arms can take care of himself, but one-armed not so much.”

As we wave goodbye and head back towards town, Valeria whispers aside to Shoshana, “I didn’t know land trolls were so civilized! Sea trolls are The Worst.” Gral and Clem nod in agreement, still honestly a bit unnerved by the whole scene.

Back in town, Valeria still feels pretty guilty about losing the medicine, so she stops in at the makeshift hospital to see if there’s anything she can do to help. The doctor is pretty mad at her! In our defense, we didn’t know there was a disease. Also we tried to defend the Stuff, but our plan didn’t work. (Well, our characters thought it would work, the players are self-aware of our own idiocy). Gral turns out to have been guiltily skulking behind. Wait, no, all of us want to be in the scene now.

Valeria offers to help by Laying On Hands; Clem has been a battlefield medic, Gral has assisted in war zones, and Shoshana has some knowledge of herbal medicine. Between all of our various expertises, the DM tells us: these people aren’t taking HP damage, they’re Sick. 

Valeria can heal 2 people using her Lay On Hands to “cure a disease.” She does so; she has suppressed the symptoms, but there is no way to know if the cure is permanent. Using her Detect Magic, she can tell there is something faintly magic about the sickness here. It’s necromancy-ish, natch. 

Clem’s training tells her that what we’re seeing is a pretty usual mix of diseases you get when lots of people live in close proximity eating bad food. Y’know, war zone stuff. On top of all of that, though, there’s some kind of extra x-factor. Everyone is more drained? Some fatigue is expected, but this is hard to put a finger on. Everyone has this consistent level of drained-ness. A lack of life? And it’s consistent no matter the severity of the patient’s disease. Clem would not have noticed if Valeria hadn’t pointed out the magic. Places like this do not need help getting people sick.

Clem: “These people have trench foot for the soul. Trench soul.”

Gral raises the sick folks’ morale with a lovely Performance check, and Shoshana rolls a Useless on helping out.

Valeria and Clem don’t point out the magical malaise to the doctor. What would she be able to do? Better not to put another impossible burden on her.

We find a place to sleep. Our overall impression of town isn’t totally post-apocalyptic. If you stay away from the manor and the necropolis, the undead really only come out at night. People are still working the farms and orchards somewhat, they’re just sleeping in the walled town because of the nightly undead hordes.

Gral is awoken in the night, hearing something outside the walls. There’s a commotion out by gate. (We hope it’s free cheese.) Gral untangles himself from the snoozing adventurer heap and heads over to the gate. Guards are looking out; we see the fallen paladin and the troll there as well. Skelbjor is standing at his full height, holding a ballista with his one functional arm. “Looks like that’s the last of them for tonight,” the fallen paladin sighs. “Oh, here come the helpers. You want me to take the shot?” 

“No, we’ll hear their piece and let ‘em leave,” Aubrey yells back.

A magically enhanced voice booms over the gate. “Citizens of Mornheim! This night the Penitents have delivered you from your attackers, but you will not be truly free until you have unburdened yourselves of your crimes in the eyes of the gods! Any who wish may be escorted to temple and absolved of their sins, so they may be granted the divine protection of Rack. Carry our words: the Lady Aubrey von Mornheim can end this horror if she submits to her penance! We shall wait one hour for her to surrender herself.”

Predictably, nobody opens the gates. Skelbjor takes a look. “They’re just standing there. HIIIII, PENITENTS.”

Crabber looks at Gral, significantly less hungover than the first time they met. “Hey. …are you an orc?”

“Yes, Gral Omokk’duu, pleasure to meet you.”

“Horatio Crabber. They do this most nights. We usually stay behind the walls, but they’ll send a squad out to deal with the nasties. We’re not ungrateful, but then they do this bit afterwards and wake everybody up. More of a nuisance than a threat.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Honestly, we’re probably done for the night, except waiting for these idiots to leave. You can head on back to bed.” Gral takes his advice.

We wake up in the gloomy morning. This place is, unsurprisingly, still oozing goth.

Shoshana makes a point to get Clem alone while we’re all still getting ready.

“Hey, I just want to warn you,” the young sorceress starts awkwardly. “I know that you want to talk to the Red Hand and get their side of the story, but...look. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to accept the possibility that they’re gonna be, y’know. Too far gone to talk to.”

“Shoshana, I know you believe you have to immediately ‘put down’ anyone affected by the curse, but I need to hear them out.”

“That’s not - Clem, I just....don’t want you to get your hopes up. They might attack us as soon as they see us.”

“I was told a man named Sokolov would be there. I don’t want to fight my former unit, but I need to have words with Sokolov.”

Shoshana can definitely grok needing to talk to someone just to get closure, even if you have no hope for them. “I mean, I get that, I really do. I’m just worried.”

“Thank you for trying to help. I know you have the best intentions. But I’d say that my time with the Red Hand robbed me of any optimism I had,” the actual war veteran diplomatically reminds the 19-year-old who’s barely ever left her village. “I’m just being even-handed. I know there’s a good chance we’ll have to ‘put them down,’ as you would say, but I want to go in as even and level headed as possible. I’ve learned that it’s better not to fight when you don’t have to. I want to hear them out. If I see Sokolov, though, things will be different.”

“Please understand: these people were basically my family. So going in there swords blazing is not an option.”

“That’s not really what I-”

“I’ve spent a few years looking for these people, since seeing my actual family is a far-off possibility. It’s very bittersweet that this is how we meet again.”

Gral pipes up: “I’ve gotten my own bittersweet closure. I understand.”

Shoshana: oh my god other people are here

We scoot in opposite directions, Clem trying to appreciate support even if it’s misguided, and Shoshana convinced that the buff lady is about to get her heart broken.

AAAANYWAY. How are we going to get to the manor, where the Red Hand and their cultist friends are occupying the eastern wing? According to the map, we could go either over land or through the catacombs. 

We find Aubrey, who is drinking water and looking wan. Her advice is to go through the catacombs. It’s how she and Mercedes usually go, though the two of them are stealthy enough not to draw attention, and our party has a couple of clanky tanks. “The undead can only come at you from two directions, in a tunnel. The biggest threat with the crews of shamblers and rotters is getting mobbed. In the catacombs, they can’t really surround you. Break through one side, and you’re free.”

Aubrey makes us a rough map of the catacombs. They’re used regularly enough by the resistance for transportation, so there’s signage up. The bigger routes are easier to find, although it’s easy to get lost trying to get to the smaller passages. She points us to a route that will take us up through the manor’s wine cellar. 

We ask if she wants us to bring her back anything from the wine cellar. She requests her favorite vintage: purple and made of grapes.

(A side conversation ensues, regarding what kind of wines we’re all familiar with. Shoshana, being from a small and very Yiddish village, is clearly only familiar with Manischevitz, or homemade moonshine. Moonischevitz? MAN-SHINE.)

Aubrey gives us a few tips on navigating the tombs. “Look out for specific symbols on the tombs: a tree means a Knight of the Greatwood, this rune here means they were a spellcaster, a bird mask means a Sturmhearst graduate, and this symbol means they were executed. You see a bunch of THOSE, you’ve hit Gallows Hill. You end up there, get OUT. Nobody is buried with anything good, and they’re pretty angry.”

As we head into the catacombs, the DM has us draw a couple cards from his deck. Shoshana draws The Faith. Clem draws The Tome.

Valeria navigates first, rolling a 16. We do not end up in Gallows Hill.

Deep inside the tunnels, we find a small chapel to Rack. (Thanks, The Faith!) There’s no real guardian of the dead in the Oberian pantheon, but Rack is the most commonly used for funerary rites, since he’s in the Pit and the afterlife tends to have us all thinking about suffering vs. mercy. The Curse is quiet/lessened here in the tiny chapel, and Valeria can feel the presence of Rack. It’s a free short rest area, basically. For Gral and Clem, the statue of Rack upside-down in chains upside down is kinda creepy. The chapel also serves as the tomb of a couple clerics of Rack. They are seemingly undisturbed by undeath.

We travel on. Once we’re out of range of the chapel, Shoshana, with a good Perception roll, feels the air grow a bit cold as something spectral shifts out from behind a corner.

(Clem’s player’s Roll20 name is blocking the map, since he has put Clem’s entire very long name as his handle. “Dude, can you shorten your name for me? It makes it hard to scroll.” -DM

“I’d rather die.”

He immediately makes his name in chat EVEN LONGER.)

We can hear voices from the direction of that cold ghostly wind. No, it’s just echoey - this is more like a singular rather cultured voice. “Now. Calm yourself and let’s be as reasonable as we can.”

“Grahh,” something replies.

“Now there’s no need for that! I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this, including your current behavior, which is VERY rude.”

“grrAH,” the something says aggressively.

“Um. Oh dear. Help?!”

Clem turns the corner and can see four shapes in the darkness, accompanied by the sound of rattling bones. A-Luxor, our floating light-beetle, floats around and light spills on four skeletons and some sort of skeletal specter looming over them. The skeletons look hastily assembled - the bones aren’t matching; one has a leg much shorter than the other, one has 2 right femurs. Clem can tell, she went to enough med school to know what bones should look like.

“UM, HELP, THEY’RE BEING QUITE UNREASONABLE,” the voice yelps.

It’s time to fight Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys. The distant trousle of bones begins to play on somebody’s laptop speakers.

As Gral hits the bony boys with Faerie Fire and Valeria unleashes her frigid breath weapon, the eyes on the Eyegis begin to roll in every direction. It’s as cool as it is creepy.

A terrible voice hisses, “Slaaay them, they will serrrrrve.”

The first voice, which seems to be coming from the wall, shouts, “Is somebody out there? Help!”

Valeria calls back, “We’re trying!”

“Thank youuuuu!”

Shoshana crits one skeleton with thunder damage and EXPLODES it. Her other beam nat 1s and thunder damages the wall, everyone taking a small amount of rubble damage as rock splinters from the wall and ceiling. Clem stands up too fast and bonks her head on the wall. Clem swings, but the skelly trousles away. Gral smashes one with his sickle. Valeria stabs and twists with her trident, getting a bony boy between the ribs and just stirring.

The ghost poofs over and begins to drain Shoshana’s life essence away. The sorceress rolls good enough CON to avoid losing any of her spell slots, though she temporarily gets her max HP cut. It hisses, “powerrr…mine….give it….I need it…” Shoshana’s retaliatory swipe goes right through it. You can see bony bits floating in the ectoplasm. 

Valeria hustles on over to the talking tomb and investigates, but badly. It’s the tomb of someone named Dr. Leonard Wendell. There’s bird masks carved on tomb, and the inscription says “Healer, Leader, Teacher, Founder”

Valeria is like, cool, and pulls the lid off the stone casket. There’s a body in there, as well as a ghost crouching in there, looking like a transparent person in fancy robes and a much older style of bird mask. “Oh, dearest me!” he cries.

The evil ghost points at Clem and hisses. She feels her bones trying to lock in place, but it doesn’t work. Clem tries to hit the ghost but just KEEPS WHIFFING, what is the DEAL with her dice, seriously.

“Goodness me! Is Doctor Rial still out there?” asks the Sturmhearst ghost.

“There were a bunch of skeletons and a ghost, I didn’t catch any of their names?” Valeria admits.

“My colleague, Rutiger Rial, he was acting quite beside himself and irrational. He wanted me to come with him and see something, and I didn’t think that was a good idea! And he got very upset at me!” the ghost huffs. 

Valeria blinks. “…you certainly seem more civilized than other ghosts I’ve seen.”

“Well, Rutiger was as educated as I, although in a different field. I always said the study of the arcane would lead to irrationality! To a point. I admit it can be very useful in certain contexts.”

“Uh, I’m Kyr Valeria Argent….at your service?”

“A pleasure to meet you!”

“You were calling for help?”

“Ah, yes. Rutiger and his skeletons were threatening to drag me off! And I called for help, and you graciously assisted. I say, are your friends okay back there?”

Smash cut to Gral getting smacked by a ghost.

Shoshana channels her Primal Savagery and claws at the specter, tearing through the ectoplasm, getting a good grip on its remaining cervical vertebrae, and RIPPING them right out. It shrieks horribly, and falls to the ground. Its ectoplasm evaporates, and the bones fall to the floor, bounce bounce bounce clatter.

“…They seem to have it under control,” Valeria says.

“Yes, well, we woke up some time ago,” the transparent Dr. Wendell tells her, as the rest of us brush bone fragments off our clothes and come over to talk. “Rutiger was considerably less coherent than he was in life; he went off, saying he heard something calling. I, however, am a man of science, who knows better than to go exploring strange tombs, even if they’re my own!”

“If it’s your own, isn’t it not a strange tomb?”

“Well, I’ve never seen it! The last thing I remember is treating plague victims!”

Shosha takes a biiiiiiiig step back.

(“He died of Serious Stank,” Gral’s player quips.

“Yes, overcome by miasma is what we called it in my day,” the DM responds in-character.)

The ghost looks sheepish, as much as one can while wearing a big ol’ plague doctor mask. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know how much longer I would last here, before I degraded like Rutiger there. Might I leave with you? I can’t really offer anything except my experience, and companionship, I suppose.”

“I’m not really sure how to- well, Rutiger there WAS a specialist in necromancy, and we shared rooms often. I was no caster in life, but I think I can get away with it by – ah, yes, that should do nicely,” he mutters. “What year is it?”

We haven’t actually come up with a calendar for this campaign, so Clem’s player guesses. “...1965?” Suddenly we all have Mad Men haircuts, and the Orc homeland is Vietnam.

“Last I remember, it was 1843. If I recall my instructions upon burial, there should be a scalpel in there!” 

Valeria indeed spots a scalpel, on a small shelf above his body. “Ah,” Dr. Wendell sighs, “we saved many lives together.”

The inert skeleton in the tomb is in in pieces, separated neatly in little alcoves. “Ah, perfect! Just as I asked for in my will. I was fully dissected upon death, of course! I’d be something of a hypocrite, with all the trouble I went to acquire cadavers.”

“Anyway. There appears to be an influence in this place I’m not fond of. I can reside in this scalpel, until perhaps I can be ensconced elsewhere. I’m safer in the scalpel than out there.”

We have acquired the haunted scalpel of Dr. Leonard Wendell, Founder of the Sturmhearst College of Medicine. 

We short rest in the chapel. We take no taint, due to the holy ground. 

During the short rest, Gral reflects on how orcs don’t really have a problem with ghosts or hauntings. Because once you’ve sent a spirit to the Allsoul, it kind of stays part of the Allsoul. He kinda finds it irresponsible of these foreigners to just leave ghosts lying around like that, instead of consolidating them into a giant ghost-powered memory blob.

(Orc ghost stories are a bit different than human ones – generally some warrior gets lost, and you defeat them by singing the death song and sending them to the Allsoul. The ghost’s appearance is what lets the heroes know that “Oh, they’re dead, not missing.” We want to know about Orcish murder mysteries that start with a ghost attack, but the DM gets us back on track.)

“So, as a scalpel of science, did you see anything that would have caused such a change in your colleague?” Clem asks Dr. Wendell.

“Apparently, we had all been chosen to serve in some sort of army? I’ll have you know I was in life a strict pacifist. Until the day I died I swore I would Do No Harm. That doesn’t really apply anymore, but. It’s the principle of the thing.”

We explain to him that there’s, like, a curse going on. It’s looking like “Serve” and “Chosen” are its buzzwords in Mornheim.

“Well, I conscientiously object!” he huffs.

(We do not tell him about the Key, just in case. Do the Prisoners get along well enough to share custody? I guess we’ll have to see.)

Time to keep traveling. We head back out into the catacombs, and the DM has Gral draw one more card: the Madness.

Clem must immediately make a WIS save. She does bad.

As we walk through the chill of the catacombs, something about the tunnel – Clem could swear she hears whispers. Looking at the names on the alcoves, they’re not Valdian…they start looking Elven. Which is weird, ‘cause she’s in Valdia. She looks, and she starts to hear voices of her fallen comrades. Those that died in the original charge, those that died in the winter that followed, those that died in the years of war. Help us…help us return….you can help…find them…..

As the group passes a statue, and she looks up, it’s a figure holding an axe. ...It’s Her.

Clem, the DM asks, how do you react to you-know-who?

Clem stops dead in front of the statue, confronted by a terribly familiar face. Her sword slips from her grasp as helpless tears begin to drip from her eyes, and she collapses to the ground.

We all hear the enormous greatsword clang to the ground. Clem’s looking at a statue of “Ser Marina Ivanovna.” It’s an elf woman wearing a cloak - an old Kevan soldier’s uniform. There’s a story inscribed on the pedestal. Looks like the person interred here was part of the elven forces during the Kevan occupation, but she was considered a hero in Valdia after she fought some dragon that took over a huge section of the wood. Clem is staring up at the stone figure, the usually stoic drow sobbing openly.

Shoshana snaps fingers in front of Clem’s eyes and shoves at her shoulder. Clem’s enormous form doesn’t move.

Valeria assumes the statue is doing some kind of mind effect on Clem and gets her weapons out. The statue stands there, foot on a dragon skull, looking vaguely heroic at us. Valeria pokes it with her trident. It is stone.

Eventually Clem comes to, a bit. She looks at the statue again, now that A-Luxor has floated over and cast a better light on the figure. It’s not Her. 

Yes, it’s an Elven Greencloak, holding an axe, but the face is different. Clem can see the name now, with its granted Valdian title. Clearly a different woman. The axe is different, the uniform is different. Clem suddenly becomes aware of the situation, and is WAY EMBARRASSED. She pushes herself to her feet, scrambling to get herself together. “I’m – sorry, I’m fine, I, uh, thought it was someone else-”

Shoshana rolls Insight. Clem is clearly upset by what just happened, and is trying to pretend everything is okay. It has to do with the statue? Clem’s doing double takes at the statue and mumbling “I-I could have sworn it was her...” 

In Clem’s distracted mumbling, Shoshana manages to pick up a name that the others don’t seem to hear. Private Messaging, the digital equivalent of passing notes.

We all agree that there must be mind magic going on, and hurriedly press forward.

We follow the signs that the resistance has put up, and eventually emerge into a basement. Clearly this was once a lavish, well appointed building, but it’s now dusty and dead. This is a pretty nice wine cellar – there’s much imported Demish wine and a setup clearly suited for hosting fancy parties. 

Valeria’s noble enough to pick out a good vintage. Valeria wants to take one that seems like there’s a lot of, or might be significant to the house of Mornheim. She finds a “Chateau dePas” and stashes a bottle for Aubrey. Clem grabs a bottle at random and takes a slug to deal with the ordeal she just went through. She’s not drinking enough to get drunk, and is also huge enough that it would take a whole lot for her to get there.

We find some stairs up and find ourselves in a crumbling, once-opulent and imperious house, in the Grand Foyer. Animal heads adorn the walls, covered in webs and dust. Appropriate for all cliches, there’s a big painting on one wall over a fireplace. It’s of three people: clearly a younger Ser Balderich, a woman standing next to him, and in proper cheesy pic style, they’ve both got their hands on the shoulders of young girl. They’re smiling, standing in front of the hills north of house in a little garden area. We can see the ancient trollstones framing them. (Trollstones are ancient standing stones - perhaps not as elaborate as Stonehenge, but the general idea is similar.) There’s lots of other art of dusty ancestors, portraits, and maps. It looks like there’s been fighting here - there’s  battle damage and a few arrows stuck in the rafters.

The peasant among us gapes at all the artwork. Do rich people just paint picture of everyone they know???

“Not everyone, usually just family. And they hire someone,” Valeria tells Shoshana.

(We decide that in traditional Dragonborn portraits, they are surrounded by their Unusual Hoard – their prestigious collection of their favorite thing. Thanks for the inspiration, iguanamouth! Valeria doesn’t have a hoard yet. If she’s got a painting, it might be her with her parents’ hoards. Family ones tend to be their industry, or thing they’re king of, etc. Maybe Valeria’s can be her collection of souvenirs and gifts for NPCs? Her player’s already started a tally of how many maps we get...)

We’re in a big foyer. We don’t see anything immediately; it’s kind of a big mess of a room. Time for Investigate checks! Shosha investigates in case the cult left shit lying around. She finds, in a closet, hanging up, a cloak. It’s well made, with the Mornheim crest on it. The cloaks next to it are damaged, but this one isn’t at all - definitely a sign of a possible magical object.

“Guys, is it poor taste to loot the house of a person you know?” she calls back to the others.

“I mean, Aubrey’s technically a graverobber,” Clem tells her.

Shoshana feels weird as a kind-of-guest taking Aubrey’s shit, but she takes it nonetheless. Loot!

She puts it on and it’s a Cloak of Protection! +1 to AC and all saving throws!

The DM decides to roll on a table of item quirks and we get lucky: “This item whispers warnings to its bearer. You receive +2 to Initiative.”

However he also gives it “While you wear it, it’s constantly muttering.”

Apparently the cloak was enchanted to warn the wearer of danger, but it’s in the friggin’ Cursewood, which is absurdly full of danger, and it’s been trying to warn for soooo long, that it is Constantly Muttering. Like running through like five years of voicemails you can’t skip, except they’re about potential doom. DM, you gave a perfectly good cloak anxiety.

It’s embroidered nicely, though, with Mornheim’s iconic apple trees. The DM’s rolls tell us it was given as gift to a Mornheim noble who went on a quest of some sort

Clem, meanwhile, finds a purse of gold + jewels – 100g worth of jewelry. Score!

Valeria crits her Investigation. She finds a Secret Door, which looks very old. Valeria grew up in noble households and manors, she spent her entire childhood looking for fun secret doors. She pulls on a candlestick, just for old times’ sake, and it goes click! 

There’s a secret passageway that goes west, into a small room. It’s set up as some sort of wizard’s lab. She finds a spell scroll! There’s many notes with it, written in a fine hand. This....doesn’t look like a standard spell scroll. For one thing, it’s written in Old Valdian. Holding it, Valeria’s sense of the arcane tells her it feels like a highly advanced and modified version of spell Purify Food & Drink. The notes in Old Valdian, too. This must be a custom spell somebody had developed.

Looking around the wizard lab, it’s full of magical plants and herbs, but they’re all long wilted.

Shoshana, in a mirror, sees something moving, coming from the direction of the ghost’s wing. There it is - the ghost itself, phasing through the door. The eerie spectral form glides into the room, weeping.

SAD GHOST ALERT. 

With a natural 20 roll and her natural attunement to the Curse, Shoshana can feel power RADIATING from the ghost’s sobs. This is a seriously powerful spirit.

We all scoot into the secret room, popping our heads out in order of height, Scooby Doo style. We instantly recognize it from the portrait: indeed, this is the spirit of Rosalind von Mornheim. Her ghost is weeping thick black tears that hit the ground and poof into dark smoke. She floats into the foyer and slowly gazes up at the portrait of herself and her family. The sound of her weeping washes over us like a tangible wave; those of us who fail our saves instantly take Taint, as watching this spirit in utter despair makes the fear of death curl an icy hand around our hearts. Eventually she makes her slow, mournful way back towards the living quarters of the manor, phasing away through the wall.

Once she’s gone, Valeria hands Shoshana the spell scroll, since the sorceress is the only one who speaks Old Valdian. She skims it quickly. It seems to be a ritual of divine magic, druidic in nature but could be cast by any cleric, druid, or paladin. It’s some kind of supercharged version of Purify Food and Drink, but with a much wider radius. It wouldn’t fix poison, but the effect would be much longer-lasting and wider-range.

The spell components are decidedly druidic-type ingredients, rather than holy ones. It’s low on silver, holy water, or the rattling chains of Rack – more rare flowers, the horns of a mountain ram, crushed spider legs, (a bit of cilantro, black pepper to taste?) 

It seems like the intended use of the spell is for purifying a water supply. Looks like it culminates in some kind of stone or blessed object, which is placed into the water supply.

We should put that in the water near the trollstone!!! Where Lady Rosalind got sick! That’s the same river as the water supply into the town; it might be carrying something that’s causing the necromantic illness in the townsfolk.

Shoshana skims the accompanying notes, too: the writer thinks something has happened to the local water and intends to inspect source; she is worried about Skelbjor under the bridge. (We are unable to find a name, but we can tell it’s a female author.)

Valeria finds a map detailing Mornheim’s irrigation systems, dated about 10 years ago, and takes that as well. She’s excited. If this is a spell paladins can cast, she could fix the water supply, and Save The Town, and Be A Hero!!!!

But we’ve got a cult to fight first. 

We open the door and head to wing the cultists have taken over. From Audrey’s description, we know the main feature of this side of the house is its library, the Epitaph Library. In addition to being a regular fancy library, this was also where the epitaphs and records of the notable dead were kept. If you want to find a particular tomb or learn the history of those who were buried in Mornheim, this is your ticket.

In the library, many of the books have been pulled from the shelves and scattered around, but in organized piles, like someone has been doing research. There are candles lit in various places around the room. (Yes, they have glass covers, for fire safety. The players insisted, because we’re book nerds and we’re sad for Witness Bea.) 

Gral and Clem, in the gloom, can see a couple of sickly, thin figures – cultists. On either side, there are skeletons standing guard. As we open the door they turn to look directly at us. The cultists turn, too, and we realize – they, too, are suffering a late stage form of the sickness from town. They’re gaunt, pale, and weak. One’s in robe, but the others are in regular clothes.

A thin, reedy voice shouts, “WAIT!” and then devolves into hoarse coughing. The source limps out from behind shelf, leaning heavily on a halberd like it’s a walking stick. “THEY’RE EXPECTED! Grigor said they were coming!”

And Clem sees: his skin is pale and gaunt; he’s limping, barely holding himself upright with the halberd. He wears elven armor, like the suit Clem used to wear, and his withered hands wear worn red gloves. He’s coughing heavily; this elf is clearly deeply unwell.

Private Sokolov smiles sheepishly and says in Elven, “Hey, Sarge. Glad you could join us.”

#session recap #mornheim #aubrey von mornheim #balderich von mornheim #clem haxan #gral omokk'duu #shoshana bat chaya #valeria argent #private sokolov #the pale king #leonard wendell #skelbjor #mercedes the pyromancer