May 2016
THE COMPANY
Orhan, a Wry Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Reckless and Fell-handed Dreaman Warden
- Bogusław, a Dwergar Warden of Hewflore --> Mortally Wounded by a Cultist Dagger
- Emyr, a Geating Explorer
- Godric, a Geating Canon (in camp)
- Urien, a Weallack Canon Hailing from Carlton
Zephyros, a Scarred but Silver-tongued Ellasene Mage
- Ansger, a Loyal Dreaman Fighter
- Athelwine, a Geating Explorer from Acworth
- Dudda, a Cheerful Geating Thief
- Fionnbharr, a Dim-witted Gallowglass (in camp)
- Henryk, a Dwergar Guard of Hewflore
- Wilburg, a Self-Confident and Sickly Apprentice (in camp)
- Xenocrates, a Cautious Ellasene Mage
NPC: Agapetos, a Horse-headed Beastman of the Sunken City, a Liberated Prisoner (in camp)
THE PAPERS OF OSRIC DE MANDEVILLE
The Frog Caverns
[Sitting outside a tavern in Carlton and enjoying a refreshing, watered-down ale while watching passing townsfolk, Osric permits himself a short respite.]
We are in Carlton. This morning, the abbot exorcised the demonic curses plaguing Urien and I. The Maker be praised! It is like the lifting of many leaden weights from my chest. The price – the destruction and donation of unholy jewelry from the frog temple – was a pittance for all this.
[Osric pauses before resuming his journal from the last entry.]
Near where the tunnel to the monastery exited in a small cut, we discovered tracks. Tired and bloody, we elected to rest in Taygle’s End before continuing our hunt. We allowed our men to celebrate, and I took the opportunity to preach the Maker’s Word to the people of the End. I have to admit that I was surprised by how many attended to the liturgy; a few locals even thanked me afterwards. Maybe, not all is lost for this village!
The next day, the terribly-wounded Eirikr informed us that he would return to Hewflore as soon as he was ready to travel, and we bid him farewell. The remainder of us returned to the monastery. Orhan – with the rest of in tow – followed the tracks from the hidden tunnel northwards until we ended up at the foot of Rish Hill, a poorly hidden entrance into the depth before us. We spotted some strange figures in the bushes and boldly confronted them, and they quickly retreated. We couldn’t follow their tracks in the thick underbrush covering the area, so we returned to the gaping hole where cultist footprints led us.
Reflecting that we were not far from the thorp of Rishdon, I wondered if the locals had aligned themselves with the worshippers of the frog daemon. Perhaps the figures who fled into the brush were on their way at that moment to summon reinforcements from the settlement above us. We would have to hurry.
The steps leading down into the hole looked treacherous, so we tried to advance slowly. Nevertheless, some of our number slipped noisily, and our torches undoubtedly marked our approach. Not surprisingly, foemen awaited us, prepared to do us ill. Vicious incantations assailed our senses, and everything was made more difficult thanks to the confined space and treacherous footing. Only after our mages sent forward a wave of summoned Brimman warriors could we press into the chamber in front of us.
We soon found ourselves in a bloody battle for our lives. One of the green-skinned four-armed giants we knew from elsewhere in the Great Marish crashed into our flank from a side tunnel; even stooping, he was a fearsome sight. Thanks to the Maker, an incantation of sleep felled him before he did serious damage, and we slew him while helpless. Ansger and Henryk tried to maintain pressure on the enemy’s front line even as the cultists received more reinforcements. Visions of unknowable evil clouded my sight and sickened me, but a few well-placed shots by our archers silenced the cultists’ sorcerers. A great, armored frog-man monstrosity then appeared from another side tunnel along with more cultists. Our mages responded with summoned Brimman berserks. The frenzied madmen felled the armored frog-man and broke the cultists’ attack. In the aftermath, I discovered a prostrate Bogusław with a dagger lodged in his back.
We hurriedly scavenged what we could from the corpses of our fallen foes, but we did not dare pursue the cultists deeper into the warren. Near the entrance, I posted Emyr with orders to spy on all that trafficked the area. We then marched back to the monastery to recover. Bogusław will live, thankfully, though I suspect he will not walk again without pain.
Still troubled by bouts of nausea and vertigo, we decided to ride to Carlton the next day. Before we could depart, however, two messengers appeared at the gate to the monastery grounds. The owner of a manor also on the outskirts of Taygle’s End sought a chat with us. Confident in our strength and the Maker’s blessings, we accompanied the messengers to their master’s manse.
Garnier, one of the local area’s chief thanes, seemed to share a common goal of eradicating the cult. By all appearances a seasoned adventurer, we learned that he’d already clashed with the cultists several times, but his injuries, age, and dwindling resources prevented him from achieving a decisive victory. His reports of the cult’s influence dampened my mood considerably: not only has the cult infiltrated Taygle’s End, it seems to have thoroughly corrupted Rishdon as well.
As I see it, our best hope now is to destroy the cult’s sanctuary at the base of Rish Hill. Then, we can renew faith in the Maker’s power by making Taygle’s End a beacon of hope. With that accomplished, we will have time to hunt down the cult’s remnants and drive this perverse frog idolatry back into the swamp from which it no doubt hails.
This is not something to be left to others. No! This is something I must do myself!
I will take over the ekklesia of Taygle’s End… a task for which I must secure the support of Lady Osthryd. I must see if Garnier will support me as well. I am not without optimism: after all, the old man generously gave us some old artifacts for the promise that we would remove the cult from Taygle’s End.
I have no doubt this will not be an easy task, but – with the Maker’s blessings – it is one I shall do.