Wednesday Night Ritual

After dispatching the Obiesh deserters and finding their way into the caverns beneath the shattered citadel, we returned to our band of wannabe-adventurers as they investigated the deep pool encountered last session.

The Outlaw plunged in. His search in ink-dark water at the bottom was rewarded when his fingers brushed against a strange, wavy-bladed dagger. Upon examination the pommel held an eerie red gem, inlaid with a sliver of onyx to resemble the eye of a great cat. A mere treasure, or perhaps something more?

As the halfling Yarias pleaded for his life, the fickle hand of the Three Fates intervened to help usher our Gravedigger further along his darkening path. How the Lords of Chaos must have chuckled when his shovel blow, intended to merely render their new captive unconscious, instead split his skull and ended one of the threads of this story.

Venturing deeper into the cavern, the party encountered the source of their torch being extinguished earlier. Before them lay a steaming and bubbling pool of water from which boiling geysers would burst forth, pushing out a hot mist deep in the caves. At the center of this churning cauldron, a hoard of glittering treasure heaped upon a small island – belonging to whom?

As the Outlaw and halfling excitedly began filling their pouches with treasure, the surface of the burbling pool became more and more agitated until a column of hissing water erupted between the island and the shore. With a hissing shriek the skeletal form of a dragon unfurled it's bony wings and issued an enraged shriek of challenge to the would-be thieves. Perhaps not realizing that OSR stands for "Oh Shit Run!" our players decided to throw-down against the colossal revenant in a bitter battle to keep their ill-gotten games. Focusing on the two thieves, it spat forth gouts of boiling steam, and whipped it's snarling maw forth to savage its victims with ancient chipped fangs. In an unforgiving battle, both the Outlaw and the Gravedigger were slain, but through sheer weight of numbers, desperation and greed, the party finally battered the Bone Dragon into the pool to resume it's eternal slumber.

Death it seems is not necessarily final for those blessed by the Druids of the Nyrwood. Both the Outlaw and Gravedigger had received the blessing of the Druid of Chaos, and both were restored barely to life as their reward. Thus, many treasures were filched. The larcenous halfling claimed the Dwarven-forged sword Rautanfir, imbued with the fighting spirit of a legendary warrior. The Gravedigger chose to place a circlet engraved with symbols of Sezrekan upon his head; an act of self-coronation or perhaps a declaration of fealty. Are the Lords of Chaos and Law already appointing their champions?

Growing in confidence, our band stormed up stone stairs, an onrushing tide of greed and rage, crashing upon the fortress's gaoler in a bloody wave. After a brief melee, they slew the brutish and corpulent half-ogre right beside his last meal, before storming toward the cell-block. Three new recruits from a nearby village swelled their ranks, while the Gravdigger parlayed with a dwarven Obiesh who pleaded for freedom in return for an unlife of service. Perhaps displeased by the fawning display of supplication, or instead wishing to further attract the gaze of the Lords of Chaos, our Gravedigger gave his answer in the form of a pitchfork to face.

With agility and a little cunning ropework, the party slipped down into the oubliette. They traversed over to the corridor that lead to a thick and banded wooden door, upon which – and with uncharacteristic politeness for this group – they knocked. "I've been waiting for you. Do come in," came the reply from a firm and almost ethereal voice. As to where this all leads, we shall discover next session.

Gathering their battered comrades and meager supplies, our adventurers plunged deep into the Nyrwood, pursued by ravenous and ghoulish hounds, intent on cracking their bones and devouring their flesh. Through creative tree-climbing and a game of not-it, the rag-tag band fought back the canine horde, with but a single loss.

While seeking shelter on a sacred hill, we gained our first real taste of the touch of the Chaos Lords upon the group, as the Gravedigger decided to act upon the Alchemist's innocent observation that a sacrifice may be required at the altar of the ancient Druids. An unwitting Mendicant had already volunteered as sacrifice by climbing onto the altar to take a well-deserved nap – a sleep they would never awaken from – as the Gravedigger murdered him there before his kith. One cannot easily say whether the bolt of lightning that struck the altar from the heavens was truly a curse upon the perpetrator, or perhaps a salute to this newly corrupted soul.

A further day of slogging through muddy tracks brought our band to the gates of the ancient and semi-ruined Castle Nyr. Confounded by roaming undead sentries and winged beasts soaring over their heads, they sought a narrow cliffside path around the side of the great rock upon which the Citadel stood. With guile, they set upon langerous Obiesh shirking their duty to enjoy an evening meal of roasted halflings. The artifice of hiding two of the party's own halfings in sacks on the trail, while causing a commotion such that the alarmed undead would hurry past in pursuit, permitted a cunning ambush ending with a swift hurling of the Obiesh into the yawning void below!

At first the three rescued halfings were elated to join the party... that is until the Chaos-tinged Gravedigger started tormenting them like a cat toys with a mouse. Seeing how they had merely escaped from the roasting-pole to the fire, two of the rescued halflings seized their last opportunity to flee, while their lone comrade stayed behind as a captive distraction. I imagine, we shall learn more of his fate, later.

As to our band, we leave them deep in a dank cavern beneath the Citadel for now, amongst faerie-touched springs and strange pools, while the rocks shudder and steam hisses from the darkness. More confident in their growing abilities, yet with the cracks of division spreading between their ranks, for they have all chosen a most perilous path. For some, perhaps, a path far more perilious than others.

By the will of the Three Fates, our players all decided to eschew the old-school lure of the Caverns of Thracia, and to resist the eerie call of the Purple Planet. Instead they cast their coins for a most classic Dungeon Crawl Classics experience, all pulp, gonzo fantasy, with extra pulp. Thus, with some care and attention did they assemble their band of plucky level zero peasants. Headlong they were plunged into Harley Stroh's funnel module "The Seventh Thrall of Sezrekan," as a mysterious band of deathworn warriors lay havoc to their village, causing blood and cheese-dip to be spilled, before abducting their Wizard employer.

The battered survivors have vowed to rescue The Old Man...somehow. For justice! For revenge! For glory! For spells!

We have room for a couple of other players. This is an excellent time to drop-in and try something new.

OK, let's do this crazy thing. I used to run DCC at the store in the before times, and had a lot of fun with a great group of regulars and revolving troublemakers. Maybe we can recreate that magic? I'm considering running one of the following vaguely defined paths:

• Absolutely classic modules with some narrative glue to tie them together
• Purple Planet (pulpy swords and planets setting)
• Lankhmar (gritty, urban fantasy without Clerics)
• Chained Coffin (Appalachian-inspired fantasy)
• Dying Earth (Jack Vance's sci-fantasy setting)

Come meet for Session Zero. We'll see if we vibe and can figure out our flavor of DCC insanity together. My preference is for some classic modules or go wild with Purple Planet, as there's a vast array of material to play through. I probably can be bribed.

We already have 3 interested players!