The Beaconers

Session Three of GRNC 2 – The Retaking of Grabford

A GREAT NORTHERN CRUSADE ADVENTURE from Greyhawkstories.com

(Campaign Notes and Adaptation by Thomas Kelly)

Prelude: Mission to Argynvostholt

The companions gather in the yard of canal town, near to the frowning wall of the city under siege.

From out of the grey mist and creeping fog, a rider draws up. The Lady Katarina of Walworth sits proud and upright in the saddle, mounted upon her cantering charger. Just now, she returns from an inspection of Archmage Bigby’s handiwork. She is well satisfied with the progress made by unseen hands laboring at the construction of siege engines, rams, ladders, and towers ensorcelled with magics. The time for the final assault draws near.

The Count Artur Jakarti, also a man of the Shield, strides along beside her. He stands a head taller than his fellows, and his shoulders are broad. He is clad, head-to-toe, in heavy armor. Over his left shoulder he rests the naked blade of his great two-handed sword, still bloodied from some recent battle. He counsels strategy with the Grand Marshal. 

Lady Katarina lifts a hand to bid her companion silent for a spell. Her keen eyes land upon her newly dubbed loyal knight. Sir Harrasin kneels before her in the cold mud. He lowers his eyes. He dares not meet her gaze.

Maiden Oleini, Gloryaxe of Heironeous, a Shield Lander herself, bends the knee alongside him before the Lady and the Count.

Here too stands Mirdon the Spellbinder, futzing with his scrolls.

The Lady Katarina and Count Jakarti also recognize the elven maid they call Twiggy, a druid of Old Oerth. The twiggy limbs of the innocent-eyed waifish elf maid belie her fearsome reputation for smashing orcish heads like ripe pumpkins under the heavy blow of her shillelagh.

Hanging back on the edge of yard (for he was not summoned with the others) stands Danni the Darkhagard. That same morn the Rhenee warrior said farewells to his captain and the rafters: “Nay. I’ll not leave this place as yet. Go in peace, and may good fortune be with you. I remain among the crusaders until I have avenged my sister’s death.” Now he stands alone and apart by himself.   

Here too comes one mounted upon a war horse. A strong-limbed fellow, Oeredian by race, balding of hair and stooped in the saddle. A fine white alb clads his flesh. A violet stole drapes his shoulders, emblazoned with the shining symbols of Pelor. A squire attends to him. His armorbearer carries his gear. His ostler holds the lead to the horse upon which he slumps in the saddle. His dwarf stands near at hand, also clad in the colors of Pelor, bearing the shield of the Shining One.

“But where is Sir Flynn? Was he not also beckoned?” the Lady Katarina asks.

“Say not that brave knight has fallen!” Count Jakarti exclaims.   

“Nay, my lord. Not fallen. Not yet. But neither stands he here among us,” Mirdon the Magician replies.

“I beg thee, Lady Grand Marshal, pardon my fellow’s absence. Perhaps he did not receive the summons,” Sir Harrassin dares not lift his eyes.

The Lady Katarina tilts her chin. Keen eyes flash round about. “Convey unto him the mission with which I charge thee now, Sir Knight!” Gesturing to the one mounted before her: “Behold, this Sir Ector, a fit Paladin of Keoland! He has travelled over many roads to reach these northern lands and assist our crusade. Indeed! Is he not the famed Beaconer of Pelor? Let him go at thy head upon this errand on which I send thee. Heed his every word as my command. And take with thee the stout priest of Pelor at his side, low of stature but great in valor, for thou shalt have need of his petitions.”  

“The dwarf?” Mirdon sneers.

The Lady Katarina: “Hear now thy errand. Git thee gone from this field. Take thine companions to the beaconhouse of Argynvostholt which overlooks all this land and these river shallows. Its light fell dark, ere Grabford fell, but I would see it blaze again. Let it dispel this present darkness. Let the king’s fleet upon the Veng see our signal. Let all Furyondy see the sign of hope! Let them light the sky from here to the Holy Shielding! From here to Veluna. Let the Boneheart and all the Horned Ones ponder the meaning. Let the Order of the Hart and all those who would ride with them hasten as to our muster and join our cause.”

Artur Jakarti: “A haunt of terrors you may find. The Lord Argynvost–none know what has become of him.”

Katarina: “Find if that good man lives or find tale of his fate! Is he not a kinsman of mine? An ally to the Lord Holmer Walworth? Lord Argynvost rode once beneath the Silver Dragon standard, all his knights with him, sworn keepers of the king’s beacon. Venerable in years he was when I knew him, I yet a shieldmaiden then. That noble man is born from no mean blood or low family. A passing good knight. Vassal loyal to King Belvor and, before him, to all the Kings of Ferrund.”

Artur: “Once at time, Knights of Argynvost rode against Molag and any foul thing that dared to cross the Veng.”

Katarina: “If any of his number survive, they may prove us allies most-valuable as we now begin the final assault. Consult your wise vetha, if you must. Ask her cards his whereabouts. But go find his manor, not many leagues beyond the walls of Grabford, between the city and cold Lake Whyestil, and thou shalt light again the beacon. That is your great quest.”

Artur: “Be warned. Many say he kept a dragon in that hall. Methinks perchance it sleeps there yet, or perhaps ‘twas slain by demonkind.”

Scene One: Dream Pastries

Sunlight scarcely pierces the fog and death-cold mist of the early morning. Five wary companions travel the road. Sir Harrasin, girt in mail, rides upon nervous steed. Four walk along behind him: Mirdon, Oleini, Twiggy, and Danni. These fellows make their way to seek again the wisdom of the vetha.

Sir Harrasin: “See what my eyes see? Do I descry an old woman pushing her market cart from out of this fog?”

Mirdon: “I see the form, but I cannot say if she be flesh and blood or phantom.”

Danni: “Surely a phantom. Did we not slay that Old Hag with her sisters in yonder mill?”

Sir Harrasin: “Nay, listen! I hear the squeak of the cart’s wheels. I smell the scent of its pastries. Hark! She calls to us.”

Vella Sunbane: “Pastries! Dream pastries! No more terrors. No more fears!”

Oleini: “If ever I doubted your tale of the hags and their pastries, I doubt it no more. She draws near and would sell us her wares.”

Vella Sunbane: “Pastries! Dream pastries!”

Oleini: “She knows not my face. I will speak to her. Hail, Old Woman! You have customers.”

Vella Sunbane: “Come and buy! Come and buy! No more terrors. No more fears! Hold. Stay there. Who are those men that linger in the fog? What trickery? I know thy companions: bandits, raiders, robbers, wicked ones!”

The hag shrieks and vanishes, slipping through an unseen gate to netherplanes in which she takes refuge. The companions burn her abandoned pastry cart.

Scene Two: Digging up the Truth

Some short stretch of road beyond the burning cart, the companions arrive at the crossroads. Danni the Darkhagard gestures toward the gallows. “My card was the hangman, and the vetha said I’ll find what I seek sleeping here. Well, as for that! Here is the crossroads and here stands the gallows. Many sleep here in graves both marked and unmarked. Rows of men condemned. But look how the earth is turned here fresh in the shadow of these gallows.”

Oleini: “I’m not for disturbing the dead.”

Harrasin: “Paddy Lash said it’s bad luck.”

Danni: “I’ll not disturb the dead but the undead.”

The Rhennee man takes up the sexton’s shovel. He begins digging beneath the gallows where the earth is turned. At shallow depth, the shovel’s blade scrapes against stone. “What have we here?” They uncover the lid of a stone sarcophagus.

Danni: “Clear off the grime. Brush it away. Something is etched here on the face of it!”

Mirdon: “The emblem of the Old Aerdy: the Crowned Sun. Signet of the Overking. And there are letters inscribed. Bring some water to wash it clean, please! It spells out a name, I think. M A S K E L E Y N E.”

Danni: “Well, what do you think now? Open it? Bad luck or good luck?”

Twiggy: “I fear neither the dead nor the undead nor the changing fortunes of luck.”

Danni uses the shovel to pry at the heavy lid. Harrasin dismounts and helps him lift it open. Oleini presents the holy symbol of her god. Twiggy stands at the ready, poised with her shillelagh held aloft, ready to bludgeon a vampire lord. Mirdon prepares a potent spell. Harrasin and Danni shove the lid aside. The sarcophagus is not empty.

Oleini: “Phew! The stench of death. Tis no vampire, nor undead, but a ruse to mislead us. Here lies the corpse of some poor old woman, many days dead.” (The priestess waves the sign of Heironeous.) “I detect no evil unless the box itself be evil but not the contents.”  

Danni: “Yet, the face is familiar. To my eyes, the face of the vetha!”

Mirdon: “Trickery and illusions. Some cursed fever dream is upon this place. This corpse has lain here many a day. Perhaps a week or more. The vetha we consulted in her tent but two days past.”

Harrasin: “Let us close it up before it rises and does us some mischief! Here. Help me put the lid in place. Now cover it over.”

Scene Three: Three New Cards

At a distance from Grabford, the mist thins and dissipates. Some midmorning sun pierces through the gloom.

Mirdon: “Here is the river stream, and there is Atolai encampment, just how we left it ere yesterday. Let us hope they have found some potent scrolls for me.”

Some of companions had their weapons silvered here only two days past. Not Twiggy or Oleini. They take in their first impressions of the encampment. They observe the colorfully painted wagons, the curly-haired children, the mustached men and the bedlah-clad women. Out come the wares and the trinkets. A goodwife hurries to offer the men sausages and cakes. Another presents baked flatbreads. A seamstress shows Oleini a finely stitched dress the color of lilacs, and holds it up to her. She urges her to try it on. “It will fit you well!” Another girl slips a bracelet with green stones over Twiggy’s slender wrist and up her arm, “Isn’t it lovely? Only a single silver.” The companions purchase sausages, cakes, and flatbread. Harrasin and Danni toss coppers to the children performing cartwheels and acrobatics.

Behind the heavy tent curtains, the matron receives the party.

Matron: “Back already? Did you find what you seek beneath the gallows?

Danni: “Only another riddle we cannot read.”

Matron: “Then hear my read.”

She extends an open palm to Oleini. The priestess is uncertain about the meaning of gesture. She reaches forward as if to place her hand in the matron’s open hand, but the woman withdraws her hand quickly and scolds, “A coin for a card.”

Oleini fumbles for her coin pouch. She drops a coin into the woman’s hand. The matron settles in, rolls her eyes back into her head, withdraws a card from the deck. She turns it over: “The Torch. A light in the darkness. But if that torch be darkness too, how thick the darkness grows!”

The matron turns toward Twiggy. She extends her open palm to the druid. Twiggy presses in a coin. The matron’s fingers quickly close around it and turn over a card: “Blight. A sorry portent for you, daughter of the wood. Let me turn you a second card for a better read. No charge … Ah! Better. The Baker’s Dozen has come up again. Perhaps your friends left unfinished business behind them.”

Mirdon: “Here is coin. Look. It’s a Silver Sheridan! The Grand Marshal sends us to inquire after the Lord of Argynvostholt. She would know what has become of him, and what of his manor house.”

Matron: “What of him and what of it? None of the keepers of the beacon survive. None now go to Argynvostholt. Even orcs and goblins shun it. But I will see what says the cards.” (She takes the coin, rolls back her eyes, turns a card, and gasps.) “Behold: The Dragon! A powerful omen. Perhaps something awaits you there, after all.”

Mirdon: “Make the meaning clear. No riddles.”

Matron: “No riddles. The cards are the cards.”

Oleini: “Mother, your face looks like another we have seen today. Is there a sister unto you, or some other that wears your face?”

Matron: “Child, you are mistaken.”

Oleini: “Yes. I am mistaken.”

Others: “We were mistaken.”