Pendragon Solo Actual Play

[Kingfisher]

I picked up the new Pendragon Starter Set last summer which started me upon a journey of discovery and creativity I have not experienced since my DnD 2E days so very long ago. I devoured the Starter Set throughout the autumn and knew I absolutely had to get the Core Rulebook to fill in the gaps, which I did during Yule, but up until recently had no idea what to do with the game. See, I don't have a gaming group these days and life has turned me into something of a hermit. Indeed, the last time I played any sort of TTRPG was DnD 4E. I had not heard about nor contemplated solo roleplaying, so to discover it was a thing was something of a revelation (and also a rabbit hole I'm still very much within).

The revelation came by way of Autumnflame's superlative Annales Milites de Sarisburiensis solo campaign/story. Amazing to think it has been going on for as long as I have been away from the hobby! Reading Autumnflame's work has taught me more about Pendragon and how to approach solo gaming than anything else.

So it is with immense gratitude and profound respect that I begin my own solo Pendragon actual play, inspired by Autumflame and Annales Milites de Sarisburiensis.

The purpose here is manyfold: To actually learn the rules and embed them (simply reading the books doesn't seem to make the info stick in my head); to have fun journaling my adventures as my Pendragon variation solidifies; to see if a Pendragon-specific solo Oracle can be created; and to play all the adventures from Book III The Sword Campaign right the way through the events in the Grey Knight.

To realise this, I once again need to take a leaf from AutumnFlame's book and have a no unnecessary death rule. Instead, I wish to use what would be character death as a springboard to new adventures outside the scope of the quests I'm following. Additionally, I will be using the pre-generated PKs as my fellow knights out of a desire to explore their stories in my own way.

To anyone who may be reading this, please remember I'm learning as I go. 

508 AD. Salisbury Castle

Event: Escort Duty

Who? Adherent NPC

Is this Adherent Christian or Pagan? Likely Christian so 60/40. Roll of 38 so Christian.

Is the NPC the Pastor? Likely, yes.

Anyone else on escort duty? Likely, yes.

Who? Another squire? Very likely, yes.

1D8 rolled for random pre-generated character. Avalloc.

Any story complications? NPC acts suddenly

Weather? Warm, partly cloudy.

Celyn paused, his right hand holding the lightly oiled cloth he was using to polish Sir Eric's mail drooping while he gazed up at the fluffy, white clouds forming in the morning sky over Sarum castle. Celyn had been up since dawn, cleaning and preparing his master's weapons and accoutrements, hoping to have the task completed as soon as possible in order to free up more time for combat training. At nearly twenty-one years of age, Celyn was eager to be knighted, yet knew that was far from a guaranteed outcome, overshadowed as he was by greater squires like Clarion. By far the finest swordsman amongst the knights-to-be at Lord Roderick's estate, Clarion was admired by almost everyone and was guaranteed (in Celyn's opinion) to be knighted this year.

Sighing, Celyn returned to his work as the rest of the castle's inhabitants started to stir, squires and pages leaving the keep to tend to horses, feed the hounds and prepare for the day ahead, stifling yawns and groaning as they attended their duties.

The sun rose higher over Sarum, warming the old stone wall he leant his back against as Celyn continued to polish the rings of Sir Eric's mail hauberk. The noise of daily life he had grown accustomed to over the last six years, the barking of dogs, the nickering of horses and clatter of weapons being moved was a comforting reminder that, even should he fail to attain knighthood, he would still have a home and a life as an Esquire here. 

Does Celyn fall asleep? Energetic vs Lazy (15 vs 5) = 16. Yes, he falls asleep. How long for? 1d4 = 1 hour.

Despite being the first up most mornings (or possibly because of it), the warmth of the morning Sun and the familiar sounds of routine cause Celyn's head to nod and the oil cloth to fall from his fingers as sleep overtakes him.

"Celyn! Celyn, wake up!" The feeling of hands shaking him and the voice of one of the page boys, startled Celyn awake from a dream in which he was riding a pale horse through an eerie, fog-shrouded field on the edge of a gloomy, haunted forest. "Huh? Tomas? What's occurring?"
"You've been summoned to an audience with Lord Roderick. You'd best hurry, I've been looking all over for you." 
"Bloody Hell. Look at me, I'm covered in oil and, hmm, looks like last night's supper. Tomas, be a good fellow and put this mail with the rest of Sir Eric's armour while I dunk my head and grab a fresh doublet." 

Looking at the position of the Sun, Celyn estimated he had only been asleep for about an hour, putting the time time of day at just after midmorning, a fact his rumbling stomach attested to for he had apparently slept through breakfast. Cursing, Celyn hurried to the well, drew enough water from the bucket to wash his face and grabbed a clean set of clothes from his pack, which he was still donning as he arrived in the hall where Roderick was seated, surrounded by courtiers, advisors and household knights.

Edited January 12 by Kingfisher
Typo corrections

[Kingfisher]

Is Roderick angry with Celyn for keeping him waiting? Unlikely, no.
Does Roderick notice Celyn's arrival? 50/50. Rolled 19 so yes.

Celyn waited at the edge of the hall to be summoned, listening to the business of the court. It seemed as though they were in the middle of a discussion regarding the vulnerability of the southern and eastern borders and the need to increase patrols in those regions, prompting further debate on the subjects of Saxon raids and outlaw activity. After the death of the Pendragon, Britain had rapidly returned to the dark times of a century ago when the Romans departed. Almost like a reflexive action born of fear, kingdoms became increasingly insular and aggressive, jealously guarding their territories and greedily eyeing those of their neighbours. With each passing year, more and more Saxons landed on the eastern shores, taking lands and raiding westward, exacerbating the problems faces by the British. With no high king to unify the land, men cared only for themselves.

In Logres, things were worse. Uther's death created a power vacuum nobody had been able to fill, prompting the rise of local warlords eager to carve out a kingdom of their own, turning their swords towards their kinsman instead of towards the invaders. There were some good lords, such as Roderick, who did his best to be a voice of reason and favoured diplomacy over violence, but even he appeared to be becoming more militant, weary of repelling raiders year after year.

As though he needed a distraction from all this talk of war, Roderick called out, "Squire Celyn, step forward if you please," silencing the voices surrounding him as all eyes turned to the squire.

Deceitful vs Honest (6 vs 14) to see if Celyn will lie, checking Deceitful first. Rolled 1 = he is going to lie.
Courtesy roll, unopposed = 3. Success.
Orate roll, unopposed = 10. Critical. Orate skill checked.

"My Lord," Celyn said, executing a deep bow as he strode towards the high chair upon which Lord Roderick sat, swallowing his nerves at being the centre of so much attention and flashing his most charming smile, "I implore you forgive my tardiness. It is just that the day is so beautiful after the recent, gloomy chill of winter that I tarried overlong in my duties within the surrounds of this magnificent fortress. We are truly blessed to be able to enjoy such a lovely day so soon before summer and truly the warm sun is such a welcome face after the long darkness of the past months". Murmurs of approval at this short but eloquent speech rippled through the hall, reminding those within that while things in the country were dire, they should not allow that gloom to darken their hearts.

"Well said, Master Celyn. I think we should all enjoy the day and leave weighty decisions for later, I for one feel this is a perfect occasion to spend with the hawks." Turning to a figure standing to his right, Roderick said, "Master Hywell, prepare the falcons. As for you, young squire, I would like you to ride escort for Father Peter who is needed elsewhere."
Bowing again, Celyn said, "as you command, my Lord", taking his cue to leave.

☆☆☆☆☆In the first part, I avoided determining the destination for escort duty knowing it could be problematic. For one, getting the sense of scale right for the early 6th century was outside my predicted  scope; and for another figuring out what places existed back then and how it fits into my variation of Pendragon.
Nowadays, Wiltshire has a population of 510,400 people out of 69.5 million in GB. The Core Rulebook says there are 2 million people inhabiting GB, so if we assume an even population density and calculate the total number of people in an area the size of the modern county Wiltshire, we get 34,000 people, or 25 people per square mile.
Even then, I think that estimate is generous considering Wiltshire is a largely rural county.

With an idea of population density, I next needed to figure out where they all lived to determine where the priest would be headed. The map in the Core Rulebook and in Book III The Sword Campaign show likely destinations, so I chose Warminster due to it being about a day's ride away and thus perfect for a short adventure and because it likely would be a place with a fair number of people due to the presence of the nearby hill fort of Battlesbury Camp.☆☆☆☆☆

Celyn gathered his belongings and exited the hall, pleased with himself, headed towards the stables to prepare his rouncy for the ride ahead. A couple of pages were already preparing the Pastor's horse, while a fellow squire was saddling up his own grey mare.

"Avalloc?" Celyn called hopefully. Of all the squires who could have been chosen to ride with him and the priest, Celyn was glad it would be Avalloc. Good natured and irreverent, Avalloc had a ready smile and a great sense of humour.

"Celyn! I had heard they had chosen a Pagan to escort a Christian but I never thought it would be you. Maybe they hope me and Father Peter will convert your heathen arse along the way? Well met and all that!" Avalloc grinned at the prospect, as did Celyn.

"Please. You couldn't convert ale to piss." Striding forward, Celyn grasped the arm of his friend in greeting and received a clap on the back in return.

"Ah, but you're mistaken my sacrilegious friend - I am very good at creating piss. Besides, would you rather Clarion were to accompany you, him and that stick up his arse? What a journey that would be! He's this close to becoming a clergyman himself." Avalloc somehow managed to pull off a perfect impression of Clarion's haughty expression while striding around with his buttocks clenched so tightly he became red in the face.

The squares stifled their laughter as Father Peter approached. A portly gentleman of about forty years of age, the Pastor was known for his dry and subtle humour, making him popular among the Christian squires.

"Truly the Lord does bless me: a long journey with naught but horses, a court jester and a barbarian for company." Despite his stern demeanour, Father Peter's eyes sparkled in jest.

Avalloc bowed, "your eminence. You honour us with your praise."

Celyn inclined his head in respect before finishing saddling up his bay and mounting.

Horsemanship rolls:
Avalloc (15) rolls 5, succeeds.
Priest (?) rolls 11, succeeds - I imagined he would have a skill of about 12
Celyn (9)/rolls 8, succeeds.... It's at this point I realised I've made a mistake during character creation. Why is my Horsemanship so low?!  Also, why is my brawling only 7?! Will need to do it again, I've messed up somewhere.

The journey to Warminster along the old trade road was pleasant and leisurely. Father Peter regaled the squires with stories of these lands from days long by, of the Romans who laid down the roads and built great structures from stone using techniques now forgotten. The old priest then recounted folktales from the area, such as The Fae of Cley Hill, an old fort from before the coming of Rome.

"''Tis said the Fae lives in one of the ancient barrows dotting this region, the tombs of warriors from Brutus' time. Those whom have seen it recall a pallid knight, adorned in Trojan armour and holding a torch of blue flame. They say he climbs the hill and lights a ghostly fire, a beacon, perhaps, to signal a long dead king. Yet if anyone is brave or foolish enough to approach, both the warrior and flames vanish as if they were never even there."

The sun was getting low by this time, painting the western sky orange and red. The squires shivered, telling themselves inwardly that it was just because of the evening breeze.

"Give it a rest, Father", Avalloc joked, "I swear we've only covered ten miles in six hours because you can't stop flapping your lips like an old nun and now getting too late to continue on."

"Aye, we best make camp here for the night. Any idea where we are?" Celyn dismounted and stretched his limbs.

Father Peter looked around while alighting from his horse. "I think we're near the old Cods Ford over the Wylye. If I'm right, those hills to the North are the Aston Valley Barrows. Yes, see that larger hill to the Northwest? That must be Wilsbury Ring. Legend has it that the hill and stone circle at its top were erected by giants who, they say, still sleep beneath the hill."

Celyn stared at the priest in amazement. "You talk like a druid!"

The plump pastor turned to Celyn and smiled sadly, shaking his head, "you thought I was born a priest? Too busy thinking about our differences to appreciate our similarities. The only difference that should matter is that where you see many spirits, I see but one, The Holy Spirit. He is all around us and within the very earth itself and only a fool would say they understand all that he is. The stories and folktales matter, they have to matter! For each is a memory, whether real or not, created by His children as they roamed and worked His land and it is our duty to keep those memories alive."

"I've never met a Christian like you before, Father," Celyn said as he went about the business of building a fire.

[Kingfisher]

Is this when the "NPC acts suddenly" whatever that means?
Very likely, yes.
Is it related to any of the yarns the priest was spinning?
Very likely, yes.

A cold mist covered the grey plain and seeped through the links of Celyn's mail hauberk like the fingers of phantoms, chilling him to the bone. He tightened his gauntleted grip on the slick reins and hunched down in the saddle of the pale horse as she flew across the field, skirting the woods, her hooves crushing the frosty grass flat. Close behind them and gaining steadily, Celyn could hear the snarling and baying of hounds. He risked a glance back before urging the mare to run faster, to gallop as though their lives depended on her swiftness, digging his booted heels into her flank, a futile gesture for she needed no encouragement.

She leapt over brooks and rocks, her breath steaming from her nose, her mane and tail streaming as though she were an arrow in flight, a bolt of white lightning shot from the bow of a god. Yet despite her speed, the monstrous hounds gained ground, their slavering jaws spraying flecks of spittle as they sped in pursuit, their red eyes glowing with hatred and their clawed paws churning the earth as they tore after their prey.

Celyn knew the beasts would be upon them soon and drew his sword from its damp sheath, the thought of the magnificent animal he rode upon being torn apart too much for his heart to bear. He prepared to leap, resolved to die so that the mare could live and run, wild and free lile a true daughter of Epona or Rhiannon.

Yet, as he clutched the quartz hanging from the chafing leather thong around his neck and uttered a plea for courage, Celyn could swear he could hear a voice on the wind, so quiet but gaining in volume, coming from the dark woods. "Celyn.... Celyn..."

Awareness roll (15), rolled 5. Success!

"Celyn... Celyn! Wake up man, for the love of god! Get your arse up now!"

It was Avalloc's voice. Opening his eyes, Celyn saw his friend standing over him, sword drawn, the polished blade reflecting the orange glow of the campfire.

Instantly alert, Celyn leapt to his feet, grabbing his own sword and kite shield to stand by his fellow squire. Gazing out beyond the soft ring of firelight, Celyn saw what had so agitated Avalloc: There, standing in the darkness of night and lit with an eerie blue light, stood a figure, clad in ancient armour, seemingly a warrior, but incomplete somehow, as if made of smoke or as though a veil stood between them. To Celyn, it was reminiscent of looking at the horizon on a hot day, that sort of shimmering that distorts the distance.

Valorous roll (16), rolled 11. Success!

"Sulis!" Celyn breathed, steadying his breath and calming himself, asserting dominance over his fight or flight instinct and channeling the surge of adrenaline it brought into the focus of battle.
"Where's Father Peter?" He asked, eyes locked on the apparition mere meters away.

"There." Avalloc pointed to the priest who stood to one side, holding his crucifix before him as though it were a shield.

"Steady, lads. Stay back. Your weapons will do you no good. Besides, I don't believe he means us any harm."

Indeed, the ghostly warrior remained still and unthreatening.

Awareness roll for Celyn (15) rolled 14. Success.
Awareness roll for Avalloc (10) rolled 18. Oof.
Prudent roll for Avalloc (8) rolled 4. Success... Damn. Part of me wanted Avalloc to charge at this point, afterall he's more inclined to recklessness and that feels like something he would do.

I'm going to also roll for Avalloc's Spiritual (13) rolled a 5. My interpretation is that Avalloc would normally leap into battle, but the circumstances are far from normal, so instead he's inclined to trust the priest in this matter.

"I think the Pastor might be right", Celyn said, uncertainly.

"Riiiight", Avalloc retorted sarcastically, "because a spectral warrior from beyond the grave just wants to join us by the warm fire and enjoy some cheese and ale. He's probably just waiting for his ghostly mates to show up and call it a banquet. I say we see for ourselves whether or not our swords can hurt him." The last was delivered without much conviction, however.

"Alright. Let's just see what your priest has planned. If all else fails, we rush him."

"Agreed, brother."

While the squires hung back, Father Peter started walking towards the flickering figure of the warrior, lowering his crucifix as he moved. The specter turned and walked away, unhurriedly, heading up and towards the area the priest had earlier identified as the barrow hills.

"Come on, boys, I do believe he wants us to follow."

☆☆☆☆☆ Not much time to play this evening after work and this crap takes longer to write than I thought. Mad fun, though! Gutted because I'm itching for a fight and to see how the squires would fare in combat. Not sure how I'd figure stats for a ghost-knight (knight-ghost?), though, maybe just use one of the enemy knight cards from the Starter Set? Guess I'll see what next time brings. ☆☆☆☆☆

[Kingfisher]

The squires looked at one another, momentarily aghast, as the Pastor followed the spirit into the darkness, then scrambling into their armour and grabbing lanterns from Father Peter's pack, hurried after him.

With his shield awkwardly slung over his back so he had a hand free to hold the lantern, Celyn caught up with the priest and said, "tell us again about these barrows."

Father Peter shrugged, glancing at the squires, and then at the apparition they followed. "Well, I’m not sure this is the time and place for a history lesson, but this region has seen a lot of change over the centuries. Before the Romans arrived, the river Wylye was an important border marking the end of the territory belonging to the Durotriges. Their neighbours to the north were the Belgae along with the Dobunni to the northwest. To the west were the Dumnonii and east were the Atrebates. Thus, this region and particularly Warminster, became what the Romans called an oppidum, which is basically a fortified town to us. A hub for trading and the sharing of news. Indeed, the settlements at nearby Knook still exist, largely unchanged from that time." 

Father Peter paused, taking a moment to catch his breath, the incline now becoming steeper. The ghostly warrior seemed to match their speed despite being farther ahead and never appearing to slow.

The Pastor continued on, both physically and with his narrative. "However, the status-quo these people enjoyed for years uncounted was shaken when the Romans came. Some tribes, like the Dobunni, gave the legions no trouble and became part of the empire early on. Yet others, like the Durotriges whose ancestral lands we likely stand upon now, resisted Roman rule. Tensions in this region were high and many battles were fought, many people died here. None can say when these barrows were first dug and why, although it's clear there's something about this land people believed sacred. I believe the barrows are from a time long before the Romans brought the light of civilisation to us, probably dating back all the way to Brutus of Troy. If so, then the spirit we are following may have belonged to one of the first people in Britain.”

Folklore roll for Celyn (13) to see if anything the priest is talking about sounds familiar, rolled 5. Success.

Folklore roll for Avalloc (6) for the same reason, rolled 2. Success! 

Who responds first? 1 to 3 = Celyn, 4 to 6 = Avalloc. 1d6 rolled = 4.

"Eh, I'm not sure about Dough Bunnies and that, but my folk up in Caerleon say the people we came from fought the Romans fiercely, led by a mighty warrior called Caratacus who was also a great king until he was betrayed by a northern queen."

Both Father Peter and Celyn stared at Avalloc, impressed.

"I think the Dobunni would have been my people, near Caer Baddon. They were the Guardians of the Spring. I wonder why they didn't fight like your folk did, Avalloc? They would have been neighbours and should have helped." Celyn said, sadly.

"Because they were pussies like you?" Avalloc elbowed the other squire, good-naturedly.

Father Peter fell silent, considering the words of the squires as they trudged up the hill and approached the summit. The warrior, still shimmering in a blue glow, had halted in front of something, waiting.

"I can't pretend to know the will of God, but consider this young squires: History repeats itself if the lessons of the past are not heeded.The Silures fell to the might of Rome when the Northern tribes refused to help them and turned Caratacus over to the Romans, as you rightly said, Avalloc. The Dobunni didn't resist at all and were conquered by Rome. The Dorutriges who trod this grass before us also fell to the empire, surrounded as they were by tribes who capitulated. Liken that to the present day, how a kingdom without a king ordained by God to unite all the people leads to suffering and bickering and fighting, until the enemy they should have united against stands victorious over them."

The group reached the summit of the hill.

☆☆☆☆☆ This session did not turn out how I expected. I realised I needed to know more about this area, its history and get a firmer sense of how my Pendragon may vary, so I ended up on in a world-building binge and down a history rabbit hole. The biggest problem was all the anachronisms. I mean, we only know the Anglo-Saxon names for most places, or their Romano-British names. The original Brythonic names and beliefs have been lost. So calling something "Warminster" or "Codsford", for example, is like using words which won't actually exist for a few hundred years after this time period. Trying to reconcile that knowledge with what little I know about history became today's challenge. Not to mention all that Brutus of Troy stuff, which we know these days to be completely mythological. 

 

Add to the mix that these three characters might have very different views in terms of British origin stories - the priest of course could wholeheartedly believe the Brutus story, but the other two from very different tribal origins might see history differently, been exposed to very different stories about who they are, all potentially coloured by the veneer of Romanisation. Of course, those regional beliefs and cultural outlooks are lost to mists of time and we might never know exactly what gods and goddesses they revered and the role those beings had in shaping the peoples of Britain. Therein lay the fun, the opportunity to do some genuine world-building in a setting one would think has more than enough. ☆☆☆☆☆

[Kingfisher]

From their vantage point from the edge of the hill’s summit, the three travellers could see the warrior standing before the dark opening of a structure rising from the ground, a large mound of grass which appeared to grow from the hill they stood upon like a miniature version of itself, the dimensions of which became lost in the darkness beyond the rim of the misty blue light emanating from the spectral knight. The opening, an orifice the height and width of a man, remained impenetrable, its darkness unaffected by the light so that it looked more opaque than the blackness of night around it.

The ghost remained motionless, waiting.

There was something uncanny about the feeling which crept over Celyn as he took in the scene, an eerie yet vague familiarity he couldn’t quite place, a hazy recognition of something which should matter, causing the hairs on his neck and arms to prickle and sending a shiver down his spine.

 

Folklore roll for Celyn (13) rolled 11. Success.

Folklore roll for Avalloc (6) rolled 19. Fail

I guess a Spiritual roll could also be useful:

Spiritual roll for Celyn (15) rolled 2, success.

Spiritual roll for for Avalloc (13) rolled 9, success.

 

“A gate to Annwn!” Celyn breathed in awe. “He wants us to enter the Otherworld!”

“The what? What is 'Ahnoon?'” Asked Avalloc, fearfully, crossing himself for protection.

“Nonsense is what it is. The Otherworld is like a pagan Heaven and Hell,” replied Father Peter, striding forward. “An afterlife of a sort and the realm of anything they couldn’t explain, like faeries and giants. We have nothing to fear here.”

The squires once again hung back, watching as the Pastor approached the aperture and walked in, vanishing from sight.

Celyn said, "I think we should follow him. There's power here, even if it doesn't affect him or he ignores it, but I don't think it means us any harm."

Avalloc shivered but replied steadily, "I'll follow you, brother. I don't understand any of this but I think you might be right, I think I feel it, too."

Walking forwards with their lanterns held out before them, the two men approached the tomb, glancing at the warrior standing impassively to the side. The soft glow of the lamps did little to increase visibility and the gaping blackness before them was just as impenetrable as before. 

Celyn touched the quartz crystal hanging around his neck and, with one last glance behind him, plunged through the gateway.

Avalloc, crossing himself once more, followed swiftly behind.

They found themselves inside a circular, candlelit chamber as wide as the length of two men laying flat. The walls were decorated with brightly painted pictures of horses, boars and other creatures alongside figures of men. These men were warriors, some wielded weapons like spears and bows, others were riding chariots. Above these illustrations were symbols, some recognisable as the sun, others less clear.

Large, oak beams of greater height than a normal man rose from floor to ceiling at precise intervals around the walls, breaking the murals up into groups, each one slightly different than the first, each telling a different story.

In the centre of the chamber was a large dias, upon which lay the body of a man in armour of ancient design, a style exactly the same as worn by the spectral warrior outside. Beside him lay a sword, a shield and a spear of supple wood. However, where his head should have been, there was instead a large, decorated urn. 

Of Father Peter, there was no sign.

The squires took it all in, breathing in the dust-free and surprisingly fragrant air of the tomb. The same uncanny feeling of familiarity Celyn experienced earlier was stronger here.

Awareness roll for Celyn (15) rolled 15. Crit! Crit! Crit! (Box checked).

Awareness roll for Avalloc (10) rolled 6, success.

Avalloc said, "this doesn't look like the old tomb of a warrior, it looks freshly made. Look, the knight's skin is still like ours."

"You're right, my friend. Look at these pictures, how they tell the story of a war. You can see this one, larger figure appearing to lead the others in each scene, gaining victory after victory. Except for the the last one, there opposite us." Celyn observed, pointing to the wall behind the urn.

Avalloc approached the mural, studying it for a moment. "It looks like it depicts the warrior's death. He is drawn as if laying down like he is now, headless."

(Because of Celyn's crit, I'm assuming the next deduction to be fair).

Celyn sucked in his breath, "I get it now!" He exclaimed excitedly. "The knight out there led us to this spot on purpose because something keeps him here. He needs his head before he can move on."

Folklore roll for Avalloc (6) rolled 14, fail. Damn!

Avalloc stared at Celyn for a long moment. "His head? I don't understand, why is it important to a dead man?"

"In the tales I remember the druids telling while growing up before I left for Sarum, the Britons of old believed the head was sacred. The kings and warriors would collect the heads of their enemies as trophies, believing it gave them power over the slain, the ability to call them back from Annwn. Think about it, Avalloc! The head of Bran is said to be buried beneath the White Tower in Londinium to protect Britain. The old druids used Bran's power, controlling it, because they had his head."

Trusting vs Suspicious roll for Avalloc (10 vs 10) = 5, success.

"My god! You're right, that does make sense. So where the hell do we find the bonce of Sir Noggin here?"

Edited January 15 by Kingfisher

[Kingfisher]

Who has the head?

1. An evil druid or wizard in the employ of a warlord who is using it and others to create an undead army (a pure fantasy storyline).

2. A long dead king of the Atrebates tribe (a storyline further exploring the idea of a Celtic Head Cult and involving a duel with the controlled spirit knight).

3. The clergy of Warminster who believe the head to be the skull of Saint Alban (a storyline exploring the counter-argument to the idea of Celtic Head Cults and delving into Christian vs Pagan relations).

4. The giant of Cley Hill who keeps it as a trophy (a storyline linking Father Peter's earlier tale with the ghostly knight of this tomb).

5. It's used as a cup by a powerful knight who believes it grants him great strength (a storyline involving honour and potentially a duel).

6. The skull is lost in the Otherworld (a storyline requiring the squires to find an alternative means of resolving the story by choosing either a Christian exorcism ceremony or a mystical Pagan ritual to allow the ghost knight to pass on).

 

Rolled 1d6 = 3. When do I get to fight something??!

 

The squires lingered inside the old tomb and Celyn continued studying the murals as they pondered Avalloc's question regardinģ the location of the skull. Finally, he broke the silence while Avalloc was inspecting the weapons and armour of the interred warrior.

"I have no idea. It could be anywhere. This place must be really, really old. The knight's head could have been taken by anyone at any time. Father Peter said this area was a borderline marking the end and beginning of territory for many tribes. Maybe one of them took it?"

 

Avalloc sighed, "this will be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. If Sir Spooks out there went to all this trouble of getting us here, why didn't he leave better clues? I say we go find the priest, maybe he has an idea."

 

"Agreed," Celyn nodded. "Say, you know him better than I do, why is he sometimes so... un-Christian? I mean, all those folktales he was telling us and knowing all that local lore is almost druid-like."

 

"I wouldn't say I know him. I go to Mass at Sarum every Sunday and try not to fall asleep during his sermons, but that's about it. I think he has been around though, like travelled far away to the great cities across the sea, maybe even as far as Rome. He has a lot of books, too." 

Avalloc paused a moment, chewing his lip in thought. "If I had to guess," he continued, "I might suggest that he grew up learning similar stories you did. Maybe even after he became a priest he clung onto some of those old beliefs. Old habits die hard, as they say, in the same way you keep over-extending whenever you lunge with a spear. No matter how many times Sir Eric or Clarion bests you because of it, you can't help yourself."

 

"Thanks for that." Celyn frowned, not liking the comparison. "Come on, let's go."

 

The squires exited the chamber, each experiencing the same odd feeling as they passed through the inky, black threshold, that uncanny familiarity of something only vaguely remembered.

 

To their surprise, the two men were greeted by the brlliant light of the morning sun and a breath-taking view of the countryside, of fields and forest rolling beneath and away into the distance, the waters of the Wylye sparkling.

 

Kneeling on the lush, green grass, Father Peter faced the sun in prayer. There was no sign of the spectral warrior.

 

"Father!" Avalloc jogged over to the priest, Celyn not far behind. "Where did you get too?"

 

"Ah, my boys. I could ask you the same question. I was inside the old barrow for a mere moment but the way ahead was blocked by an immense stone, so I withdrew. When I emerged, you two had gone. I suspect you both had a very different experience?" 

 

The squires told the pastor of what they had seen inside the tomb, describing the pictures on the walls, the headless body and what they had deduced about the intentions of the ghostly knight.

 

Once they had finished their tale, Father Peter rubbed his chin in thought, considering the matter. 

 

"God works in mysterious ways. Many years ago," the Pastor began heavily, staring off into the distance, "during the reign of King Uther, there was an incident, a most regrettable incident, that to my everlasting shame I was directly involved in. You have to understand, I was just a young man in those days, a novice in Warminster monastery. The monastery provided many resources to King Uther in return for the freedom to build churches on his lands and have greater influence within the realm. It was a messy time, some decisions were politically motivated rather than spiritual and there was always war, always wounded to attend to and consequently the resources of the church were stretched to breaking point. We were exhausted, my brethren and I, hungry from lack of nourishment. Many of my brothers simply left and each day we prayed for deliverance. One day, a beautiful day very much like this one, the Abbott of the monastery called us together and told us of a miracle, that God had provided unto us the means to reverse our fortunes and do more good than ever before. He told us of how the holy Skull of Saint Alban had been sent to us from Verulamium and how the presence of such a relic would attract many pilgrims who would naturally donate to the church."

 

Father Peter sighed, bowing his head in sadness and regret. "The Abbott was right, of course. The pilgrims did come and donations increased tenfold. We were desperate and so never questioned, ecstatic in the knowledge we had been saved... even when the rumours started to spread. You see, while the pilgrims and their coin arrived by the dozens, so did talk and news from far off places, including Verulamium. Some expressed surprise at the holy relic, stating that nobody at Verulamium had mentioned the loan of the sacred skull. While this was going on, there was growing unrest from the community who accused the church of desecration. As I explained last night, many people living here and nearby were still followers of the old ways, or at least respected those beliefs despite their Christian faith. I was dispatched by the Abbott to petition King Uther for aid, a mission which was successful for the king sent knights back with me tasked with keeping the peace and defending the relic. Keep the peace they did by killing any and all dissidents."

 

Father Peter looked up at the squires, sorrow in his eyes. "The rumours ceased after that. In the days that followed, the Archbishop arrived and quietly took the Abbott away, bever to be seen nor heard from again. Word from Verulamium implied their complicity, for the truth now could not be known. The whole thing was simply covered up and, to everyone's continued belief, the head of Saint Alban resides within vaults at Warminster. The pilgrims kept coming, but the community was never the same, the people stopped attending Mass. For my part, so affected was I for the role I played in the duplicity and in deaths of so many innocents, that I left on my own pilgrimage, vowing to keep the memory of this region and those who lived here alive. Only now, in hindsight, am I able to put the pieces of this puzzle together and, perhaps, undo a terrible wrong I unwittingly had a hand in making."

 

The old Pastor fell silent, gazing out once more over the lands of his youth.

 

Celyn and Avalloc stood still, stunned by the priest's revelations and processing all they had heard.

 

Forgiving roll for Celyn (11) rolled 3. Succes 

Forgiving roll for Avalloc (13) rolled 13. Critical!

 

Avalloc broke the silence. Placing his hand on Father Peter's shoulder and squeezing gently, he said, "you can't blame yourself, Father, not for doing something for which you had no reason to doubt. You remained faithful when your fellows were not, you followed your orders as any honourable man should. You thought what you did was the right thing to do and, to be fair, it was. Our task now is simple: We ride with all speed to Warminster, retrieve the skull and return it to the poor chap in yonder tomb. That sounds nice and simple to me!"

 

Celyn piped in, attempting a small joke, "he's right. Don't blame yourself. If anything, your actions were rather knightly. Perhaps we should make you our squire when we are knighted?"

 

Father Peter smiled at Avalloc and Celyn, patting the hand on his shoulder and silently thanking them with his eyes for their understanding. 

 

"Tell me, though," said Celyn as they started walking back to their camp from tje previous night, "why do you Christians keep the heads of your dead as relics? I thought that was just a pagan practice."

 

"It's not just the skulls of saints, any body part can be a holy relic. The skulls just evoke the most emotional response, I think. Maybe it's a religious practice which transcends faith and is just simply a human thing. Afterall, the presence of these barrows is evidence that even our ancestors respected death and needed something to commemorate and remember the departed by. The more important and respected was the person, the more sacred the remains and grander the tomb. In this way, ancient people are not so unalike us as we might think."

 

Celyn reflected upon this in silence as they gathered their equipment, packed up camp and continued the ride to Warminster.

 

☆☆☆☆☆ This is definitely not the direction I thought things would take when I started playing and writing, but I'm kind of happy they did. I mean, I got to play around a bit with some strong Arthurian tropes regarding beheadings (the stories of Bran the Blessed and the Green Knight belong to a category of stories exploring the importance of the head on Celtic mythology), plus I got to work on a little homage to the famous story of Glastonbury Abbey. 

I also got to dig around a bit and figure out a backstory for an NPC who only existed to "act suddenly" from the One Page Solo Engine. I've grown rather fond of Father Peter.

All that said, I'm eager now to move the story along and get to the knighting, start The Sword Campaign and introduce the other NPCs (especially poor Clarion who I've continuously ragged on and consequently is in dire need of counter representation).

 

[Kingfisher]

The wooden walls of Warminster rose to the height of two men. A palisade at the top ran along the length, broken occasionally by large, timber towers like the two flanking the huge, open double gate of the town's eastern entrance, through which a steady stream of people entered and departed.

 

It was midafternoon when the squires, guided by the priest, led their horses through the gates and headed towards the nearby stable, taking in the sights as they moved. Most of the buildings within the walls were of traditional wattle-and-daub panelling over timber frames, the interiors protected from the elements by conical thatched rooves. The only stone structure to be seen was the abbey, towering over all the other buildings to the west of the market square at the centre of town.

 

"And so a court jester and a barbarian successfully complete their primary objective by escorting a holy man to Warminster. Really, Father, how could you have coped without us?" Avalloc joked, handing the reins of his rouncy to the stablehand.

 

"I daresay I would have encountered less apparitions along the road, that's for sure. I don't care to remember how many times I've made the journey from Sarum and back, but never have I seen anything to make me believe the old folktales until the events of yesterday. I guess that's what you get when travelling with a pagan." Father Peter dismounted, straightening his garments.

 

"Oh, so it's my fault?" Celyn asked, stretching his legs and arms. 

 

"Well, the priest has a point. That old ghost probably recognised one of his own," Avalloc stated. "No hard feelings, mind. It certainly made the journey more interesting. Say, Father, is this holy head still guarded?"

 

Is the head still guarded? Likely, yes.

Is it guarded by knights or town guards?

Likely just guards. 

Does the Pastor have sufficient authority to abscond with the Skull of Saint Alban?

Very unlikeky, no.

 

Father Peter replied, "it was last time I was here, but only by the town guard. After the events of that terrible day, it was felt the task of guarding the skull should fall to known faces within the community, not to mention the fact there was no appetite amongst those who knew the truth to waste experienced warriors guarding an object with no actual ecclesiastical value."

 

"So how do we get it? Can you just take it?" Asked Celyn as they made their way through the town towards the abbey.

 

"I've been giving that a great deal of thought. Technically, no, I cannot just take the skull. The current Abbott, Father Adelphius, is the caretaker of the relic, but because it belongs to the Holy Catholic Church, there are many channels he must go through if he wished to move it." Father Peter replied. "Now don't misunderstand me, I like Adelphius..."

 

"Why do I sense a 'but' coming?" Avalloc cut in.

 

"However," the priest continued, ignoring the interruption, "he is, in my opinion, an example of some of the things wrong with the Church today. You see, Adelphius was appointed by the Archbishop personally after the removal of the previous Abbott and greatly enjoys the benefits of his station. Enjoys them too much, if you take my meaning. He has done little to repair the damage this fiasco has caused within the community, but enjoys the wealth and privilege the relic and his title bestows. Now the abbey is empty, save for pilgrims and monks, yet the larders and coffers are full. The main problem I see is that, while he likely knows the skull is not really Saint Alban's, he would stand to lose a great deal should the truth of the relic's pedigree become known. Therefore I believe it to be unlikely he would simply allow me to take it without providing a substitute."

 

Celyn stopped, astounded by the Pastor's words. "Are you implying we should get a skull belonging to another dead person and swap it with the Fake Skull of Saint Alban so we can return it to its rightful owner without anyone being the wiser?"

 

"I suppose that's the line of thought I was pursuing, yes. It is the only outcome I foresee that doesn't result in violence." Father Peter replied, uncomfortable. "If we stole the skull, eventually someone would discover it missing, possibly even immediately and we, by which I mean you two, would have to fight your way out."

 

"It's pretty poetic, admittedly," Avalloc said, thinking about it.

 

"But isn't that just a repetition of how this whole thing started to begin with? Should we commit sacrilege to undo a past sacrilege?"

 

"I thought we could use the skull of a criminal," stated Father Peter, somewhat meekly.

 

Spiritual vs Worldly roll for Celyn (15 vs 5), rolled 20. Eeek!

 

Spiritual vs Worldly roll for Avalloc (13 vs 7), rolled 13 = Crit!  fail. Roll for Deceitful, rolled 20! 

 

This is weird. Avalloc's fumble on the Deceitful roll means he's going to act strongly on the side of honesty, while Celyn's fumble on the first Honesty roll means the exact opposite.

 

I'm not sure how to resolve this. For Celyn to act strongly Deceitful would be to go against the his nature and the point of the narrative that has evolved.

 

Can I counter that fumbled Trait roll by invoking the Passion of Honour? I mean, this is an internal conflict and the Core Rulebook page 77 says Passions may be used to resolve internal conflicts by rolling against both statistics with the result determining the winner, but it doesn't say whether this can be done after fumbling a roll.

 

If it is allowed, do I get a +5 modifier to the Passion roll as a result of the fumbled Trait roll? Or does that +5 modifier only count for actions that align with the Deceitful trait, for example using stealth to commit a deceitful act would gain the +5?

 

☆☆☆☆☆ Thank you to Morien for helping me resolve this! ☆☆☆☆☆

 

Following Morien's advice, I'm allowing Celyn to invoke the Honour Passion at a -5 penalty to resist the Worldly fumble because Celyn feels it will lead to committing a dishonourable act. 

 

Honour Passion roll (16-5=11 vs Worldly 5), rolled 4 for Honour then 18 for Worldly. Success, Honour wins! Plus, Celyn is inspired, gaining a +5 modifier to a single Skill or Trait for as long as the situation persists and gaining a check to Honour.

 

Avalloc shook his head and folded his arms. "Not happening. Poetic or not, I'll be damned before I'm a party to this - literally so to commit such an act within a House of God. There has to be a better way otherwise we're no better than the old Abbott who started this mess. If you want to do this, I'm afraid you must go through me first!"

 

Celyn was in turmoil, clenching his fists in frustration. It would serve the church right, he thought, to do the very thing they themselves had done to undo the wrong they had wrought. Yet to do so would mean perpetuating the injustice, adding to it rather than resolving it. However, to not do so could put the lives of others and themselves in danger. Arawn take these Christians, he thought, damn them for what they've done.

 

Finally, Celyn gained control of himself by remembering the ideals he strove to live for, the values he devoted his life to uphold: Decency, integrity, loyalty and above all, honour.

 

"You are entirely correct, my brother. I stand with you. We will not steal the ancient knight's skull back like common thieves. Neither will we barter with a corrupt clergyman using yet another wrongfully acquired skull as trade. We cannot challenge this Abbott Adelphius to a duel to settle this, as we might were he a knight. We must find a better way."

 

Avalloc nodded gravely. "Let's go have a chat with Adelphius, then, see if we can convince him to do the right thing of his own accord. If that fails, we go back to Sarum for intervention and plead our case to Lord Roderick. If that doesn't work, we'll march all the way to Veru-bloody-lamium where the real Skull of Saint Alban is and make enough noise about it that the Pope himself has to take notice."

 

Father Peter looked at the two squires and smiled, "you make an old monk proud. Come, I can secure us food and lodging within the abbey tonight and introduce you to the Abbott."

Edited January 18 by Kingfisher

[Morien]

2 hours ago, Kingfisher said:

Honour Passion roll (16-5=11 vs Deceitful 6), rolled 4 for Honour then 18 for Deceitful. Success, Honour wins! Plus, Celyn is inspired, gaining a +5 modifier to a single Skill or Trait for as long as the situation persists and gaining a check to Honour.

As I implied in that other thread, I think you used a wrong Trait for this one. Honest vs Deceitful is about Truth and Lying, not about following the law or doing crimes. As far as graverobbing goes, I would likely go Spiritual vs Worldly myself.

Also, Internal Conflict rolls do not give you Inspiration (neither do they give you a Passion Crisis if you fail). That is a separate roll, one that Celyn could make once he decides to act Honorably, assuming that the situation calls for it. Just a bit of Armchair GMing here. 🙂 

[Kingfisher]

2 hours ago, Morien said:

As I implied in that other thread, I think you used a wrong Trait for this one. Honest vs Deceitful is about Truth and Lying, not about following the law or doing crimes. As far as graverobbing goes, I would likely go Spiritual vs Worldly myself.

Also, Internal Conflict rolls do not give you Inspiration (neither do they give you a Passion Crisis if you fail). That is a separate roll, one that Celyn could make once he decides to act Honorably, assuming that the situation calls for it. Just a bit of Armchair GMing here. 🙂 

Backseat GMing is always welcome! 😀 Thank you for the clarification regarding Passion results not applying to Internal Conflict resolution rolls, that's very helpful and something I'm creating a sticky note for to put in the Core Rulebook - just above the man-owl sitting on the skull, there. 

I think you're right, Spiritual vs Worldly is definitely more appropriate. I'm going to edit the post and change any mention of Honest vs Deceitful to Spiritual vs Worldly. It doesn't really change too much as, like you pointed out, Celyn still fumbles and we go through the Internal Conflict stuff (sans the Inspired bonus... does he still get a check for Honour?)

Interestingly, Avalloc would now have gotten a crit during the initial rolls because his Spiritual is 13, so the end result for him doesn't change all that much, either. Maybe I can make him a little more vehement in his opposition to the plan.

[Kingfisher]

As the sun set to the west, Avalloc and Celyn sat in the refectory at the exclusive table of Abbot Adelphius, eating the supper the monks of Warminster Abbey had prepared for them.

They hadn't yet met the Abbot, etiquette demanding that Father Peter request an audience with Adelphius, so the two clergymen were currently conversing in the abbey's library. A novice had escorted the squires to the luxuriously decorated refectory where they were permitted to eat while they waited.

Temperate vs Indulgent roll for Celyn (12 vs 8), rolled 10 for Temperate, success.

Temperate vs Indulgent roll for Avalloc (4 vs 16... wow, this guy likes his food!) As a trait of 16 is a Famous Trait, Avalloc has to roll Indulgent first. Rolled 9 so Avalloc acts accordingly Indulgent.

Despite himself and the gravity of the endeavour which had brought them here, Avalloc, having not eaten much that day, applied himself to the task of eating and drinking as much as he possibly could.

Celyn tried not to count how many warm, buttered bread rolls his friend consumed, nor how much cheese, salted meats and fruit followed. After the third flagon of ale was downed, Celyn also gave up tracking the amount of alcohol sloshing around inside his fellow squire. He could understand Avalloc's lack of restraint, though, for the supper almost rivalled that of the feasts served at Sarum and Caer Baddon.

Presently, the refectory door opened to allow the Abbot, followed by Father Peter, into the room.

"Allow me to introduce the Right Reverend Adelphius of Silchester," the Pastor announced.

Courtesy roll for Celyn (13), rolled 20. Dammit! Celyn gains an experience check, but fails spectacularly at addressing the Abbot in any way resembling manners. Not only that, it's likely he'll get a penalty to any subsequent, or at least the next, interaction with the man. There goes my chances of boosting the Orate skill by invoking a Passion roll!

Courtesy roll for Avalloc (6), rolled 5. Success! There's hope yet...

The Abbot smiled benignly at the squires, awaiting the customary response to the introduction.

"Father." Celyn said, nodding at Adelphius while picking his teeth with a chicken bone.

Avalloc, however, stood up and bowed gracefully, saying "I'm honoured, Reverend Father. Thank you for your generous hospitality, the repast is truly delicious."

"You are most welcome, my son. As is your... friend." The Abbot sat down at the head of the table, Father Peter following his lead to the the Abbot's right. The squires were seated a chair away from both - being mere squires they occupied their rightful place at the table's centre.

To the squires' immense surprise, the Abbot was convivial company, delighted to entertain guests and especially happy to discuss news with Father Peter.

Celyn, however, sat in silence after finishing his meal, feeling out of place and sulking from the knowledge of how badly his behaviour may have jeopardised their objective.

Avalloc, for his part, was positively jovial and had a grand evening, although just how much of that could be ascribed to his friend's copius consumption of ale, Celyn couldn't guess.

Finally, Father Peter broached the subject of their visit.

"My dear friend, thank you for having us this evening and providing three weary travellers with warm food and beds this night. I shall honour you in my evening prayers. Before that, my companions and I would like to discuss a matter with you, a subject of extreme delicacy."

"Anytime, my old friend, anytime. What is this matter and how can this humble servant of God assist you?"

Does Adelphius know the truth about the Skull of Saint Alban?
Very likely, yes.
Is he inclined to help Father Peter?
Even, yes.
Is he impressed with Avalloc?
Likely, yes.
What about with Celyn?
Very unlikeky, no.

What is the overall chance of convincing Adelphius to cooperate?
1d6, scale from least likely to most likely. Rolled 4 = about average.

Father Peter replied, "with your permission and considering the matter is their knightly endeavour, I feel it fitting they should be the ones to relate to you what has transpired."

"Very well, young masters, pray tell me of the task in which I may be of assistance." Adelphius smiled, steepling his fingers on the table, patiently waiting.

I'm going to impose a 1d4 penalty on Avalloc's Orate roll due to overindulgence. Rolled 3.

Additionally, I am going to impose a -5 penalty on Celyn for fumbling his courtesy roll.

However, both Squires are going to Invoke their Honour Passion.

Avalloc's Passion: Honour (15), rolled 15! Avalloc is Impassioned and gains a check to honour and a +10 to a skill or trait.

Celyn's passion roll (15), rolled 1. Success! Celyn is Inspired and gains a check to Honour and a +5 to a skill or trait.

Both squires are going to use their Passion Result to boost their Orate skill.

According to page 109, Orate rolls are opposed when used to convince someone, in this case opposed by Adelphius' Suspicious trait.

I don't know what Adelphius' Suspicious trait number is, but considering the chances of success is average, I'm going with a 10. If they succeed, they will gain a +5 to Deceitful and have to roll against Adelphius' Suspicion trait (which I'm also setting at 10).

I suppose this is basically them trying to convince the Abbot to conspire against his own abbey, so it fits, but kind of feels really complicated.

Orate roll for an inebriated Avalloc (with minus 3 and plus 10... 12 - 3 = 9 + 10= 19). Rolled 19! Avalloc is on fine form this night! He gains a +10 to Deceitful.

Deceitful roll for Avalloc (8 + 10 = 18), rolled 14.

Opposed by Adelphius' Suspicious roll (10), rolled 17. Fail!

Avalloc has convinced Adelphius to give them the skull!

Orate roll for a sulky, Inspired Celyn who fumbled his Courtesy roll so at a minus 5 and has a plus 5 from the Passion roll (10 - 5 = 5 + 5 = 10), rolled 4. Success, gains a +5 to Deceitful.

Deceitful roll for Celyn (6 + 5 = 11), rolled 4 again.

Opposed by Adelphius' Suspicious trait (10), rolled 11. Fail!

Celyn has also successfully convinced Adelphius to give them the skull!

Abbot Adelphius leant back in his seat, listening to the story of the squires' adventures and their request of him that he give them the Fake Skull of Saint Alban so they can set the ancient knight free.

His reply was slow and deliberate. "Considering you are accompanied by my old friend and you both spoke so eloquently and with such passion, I am inclined to believe your tale. I am also inclined to give you the relic, but I have two conditions: Firstly, I and a novice of this abbey must accompany you as witnesses, for nobody could doubt the collective word of an Abbot, a Pastor, a novice and two squires from different regions."

Adelphius' eyes lingered on Celyn for a long moment. "The second condition is that, if what you say is true and the skull can end the torment of this knight of yours, then it will be a miracle. Let there be no mistake about this, it will be The Miracle of How the Skull of Saint Alban lifted an ancient and terrible curse. As is right and proper, the relic will disappear, only to reappear in Verulamium. People will flock here as the place in which a miracle occurred and they will go to Verulamium on holy pilgrimage. Everybody wins. Do you understand and accept my terms?"

[Morien]

22 hours ago, Kingfisher said:

I think you're right, Spiritual vs Worldly is definitely more appropriate. I'm going to edit the post and change any mention of Honest vs Deceitful to Spiritual vs Worldly. It doesn't really change too much as, like you pointed out, Celyn still fumbles and we go through the Internal Conflict stuff (sans the Inspired bonus... does he still get a check for Honour?)

As per page 65, I'd say yes. I would say that he still gets the Worldly check as well, even though he ends up rejecting that path in the end: he doesn't stop himself because it would not be Spiritual, but just because it is not honorable to go graverobbing.

[Kingfisher]

The morning skies were grey and overcast as the precession, led by Abbot Adelphius draped in a luxurious purple cloak, filed out the eastern gate of Warminster. The squires, riding at the rear, pulled the hoods of their woollen cloaks over their heads when the first heavy drops of rain started to fall. Celyn's mood matched the weather that morning.

 

"What's with you? You've had a face like a slapped arse since first light." Avalloc asked, feeling cheerful if somewhat hungover.

 

"This whole thing disgusts me. I disgust me."

 

"We got we wanted, though, I thought you'd be pleased."

 

"The only reason we were able to convince that greedy cleric was because he saw an opportunity for greater power," Celyn answered quietly. "I bet he'll become the new Bishop of Verulamium on the back of this. To think this whole situation started when another avaricious Abbot desecrated a pagan tomb. Innocent folk died when they got rightly upset by that. We set out to undo that wrong - and maybe we will - but the lie persists. It's just lies on top of lies like so many layers of dung on an already steaming pile of manure. The stench of it sickens me and stains me."

 

Awareness roll for Avalloc (10), rolled 2. Success.

 

"I'm not sure how I should put this, but has it occurred to you there might be more to this than what Father Peter told us?" Avalloc asked, glancing at his friend with a frown.

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"Just that Father Peter might not know the full story and related to us only the things he knew. It never sat right with me how the knights just straight up murdered the peasants."

 

"True, that doesn't agree with me either."

 

"Do you remember what you said about the Old Ways back in that tomb, about kings and warriors using the heads of their enemies and having the power to call them back from your Annwn?" 

 

Awareness roll for Celyn (15), rolled 3. Success.

 

"What of it?" Replied Celyn, an uneasy feeling rising within him as he started to understand the implications.

 

"Well, if simply taking a skull from an old barrow were enough to bring that person's spirit back, wouldn't the land be covered with ghosts? There are more tombs and barrows in this region than there are villages and I reckon not one of them hasn't been plundered for iron, or treasures, or bones to make fertiliser over the years. Think about ìt for a minute, wouldn't there need to be something more? A ritual or magic spell? I can imagine an old druid might know how to call a spirit back and control it, but not a priest who just wants a skull to pretend it's a holy relic."

 

Celyn tugged on the reins of his horse, stopping. "You're implying that someone else is involved."

 

"Well, yes," Avalloc said, stopping next to Celyn. "I mean, how did the rumour of a desecration even start, how did the local folk discover the Skull of Saint Alban was actually the skull of a revered ancestor? I am suggesting they noticed a sacred barrow had been disturbed and did what anyone might do and asked a figure of authority, in this case a druid, for intervention. The druid investigated and discovered the desecration. Angry - and rightfully so - he casts a spell to bring back the old warrior's spirit in revenge."

 

Celyn went pale. "Then things get tense and Father Peter is dispatched to get knights, Christian knights. The druid incites the peasants to violence, leaving the knights no choice but to quell the uprising. Dear gods! You might be right! That narrative fits like a glove."

 

Avalloc nodded. "I know, right? Maybe this steaming pile of dung was made by more horses than we thought. So while it's all built on lies, perhaps it might be better than the truth?"

 

"So what do we do?" Celyn asked, telling his horse to walk on.

 

"Lets finish what we came here to do and return to Sarum. We can follow the threads of this thought later, maybe starting by asking old Peter if he remembers any thing else from that time. 

 

Feeling slightly more cheerful and significantly less burdened, Celyn said "good idea, Avalloc. And thank you."

 

A curtain of rain shrouded the barrow hills and a slight mist gathered on the slopes as the warm ground made contact with the cold droplets falling from the sky. The landscape, beautiful on a clear day, now had an eerie quality about it, the dark shapes of ancient barrow mounds rising out of the grey gloom.

 

The entourage slowly rode up towards the summit of the hill where the knight's barrow stood and dismounted, allowing the horses to roam and eat the damp grass. 

 

Approaching the tomb, Abbot Adelphius produced the Fake Skull of Saint Alban. As he did, a pale blue light appeared at the entrance and the ghostly figure of the knight emerged. A low sound accompanied his appearance, rising in volume. A deep sound, an echoing roar, as though coming from far below the earth and rising through the soil to burst forth from the barrow in stunning volume. It was a noise unlike any the clergymen had ever heard before, but for the squires it was familiar, ancestral. For the noise that blasted from the tomb was one which hadn't been heard reverberating over these hills for hundreds of years and yet stirred the soul of the squires with its familiarity.

 

It was the call of a carnyx. 

 

The blue, shimmering glow intensified as the carnyx wailed, now accompanied by another sound, a cacophony as though a hundred warriors lined up and shouted a battle cry. The spirit, seeing the Abbot holding the skull, surged forward, his spear levelled.

 

Valorous roll for Adelphius (8), rolled 19. Fail.

Valorous roll for the novice (7), rolled 13. Fail.

Valorous roll for Father Peter (12), rolled 9. Success.

Valorous roll for Avalloc (15), rolled 6. Success.

Valorous roll for Celyn (16), rolled 1. Success.

 

For Adelphius and his novice, this was too much. With a cry of fear they fled back down the slopes, the Abbot dropping the skull and almost tripping over his robes in haste. 

 

Celyn reached down and picked up the skull. Immediately the battle cry died, the blast from the carnyx faded and the spirit of the Durotriges warrior planted his spear in the soil and knelt in respect.

 

"I shall remain out here and attend to the Abbot and novice. You boys go on and end this." Father Peter declared, turning away.

 

Celyn and Avalloc locked eyes for a moment, then plunged once again through the barrow's opaque opening, experiencing once again that odd feeling of uncanny familiarity.

 

The tomb was as it was before: the armoured warrior still lay on the dias alongside the weapons, the candles still illuminated the ornate urn and the pictures on walls still told their tale. The squires noted two changes, though. The first was that the mural which had once depicted a headless warrior in repose had now changed to illustrate a whole being, the head attached. The second major difference since their first visit was the presence of the spectral warrior, standing next to the urn. 

 

"I think he wants you to put his skull in that bucket," said Avalloc, unnecessarily.

 

Celyn walked over to the urn until he was standing opposite the knight, the urn between them. Then, carefully, placed the skull inside. The urn had no bottom, no base upon which to rest the skull. It was simply empty, a void, as though containg a true portal to Annwn. 

 

Celyn released the skull.

 

Time caught up with the old tomb. The skin turned to dust on the body, the weapons rusted, the illustrations on the walls faded and the candles went out, having long since burned away to nothing. The once pristine barrow was now choked with rocks and earth from a partial collapse of the ceiling. Yet a certain sense of peace hung over the place and descended upon the two squires, a feeling of calm tranquility that quieted their minds and spirits. 

 

Slowly, so as not to further disturb the barrow or its contents, Avalloc and Celyn walked up and out of the old tomb, each certain they could hear the faint call or echo of a distant carnyx blaring.

 

☆☆☆☆☆ So ends the tale of the adventure I'm calling The Skull of Saint Alban. I've left some threads open so as to invite the possibility of a later revisit, but for now I plan on moving ahead to the knighting ceremony and from there the Adventure of the Sword. Thinking about switching to a far more condensed journaling format than I have been using. 

 

For the sake of completion, I'm assuming that Father Peter becomes the new Abbot of Warminster and Adelphius does indeed get a promotion after the "miracle." As for Avalloc and Celyn, I have no idea how much glory they should get for this, if any. 

 

Regarding the barrow, to my knowledge there has been no discovery within the British Isles of a tomb quite like the one I describe. I took inspiration from The King's Grave located near Kivik in Sweden from the Nordic Bronze Age. ☆☆☆☆☆

[Kingfisher]

508 AD. Winter Phase

 

Step 1: Solo Adventure: Skipped (I actually started this and rolled 5-6, "Escort Someone to a Nearby Place" which would just be a repetition of the task I had just completed).

 

Step 2: Personal Event: Rolled 17, Hospitality. Rolled against Passion: Hospitality, rolled 4. Success. Gained glory equal to APP (15).

 

I guess this Hospitality thing means Celyn returned to Caer Baddon? Just in case living here creates continuity problems down the road, I'm imagining that archaeologists got it wrong with Solsbury Hill at Batheaston and it was reoccupied. The main fortress around Aquae Sulis is Bathampton. Batheaston lies 1.6 miles North/North-East of Bathampton.

 

Also, does this mean that one of Celyn's parents are either a Vassal Knight or Banneret Knight? Going with Vassal Knight, but to whom I have no idea. 

 

(Quickly determined parents: Father = Cynfab. Mother = Efa of Cameliard).

 

Step 3: Experience Points: Celyn has chances here to raise Awareness, Orate, Courtesy and Worldly. 

Rolled 20 for Awareness (15) so that increases to 16.

Rolled 10 for Orate (10) so that stays at 10.

Rolled 5 for Courtesy (13) so that stays at 13.

Rolled 17 for Worldly (5) so that goes up to 6 and Spiritual goes down to 14.

 

Step 4: Economic Circumstances: Too effing complicated, skipped. According to my character sheet, my Passive Glory is 10 from Standard of Living. I guess all this applies to Celyn's parents at this stage, anyway.

 

Step 5: Aging and Old Age: Celyn is still 21 years old and still not knighted. 

 

Step 6: Squires and Maiden-In-Waiting Rolls: Ah, so I should be a knight at this stage? Ballsed that up! Let's say that because of his fumble with the Courtesy roll with Adelphius, the former Abbot took a dislike to Celyn and pulled some strings to prevent his knighthood (wrote a nasty letter to Count Robert, the fella I've been calling Roderick the whole time because of reading too much of Autumnflame's work).

So Celyn is now an esquire of his Vassal Knight father at Caer Baddon. Celyn is definitely going to leave, staying is not an option here.

 

Supporting Characters - in this case mum and dad... Mum rolls 2 and "departs for personal reasons." Hmmm.

Dad rolls 12 and remains at Caer Baddon.

 

Step 7: Horse Survival: Rolled 1. Well that sucks. Celyn's going to take the last remaining rouncy.

 

Step 8: Training and Practice: Celyn's going to focus on Horsemanship and Spear (the dream of the pale horse got to him, as did Avalloc's observations regarding his spear skills. Horsemanship is now 12, spear is now 13).

 

Step 9: Tally Glory: 15 from the Hospitality thing plus 45 from traits and passions, plus 10 from fair appeal and plus 10 from standard of living. I'm also awarding 50 glory from the The Skull of Saint Alban adventure. 15+45+10+10+50 = 130 for a total of 1130 glory (the rest was inherited).

 

Step 10: Prestige Award: Celyn is going to raise his STR from 13 to 14. This changes his derived characteristics to 5d6 weapon damage and 5 brawling damage. Movement rate remains the same (18).

 

Step 11: Family: Skipped because N/A.

 

New narrative direction:

Celyn is now a mercenary and leaves to seek fortune, glory and the knighthood which was stolen from him by Adelphius' poison.

 

ORACLE:

 

Does Celyn hold ill will towards the Lord of Sarum for passing him over for knighthood? Even. Rolled 5, so yes.

 

As 509 is too early to start the Sword Campaign, Celyn does what?

5 - Restore something broken.

 

Adversaries?

Guardians.

 

Is this connected to his mother leaving Caer Baddon? 

Even - Rolled 4, so yes.

 

Where has mother gone? 

Rolled 5 = A location with a special feature.

That would be the healing spring at Aquae Sulis. 

 

Is she ill?

Likely, yes. 

 

So she has gone to the healing spring because she's ill but there are adversaries present.

 

Is Celyn accompanied? 

Likely, yes.

Who, another non-knight?

Likely, yes.

That narrows the NPC pool considerably. 

1 - 3 = Lynelle. 4 - 6 = Cadwallon. Rolled 2.

Edited Wednesday at 07:20 AM by Kingfisher

[Kingfisher]

Melancholy settled over the old fortress of Caer Baddon like the snow covering the crumbling battlements of the old fort. It had been a terrible year, the only highlight being the festival of Yule. Since then, Imbolc had come and gone and yet the icy grasp of winter would not loosen its grip on the land. 

 

Celyn's father, initially furious with his son for failing to to be knighted and for making a powerful enemy within the church, had become withdrawn and distant after being convinced of the actual events. This Celyn owed to the testimony of the recently knighted Sir Avalloc, who had stayed at the castle over winter.

 

Meanwhile Celyn's mother's illness had gotten worse, an inexplicable abdominal pain that no remedy seemed able to cure and causing her to make for the healing springs of Aquae Sulis in hopes of finding relief.

 

Celyn and Sir Avalloc parted ways at Abona a few days after Imbolc, the knight taking a ferry to Venta Silurum and from there on to Caerleon to take up his new duties as a knight of the realm.

 

Since his friend's departure, a profound loneliness and gloom had descended on Celyn, the death of his horse only compounding the deep sadness he was feeling. With nothing else to do, Celyn took the last rouncy from the stable and headed to the nearby settlement to see if he could provide any aid to his mother.

 

 

 

The town of Aquae Sulis was still one of the most beautiful places Celyn had ever seen. White stone buildings with red, tiled roofs stood in neat arrangements beside carefully paved roads. Large green areas where rows of trees formed natural fences enclosing gardens still looked grand even when bare and glistening with frost.

 

Townsfolk and craftsmen, dressed in white and blue draping garments, went about their business, the smells of baking bread and cooking meats on the air. Knights, wearing the traditional scaled lorica squamata and plumed helms, patrolled the streets, their presence lending the place an almost timeless quality, as though the empire were still present, the last vestige of mighty Rome alone in this small place.

 

Looming large over the town stood the Temple of Sulis Minerva, located in the Sacred District where the ancient spring and Roman baths were tended to by the devout followers of the Goddess of Healing. Feeling self-conscious in his shabby chain hauberk and frayed, woollen cloak and hose, Celyn stabled the horse and turned his steps toward the temple.

 

Being the son of a local lord earned Celyn the respect and deference courtesy demanded, the priests and priestesses of the temple only too happy to assist him in locating his mother. With many bows, the acolytes bid Celyn remain in the temple while they went to check Efa's condition.

 

To Celyn's surprise, another figure was present in the temple, just as out of place as himself - A knight, judging by the countercharged gold and white eagle design on his shield, wearing a full-faced nasal helm and clad in a gambeson over chain armour. A surcoat of colours matching his shield gave the knight a striking appearance despite being shorter in height, the soft light from the torches making the fabric glow. On his belt hung a well-polished arming sword and dagger.

 

The knight was in conversation with a priestess, their low conversation inaudible over the soothing sound of nearby water. Presently, the priestess vacated the temple, leaving the two alone save for a statue of Sulis.

 

Celyn walked over and bowed as courtesy demanded when in the presence of a knight of superior station.

 

Courtesy roll for Celyn (13), rolled 9. Success.

 

"Well met, Sir Knight. I am Celyn of Caer Baddon, Esquire to Sir Cynfab, my father. May I enquire as to your name and House?"

 

Courtesy roll for Lynelle (10), rolled 3. Success. 

 

Turning to regard Celyn with sparkling, blue eyes, the knight replied in a quiet, muffled voice, "well met, Squire Celyn of Caer Baddon. I am Sir Leon of Estregales. Please forgive me for not removing my helm to greet you, but I have sworn a holy vow to the Blessed Mary not to remove it. I mean no slight against you."

 

"No offence taken, my lord and no apology is owed to one as lowly as I, but I thank you for it." Replied Celyn, impressed, taken by Sir Leon's arresting blue eyes, dignified demeanour and unusual accent.

 

Sir Leon returned to his contemplation, during which an uncomfortable silence reigned. Celyn, burning with questions he couldn't contain, attempted to engage the knight in conversation.

 

Courtesy roll for Celyn (13), rolled 12. Success.

 

"My lord, forgive me, may I ask what brings a devout Christian to this temple of Sulis? I mean no offence to you, for you may go wherever you wish, of course. It is just that I have never seen a Christian in this place before. There is a church to your God nearby, which it would be my pleasure to show you if that be your will."

 

Sir Leon stood silent and still for a long moment.

 

Trusting roll for Lynette (10), rolled 9. 

Success.

 

Turning once more to address Celyn, Sir Leon responded, "Desperation, I am afraid. My squire, Booth, was grievously injured in battle near Caerwent. A fellow knight, while on his journey west, noticed my predicament and offered to escort me to this place. I declined his assistance, loath to place burden upon him, but took his advice. I await news of Booth's convalescence, although I fear the worst."

 

Celyn wondered if the knight in Sir Leon's tale had been his friend, Sir Avalloc. 

 

"Sir Leon, please consider me at your service until such a time as your squire is able to return to your side. Truth be told, I was intending to leave to seek my fortune alone, my services for my father being no longer needed. I stopped here to visit my mother who has been stricken with sickness. As such, I am very much at your service should you seek restitution from those who harmed your squire."

 

Sir Leon took in the somewhat impoverished appearance of the esquire, his dark hair, shining green eyes and vibrant smile set in a handsome, guileless face. 

 

Proud roll for Lynelle (7), rolled 19. Failed.

Modest toll for Lynelle (13), rolled 3. Success.

 

"You have my thanks, squire Celyn. I admit, vengeance upon those who have have done this has been very much on my mind, but the task is too great to undertake on my own. I shall consider your offer."

 

Celyn bowed in thanks as a priest and priestess entered. The priest approached Celyn, awaiting his signal to speak. 

 

Celyn, his spirits lifted with the hope of finding a second chance, smiled at the man.

 

"My lord, I have grave news. Your mother is comatose and not responsive. The Lady appears to be affected by a curse inscribed upon a tablet here and is now in the hands of the Goddess."

[Kingfisher]

The tablet, a thin pewter sheet roughly the height and width of a lady’s riding glove, had been nailed to the wall just below the waterline of the pool inside the reservoir chamber. Condensation from the hot steam rising from the spring water caused droplets of moisture to glisten on the freshly engraved writing, making the words shine in the torchlight, silver against the darker metal of the object.

 

The priest, a slight, balding man with a full beard, stood beside the pool and read the words aloud to Celyn.

 

“I, Fiadh, to the goddess Sulis give the crystal necklace. May Efa, she who cursed me, find her own spite returned and amplified by three.”

 

Celyn asked the priest to repeat the words several times, trying to understand what was going on. Who was this Fiadh and why had his mother cursed her? What was the significance of the crystal necklace?

Celyn puffed his cheeks then blew out the air in a long breath. It was clear he needed to find this woman and lift the curse somehow, but he had no idea where to begin.

 

“Do you know Fiadh or when this tablet was etched?” He asked the priest.

 

“No my lord, I know not the answer to either of those questions. Beseeching Sulis for help or justice is a very personal thing and should be between the supplicant and the goddess alone. This temple can assist people with the process, if necessary, but that aid normally only extends to procuring the metal and offering advice on how to phrase messages to the Goddess.”

 

Celyn thought about that for a moment before asking, “is there anything unusual about this message or the way it has been written?"

 

“What is unusual is the fact the tablet was not folded and placed into the water. I have never seen a message nailed to the side of the pool before. Nevertheless, the message has been acknowledged by the Goddess, judging by your mother’s condition.”

 

“What about the initial curse, the one this woman claims had been conjured by my mother? Can we get that?”

 

“Also no, my lord. As I said, the tablets are folded and thrown into the sacred water and may not be disturbed. The acolytes tend the chamber and pool to ensure both remain uncontaminated, but their actions are limited and we cannot take what has been offered to the goddess. Besides, there could be hundreds of tablets at the bottom of the pool.”

 

Folklore roll for Celyn (13), rolled 15. Fail.

 

"I am taking the tablet. Maybe I will need it to lift this curse."

The priest, not really in a position to refuse a man of noble birth, reluctantly handed the tablet over.

 

Celyn couldn't shake the feeling he had overlooked something. After leaving a small offering of a coin, he headed back to the temple, stowing the tablet in a belt pouch. He resolved to discuss the matter with Sir Leon, who appeared to be about to leave.

 

"Sir Leon!" Celyn called, hurrying over to the knight just as he reached the temple's entrance. "Sir Leon, please excuse me. I wondered if I might ask your advice?"

 

Merciful roll for Lynelle (13), rolled 12. Success. I chose Merciful here because of the description regarding acts not expected of a knight's station.

 

"Celyn. I was about to visit the church you mentioned. Perhaps you would show me the way and explain how I can help."

 

"It would be my pleasure, my lord. How is your squire?"

 

"He will live, thanks to God, although it will take several weeks before he will be ready to travel. Maybe there is something in the water here."

 

"I'm glad."

 

As the two walked towards the small church on the east side of town, Celyn told Sir Leon the story of the cursed tablet.

 

"So you see, I'm not sure what to do next. I can't ask mother for she will not awaken, nor do the priests and priestesses know who created this curse. I'd rather not trouble father with this and I doubt he'll know anything anyway. He is away for long periods of time."

 

Sir Leon thought about it for a few minutes before replying in his soft, muffled manner, "this name, 'Fiadh', is it common here?"

 

"No, it's not a name I've ever heard before. Why?"

 

"It's a word from Éire, the land of my ancestors, meaning 'wild.' When did your mother start getting sick?"

 

"Just before the Yule celebrations, at least two moons ago."

 

Folklore roll for Lynelle (12), rolled 8. Success.

 

"And you said the tablet was nailed to the wall of the pool? Was it an iron nail?"

 

Celyn replied, puzzled, "presumably. Are there other types of nails? In truth, I did not think to ask and can't recall if the priest specified. Why?"

 

Sir Leon slowed his pace as they reached the modest building containing the Christian shrine, stopping outside the Roman chapel. "The cunning folk where I am from use iron to ward against ghosts, magic and faeries. There may have been something engraved upon that nail, was all I was thinking. Even so, I believe we are looking for a witch. Given the time frames involved and their apparent knowledge of Efa, possibly a witch local to this region."

 

"We?" Celyn asked, hopefully.

 

"Ah, yes. I have considered your offer of assistance and accept, at least until Booth has revovered. However, if you'll excuse me, I must pray. Would you mind looking after my weapons and shield?" Sir Leon divested himself of his weapons and left them with Celyn who waited outside, pondering the knight's words.

 

The chapel, although small and of Roman design, was warm and cozy. A large, orantely carved cross stood at the far end of the room, with two smaller alcoves extending to either side. A chaplain, tending to the candles, smiled warmly at Sir Leon as the knight entered. 

 

"Hello, father. May I pray?" Sir Leon asked.

 

"Of course! All are welcome here. I'll be through the small door at the back, if you need me."

 

Looking around to make sure she was alone, Lynelle knelt in front of the cross and removed her gauntlets, coif, helmet and the face scarf covering her mouth, shaking her tangled blonde hair into a more comfortable mess.

With clasped hands and eyes closed, she prayed. 

 

"My Queen, My Mother, I offer myself entirely to thee.

And to show my devotion to thee, I offer thee this day, my eyes, my ears, my mouth, my heart, my whole being without reserve.

Wherefore, good Mother, as I am thine own,

keep me, guard me as thy property and possession.

To thy care I entrust Booth, my dearest friend and only family left to me. I beg thou speed his recovery.

Please forgive this wayward daughter of falsehoods. Please protect her and grant her the courage to continue each day, though her heart is heavy with sorrow.

If thou wilt, hear thy supplicant; I put myself under the shelter of thy shield. Amen."

 

Lynelle remained in the chapel for a long while in silent remembrance of that which was taken from her, acknowledging the profound pain and anger she felt yet finding solace in her faith. When she heard the chaplain shuffle back in, Lynelle replaced the scarf and donned her helmet and gloves. 

 

"Thank you, father," Sir Leon said as he left the chapel, shivering as a blast of cold wind blew through the town.

 

Celyn, needing respite from the cold, was in a nearby tabernae, sipping the hot, famous wine, the establishment's primary beverage. He had paid for a small cup of the stuff as well as a little flask which he handed to Sir Leon upon seeing the knight enter.

 

"Apologies, Sir Leon, it was too cold to wait outside," he stated, passing the other's weapons and shield back.

 

"I understand completely. Thank you for the wine. Is there anywhere I may eat and drink alone?" Sir Leon asked, "my vow allows me to remove my helm to break fast and for supper."

 

"Caer Baddon. The servants will prepare you whatever you would like and bring it to your chamber."