22nd July 2021

It's a Thursday and we're round Simon's for session 2 of Matt's Romance of The Perilous Land game.

​Location: Trapdoor at Gregory’s farm, Millet Town

Steps had been carved from very the earth and topped with packed stone, gloomily spiralled downwards into the corner of a small man-made chamber of stone lined walls fitted with sconces of dulled ancient iron that barely glimmered in the light of Trefor’s petty-magic spell.
A grim, putrid nearly vomit-inducing odour lingered in the air here while the sharp chatter of running water reverberated across the walls.
Trefor, Titus, Colan and Hobard stiffened their resolve: A brief search revealed the chamber was featureless, save for a pair of unlit corridors in the southern half of the room that ran east and west. The company was presented with two exits.

The west path was chosen. Shadows evaporated before their light as the company advanced with weapons drawn. They soon found themselves in a short snaking tunnel of unexpected corners materialising out of the dark, all the while the sickly sweet smell of rot only intensified.
The tunnel finally turned south and opened into the north-east corner of another stone walled but evenly floored room.

At the limits of their light, the company could see shifting murky colours ahead; something was moving. The company stepped into the room, revealing a body slumped against the far wall, a moment of realisation passed when they realised it was a corpse, then they saw the source of movement.
Alongside the corpse were two diminutive hunched figures, they appeared to be gnawing at the remains. Their clothing was tattered and muted but adorning their heads were caps the hue of glistening gore; redcaps - murderous imps.
The light had drawn the redcaps’ ire, they span to face the company, eyes glittering like coals while threatening hisses split their malevolent smiles, revealing sharp, stained teeth. Unhesitatingly, the redcaps lunged to attack.
The company was quick to respond and the clash was joined. The redcaps lacked numbers to truly threaten the company and quickly fell to the companys’ attacks.

With the redcaps dispatched, the company approached the body.
The unfortunate man had not long been dead, surmised Trefor, meeting his demise a day, perhaps two ago. By the looks of it; a trader dressed in traveller’s garb, he must have been snatched from the road that passed Millet Town.
Despite the stink, the company searched the room.
Scattered throughout the room was detritus of another age, patches of shattered glassware, crumpled and splintered boxes littered the floor. Dust coated grimy jars and boxes sat on old sagging shelves while timeworn crates and ancient barrels were piled in one corner. Whatever they might have contained was long gone.
On the trader’s remains, they found some coins and garments.

No exits were visible in this room. The company doubled-back and followed the easterly tunnel from the first chamber into more darkness. Soon, it too turned south before a small tunnel branched to the east.
As the company went along the east branch, the stench of rot persisted and ended in a square chamber. Revealed were four old, dismal wooden sleeping cots with stained, discoloured blankets strewn atop.
Gathered round a barrel were three more redcaps. Upon seeing the company, they did not hesitate in attacking..
Another short battle ensued, blows were exchanged but the redcaps lacked the strength to withstand the attacks of Colan and Hobard, quickly being hewed down.

The barrel which had held the attention of the redcaps was filled with offal! Otherwise, there was little to be found in this save for the curious jars that dotted the stone floor. There were four, each filled with a liquid of differing colour; blue, brown, purple and yellow.
Trefor examined them, he was quite sure three of them were laced with magic while the yellow was not, he was sure the purple liquid was a potion of flight. The others he could not discern.

Titus grabbed the brown potion, unstoppering it. A mossy aroma wafted to his nose, it was not enough to deter him from drinking it. For a moment Titus seemed to convulse, twisting strangely, then he was gone?
No, not gone. Instead where he had been now stood a rat starting up at us with a rodent look of surprise on his face! Gone was Titus the Munchkin, here was Titus the Tiny!
“Transformation potion,” Trefor uttered with surprise, startled to see such potent magic in this place.
Colan meanwhile, had taken the blue potion. Despite smelling of sewer water, he did not hesitate in swallowing it. He too vanished, or at least in the eyes of the others he had done so!
Colan however, was still in the room! The liquid had genuinely rendered him invisible. Unfortunately, the effect did not linger and soon, he impossibly materialised out of thin air in view of the rest of the company.
Undeterred, Colan immediately drank the brown potion and immediately regretted it! Poison now ran through Colan’s veins. Wracked with pain, he bent double.Fortunately, his considerable constitution allowed him to weather the effect.
Once Titus had reverted to normal and Colan had recovered. The company walked back to the branch and pressed on southwards.

Soon enough the tunnel weaved through a couple more corners and finally turned south, ending in another chamber, the stench of rot had not subsided and a pale glow radiated through the doorway ahead, the gargling of water was even louder.

Silently, Titus crept ahead.
Outlined in dim light he caught sight of an old woman surrounded by a circle of what Titus recognised to be bone charms while coming into sight were three more redcaps, this time dragging a number of chickens, while one was casually gnawing on a mannish arm.
Stooped low, the old woman’s sinewy, slender claw-like hands clutched the carcass of a pig while grey-black hair draped over a filthy grey voluminous shawl, half hiding an ancient wrinkled face. Her head tilted a notch, revealing a glistening thick smear of blood that coated the lower half of her decrepit creased face, she was consuming the pig raw!
Without hesitation, Titus darted forward pulling free his sword and leaping mightily, he bounded across the redcaps’ heads and flung himself in a flying attack at the crone.
With speed that belied her aged appearance and with a whirl of clothing, she vacated the spot of Titus’ attack, who proceeded to crash in a heap on the hard ground.
Taking advantage, the redcaps pounced on him in a cacophony of snarling hisses.
Unprepared for Titus’ sudden attack, the others had to gather their wits and charge into the fight. They laid into the crone and redcaps while Titus recomposed himself.
A ferocious opponent, the crone fought hard and it was a desperate fight, after sustained attack though, she, and the redcaps were dispatched. Titus had borne the worst of it, taking serious injuries and barely able to stand.
Once Titus had been seen to, the company took stock of the situation.

Trefor’s light was caught on noisily moving waters, glittering on a thousand undulating spots. A vigorously flowing stream ran the entire length of the chamber’s southern wall.
Debris and animal remains were scattered haphazardly across the floor. there was nothing else of note in the room.
The company tested the stream’s cold waters, it did not seem too deep nor too strong a current. Steeling themselves, they waded downstream.
Laboriously, the company advanced through the dark tunnel and a while later, a faint speck of light appeared ahead. As the company pressed forward, the speck steadily grew, becoming an exit out of a hillside and under a starry night.

Freed of its subterranean constraints, the stream widened into a slower moving and shallower river. Under the night sky, the dark watery ribbon ran its course, the company continued following.

A while later, they came to an abrupt meander in the river. It was here they spied jutting out of the earthy bank a bar which had accumulated the river’s flotsam. The company could see numerous bones amongst the detritus. No doubt the gruesome remains of the crone’s victims; casually discarded by her into the waters.
Grimly, they searched the macabre collection of what were human bones which clearly came from more than a single person. 
Amongst them they found sogged torn garments that matched the description given of Martin Morden’s clothes.
The unfortunate farmhand had met his demise at the hands of the crone.

​The faintest haze of a rosy sunrise was beginning to permeate the horizon east of the river: A few hours and it would be noon and then, Everdene’s hanging would be performed.
With no time to waste, the company backtracked, returning upstream and into the underground rooms. From there they hauled the crone’s body up the steps into Farmer Gregory’s barn.
As is the way with farmers, Gregory was already up and attending his duties in the predawn, he was shocked to see the company lugging their evidence across his yard and into the town square

Soon, dawn had roused the folk of Millet Town, at the sight of the crone’s grisly remains they congregated in the square. In the growing morning sunlight, it seemed the crone might once have been human. Martin’s mother was among them and seeing that Martin was not among the company, the realisation crept on her that he was dead at the hands of the crone. Sobbing, she collapsed.

The townsfolk, now having learnt the crone was responsible for Martin’s end and perhaps other mysteries suffered by Millet Town shifted their swelling outrage on to Squire Rulf. It was he who had wanted to put the cause of all this on to Everdene. Wanting her hanged.
News quickly reached Rulf’s manor and he was forced to come and view the situation in person.
A murmuring discontent rippled through the gathered people as Rulf came into view, striding into the square. Upon seeing the evidence with his own eyes and also viewing the crowd’s mood, he begrudgingly acknowledged the innocence of Everdene and had her released forthwith before hastily retreating back to his manor.
“I knew it!” Madeline shouted emphatically from within the crowd.
Fortunately for Rulf, much of the town’s anger against him had dissipated.

​Midday and the company found themselves settled into The Crossed Gates, feet pointed towards the crackling hearth and with drinks in hand when Everdene approached them. The weariness the company had noted in her voice yesterday was absent, replaced by an upbeat demeanour. Evedene had learned the role they’d played in her release, thanked them and asked if there was any way she could provide them assistance while also gifting them several potions.

Trefor spoke with Everdene at length, they exchanged words of esoteric knowledge as he sought her understanding of healing skills, looking for a cure for the Fisher King. None was forthcoming though, such a thing was beyond Everdene.

The return to Hykaria would have to wait a day, the company was exhausted, having not yet rested and took the opportunity to sleep a night in at the inn before venturing back on to the road.

14th July 2021

It's a Wednesday evening and we're round Simon's in Woking for the first session of Romance of the Perilous Land run by Matt.

Overview
Romance of the Perilous Land (RotPL) is a traditional pen 'n' paper tabletop roleplaying game that shares DNA with OSR-adjacent The Black Hack RPG.

Like The Black Hack, RotPL is a level based roll-under-attribute d20 system. However, whereas The Black Hack is a generic D&D styled rules-light game, RotPL adds some meat to those minimalist bones in the form of backgrounds, talents and a binary skill system which plugs into the attribute rolls.
Gone also are the 4 bare-bones D&D-like character classes, replaced with 6 new classes which each also include unique class related features and are more appropriate to RotPL's setting.

Speaking of which, RotPL's setting blends together various elements of British folklore which include Arthurian mythology and Robin Hood legend into a sort of timeless prototypical Britain for the heroes to go adventuring in.
In a way it reminds me a little of the classic British RPG; Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay (WFRP), which puts it in good company in my opinion.
Both games present a pseudo-historical setting with a hidden strata of danger that runs beneath which the heroes must face, for WFRP it's chaos and for RotPL, it's the fae or supernatural for lack of a better word.

RotPL dilutes some of the rules-light purity of The Black but the payoff is that it provides a set of rules more closely aligned with an interesting setting which takes up much of the book's 250 or so pages.
Personally, I think RotPL does a good job of balancing it all. The additional rules don't feel like they add much more in the way of extra complexity (At least from the perspective of a player.) but do add some flavour to the world of Albion.

If a heroic RPG in a fantasy world that has a slightly supernaturally sinister edge to it sounds like your thing, RotPL is a worth a look.

Characters
Trefor op Llewelyn - played by Simon. This is Simon's first time playing a RPG.
This knight and former priest is allied with The Order of The Fisher King and is evasive about his ecumenical past.
Titus the Munchkin - played by Josh.
This diminutive thief and outlaw considers himself numbered among Robin Hood's merry men of Sherwood.
Colan the barbarian - played by Colin. This is also Colin's first time playing an RPG.
Hailing from an aristocratic family, this barbarian eschewed his former life to swear fealty to the Iron Hawks.
Hobard Roolf - played by yours truly.
With his previous life left in ruins, this former farmer chose to follow the codes of The Knights of The Round Table while taking to the wilderness in the vocation of a ranger.

​Location: Ascalon - The Summerland.

On glittering shores sat bustling Hykaria city, it was, with lively streets and trader-filled marketplaces Ascalon’s seat of power and home to its young King Vortimer.
Situated on a natural harbour, Hykaria’s expansive port boasted numerous sturdy jetties and docks that spanned out into the Great Sea to welcome distant seafarers from all quarters. Many a journeyer and merchant had passed through the waterfront and seagate into the busy city, their influx painting the city a multitude of cosmopolitan colours.

​Word of a practitioner of the esoteric arts in closeby Millet Town with a talent for healing had reached knightly Trefor on his travels and thus brought him into the vibrant city.
‘Such a healer might provide aid unto the Fisher King’, the knight had surmised before setting out for Millet Town.

For a while now, the roguish diminutive Titus had resided in Hykaria, stationed by The Merry Men in a house fashioned after a tree somewhat. They had learned that some innocent individual was being tried for black magic by a landowner in Millet Town.
Landowners were known throughout Albion for their dishonesty and corruption, Titus had thus been instructed by The Merry Men to investigate this landowner.

The Iron Hawks maintained a faction house in Hykaria which is where Colan The Barbarian could be found. Rumours of disappearances and an evil witch residing in local Millet Town had found its way to the faction house.
Colan was to learn the truth of this witch.

Finally, Hobard had received tell of a hanging to be executed in Millet Town from a traveller, along with stories of curses and disappearances. Hobard tasked himself with looking into the situation. 

​A single road ran the walk to Millet Town from Hykaria and it was at the limits of the city walls on a crisp, grey dawn of October seventh that four travellers found themselves treading the same path through the east gate. 
Roads could be a dangerous place in Albion and there was strength in numbers, the four agreed to accompany each other to their destination.

Morning chill faded as day wore on, autumnal sky brightening to a pale blue streaked with wispy cloud. The road - more of a well trodden track than anything else meandered along the uninhabited coastline. Foam edged and sun-sparkled waters of the Great Ocean sighed and crashed rhythmically against rocky bluffs or abandoned beaches.
On occasion, the company caught sight of the gloomy sprawling perimeter of the Ragged Woods as the road took them closer to Millet Town.

By day’s end a light rain was falling and the company had encountered a small walled hamlet of timber and stone homes nestled close to the road.
The residents were friendly enough and content to exchange news for a night’s board. Rumours had reached the hamlet that folk from Millet Town had gone missing and the company learned that the chief landowner was Squire Rulf. The company also discovered that Millet Town had a notable blacksmith named Dimia.
By dawn, the rain had spent itself and a mist enveloped morning emerged. In these quiet hours the company pressed on. The already faint road - now partially obscured by a thin carpet of fallen, slick, browning leaves - had guided the company through a subdued stretch of forest and eventually by midday opened up at a small stone bridge that marked the western outskirts of Millet Town.

The unmistakable odour of manure assailed the company as they crossed. Ahead they passed a small cluster of buildings; a house, a  shed or two perhaps, bounded by a low, dry stone wall, Chickens strutted and clucked inside the perimeter and further within was a pig sty  and a variety of other farm animals.
Soon the company found themselves on the edge of a village green densely ringed by a variety of half-timber homes, situated throughout them was a smattering of houses employed as shopfronts, including a homely looking inn.
The few townsfolk they saw gave them brief questioning sidelong glances before hurrying on their way.

​Trefor and Titus sought out the blacksmith.
Dimia was a quietly spoken woman who was happy to take a moment away from her anvil to talk to the pair. Dimia told them that someone had indeed gone missing from the town, Martin Morden was the missing boy’s name.
Dimia did not know much about Martin, he was a farmhand on Gregory’s holding and was friends with Madeline, daughter of the innkeeper.
Under the ruse of commissioning a helmet, Titus asked about the trial he’d been dispatched to investigate and Dimia confirmed that Everdene, a local woman with ‘the craft’ had been arrested by the squire for using dark magics to curse Millet Town, supposedly causing the disappearance of Martin. Everdene was set to be hanged on the morrow.
Dimia admitted that she knew little of Everdene, keeping a distance from such matters but she had heard talk rife in Millet Town that stated Everdene utilised imps to do her bidding and a few nights ago a villager was said to have seen an imp carrying a chicken, no doubt one of Gregory’s.

​Hobard meanwhile, had taken the opportunity to visit the inn. Positioned between homes, it was a smallish establishment, a weather-worn sign with faded and peeling colours depicting a pair of crossed gates hung from the old wooden frontage. Upon entering, he found it to be a cramped, gloomy affair.
Light from a spluttering fireside lit the interior in orange hues between looming shadows cast by patrons gathered about the flame’s warmth. A pall of dismal smoke clung to the low, white-painted wattle ceiling it had stained yellow over years.
Ignoring quizzical looks, Hobard handed over a few coins. took his pint to a quiet corner and while nursing it; observed.

Low murmurous chatter thrummed across the common room, Hobart caught gossip of Everdene; she had been spotted walking close to Gregory’s farm at midnight before his cattle had gone missing. A few minutes later, a one-eyed man sporting a snow coloured beard drew Hobard’s attention.
“It was fairies,” One-eye declared emphatically! Perhaps talking of the missing person.
“It’s always fairies!” Came a rebuff, rousing laughter from his companions much to One-eye’s ire.
All the while a serving girl zipped to and from customers with youthful quickness. An obvious uncomfortable restlessness across her face, Hobard noted.

​Colan, Titus and Trefor regrouped meanwhile and headed to Gregory’s farm and made for the barn.
‘A good place to hide something,’ they reasoned.
Before they got far, a dishevelled man in drab and somewhat soiled clothing burst from the doorway of the farmhouse; Gregory the farmer.
“Get off my land,” he roared, black-ringed, wild eyes darting left and right as he erratically brandished a dagger in the direction of our heroes.

The company halted and Trefor stepped forward, he spoke with a quiet yet firm demeanour, a confidence that sprang from the years of his ecumenical background and told the man that the company was no threat.
Gregory’s laboured breathing lessened, he seemed to calm, dropping the tip of his dagger to point at the ground.
While the farmer was coming to his senses, Trefor spied a line of iron filings sprinkled across the doorway’s threshold.
Once he was settled, Gregory was happy to tell the company what he knew. 
A week ago, Gregory’s chickens began to go missing, he initially believed this was down to foxes and went to Dimia. He bought traps, placing them near the forest that backed on to the edge of the farmland.
The following night, two of his sheep had gone, Gregory checked the traps, they were untriggered. He had no idea what was causing it.
Rumours of fairies, imps and witches began to circulate once word had gotten out about the vanishing farm animals.
Then, Martin had gone missing. Furtive whispers spread through Millet Town and grew to become talk of Everdene the healer and dark magics, finally ending with open accusations aimed at her by Squire Rulf, who took her prisoner.
Everdene was to be hanged on the noon, tomorrow, Gregory was unsure of her guilt,
He admitted to placing the iron fillings across his door to ward malignant spirits.

​At The Inn of the Crossed Gates, Hobard had learned the proprietor’s name was Lucy and found a moment to speak with her.
Everdene was a friend of Lucy’s; the innkeeper said that she had done much good for Millet Town and did not believe she was the cause of Martin’s disappearance. Quietly she told Hobard there had been a flourishing relationship of sorts between the two which had turned sour and Rulf was left bitter by it. Lucy said Rulf’s motives could not be trusted.
Lucy did not know much about Martin, only that he had been a friend of her daughter. Madeline.

The serving girl who Hobard had seen busily working through the common room was in fact Madeline. She confirmed her friendship with Martin and had no idea why he would have vanished. Madeline also knew Everdene who she considered to be a nice woman.
When asked if she had seen anything suspicious, Madeline told Hobard that a week ago, she had seen a ‘little’ man making for Gregory’s in the small hours of night, although Madeline added, her mother had not believed her.

Everdene had been imprisoned in a small brick roundhouse with a conical slate roof. 
‘A secure place to gaol the accused’, Hobard noted as he approached, he had decided it was time to talk to the healer, having left the inn.
Alongside the door was Dain the guard who was a few summers shy from suitably filling his role and sported a steel tipped spear and ill-fitting armour.
Dain refused to grant Hobard access to Everdene but did not prevent him from speaking to the healer woman through the door.
Everdene’s voice was hoarse, thick and quiet when she spoke; Hobart imagined she was not in a particularly comfortable situation. She explained that she had lived in Millet Town for three years now and provided healing and aid to the townsfolk, Everdene was adamant that she knew nothing about any cursing or dark magic.
Everdene also freely admitted to wandering the grounds near to Gregory’s farm late at night in search of moonberries when she had seen three small strange creatures scuttling about in the night’s dim light. She did not recognise them.
Finally Hobard asked about Rulf, Everdene stated there was no relationship between the two despite Rulf’s intentions.

​It was a short walk to the darkly stained timber-reinforced wattle and daub barn on the periphery of Gregory’s holding.
Colan, Titus and Trefor were intent on inspecting it but Gregor had shaken his head, refusing to join them and returned to the confines of his house.

Motes, disturbed by the entry of the three, swirled lazily in shafts of dim light that streamed from a colourless sky. A sickly sweet aroma greeted them when they passed into the barn’s shade, it was a familiar smell; rot and decay.
For the most part, rows of hay bales, some stacked high, filled the barn while a thin carpet of wayward straw littered the floor. Some searching revealed signs of rot coming from a handful of bales along a wall. Something had been disturbed, the spot had been cleared of straw.

As Colan, Titus and Trefor approached, a noisy rustle came from some of the hay. Before they had time to consider it, a handful of large rat-like things erupted forth, regarding the company with glittering black eyes and without hesitation, lunged at them.
Fortunately, the three were not wrongfooted, brandishing weapons before being set upon. A fight ensued and the creatures were quickly dispatched.

Pausing for breath and to wipe ichorous substances from their blades, the three of them spied something close to the rotted bales, something on the floor.
Titus picked it up, turned it over in his hand and regarded it, some kind of string necklace?
The three continued searching and after pushing aside some of the rotted bales discovered a trapdoor.

​From the circular building, Hobard headed out to Squire Rulf’s home. A brisk walk that had taken him beyond the town limits and in sight of a largish house - certainly larger than any in Millet Town.
He found himself at a thickset wooden door decorated with an ornate brass knocker fashioned after a dragon motif.
After rapping on the door, a middle aged woman dressed in servant’s livery answered, opening the door a crack. She explained to Hobard that Squire Rulf was too busy to entertain visitors for the day. Telling him to come back another time.
This did not sit well with Hobard who pressed his point, telling the woman this was urgent business. She hesitated but nodded and opened the door.

The interior was well appointed - if plain and with an abundance of unremarkable fittings, furniture and decoration. Winifred - the servant woman led Hobard to a reception room and sat him down in a solid wooden chair.
Some minutes later, Squire Rulf swept into the room, a heavy set man whose somewhat fine clothing was slightly mis-sized, he flaunted a well waxed, pompously long moustache.
Welcoming Hobard with an insincere grin, he asked what business had brought Hobard here?
Hobard explained that Everdene’s predicament had caught the attention Knights of the Round Table, warranting further investigation.
Rulf’s face darkened at the mention of the healer and he took a moment considering his answer. He informed Hobard that Everdene was actually a servant of Morgana Le Fay and that he had no tolerance for users of the dark magics. The disappearance of Martin Morden was proof of her intentions and she would eventually curse the entire town.
It was not particularly convincing and Hobard pressed him for more information but Rulf was not forthcoming.
Hobard did not see any value in continuing with Rulf and took his leave.

​The Morden household could be found in Millet Town and the walk back was uneventful. Typical for a settlement such as this, the household was a small, timber framed home sat among a row of identical houses.
Hobard knocked and the door was answered by a youngish woman, whose age was belied by the lines that creased a worried, uneasy face while eyes sat in darkened sockets. It was Joan, Martin Morden’s mother.
They spoke of Martin, Joan stated that she had last seen him heading in the direction of the inn, perhaps to find Madeline.

It was then that Titus appeared, he bore the string necklace found in the bard and had come to see if Joan recognised it. She did, it had belonged to Martin.
They did not know what this meant but Titus and Hobard hastily returned to the barn.

The company had regrouped at the trapdoor in the now gloomy barn, day was dimming, soon night would be upon the town and soon after that noon tomorrow would come. It was not the time to hesitate.
The trapdoor opened easily enough, man-made steps descended into impenetrable inky blackness below, distinct but somehow distorted sounds of running water rose from the darkness below.
Trefor cast a petty spell that produced light, the company exchanged glances before wordlessly marching down the steps.


​To be continued.