Iron & Gold, Curse of Strahd
Previous: Chapter 23 An Unexpected Side Quest — Chapter 25 Rictavio’s Secret
Being The Curse of Strahd but played with Precis Intermedia Games’ Iron & Gold, with Mythic as the GM.
24 - A Cult Occult[1]
Hrelgi walked by bundles of brush, gathered for the next festival (“The festival of the accidental ignition,” she thought) and the butler or major domo showed her into a nicely-decorated room with a white tablecloth and five places set for tea. In the centre of the table sat a tray with a silver cloche over it; the cloche was decorated around the rim with engravings of birds — ravens, Hrelgi assumed. Above the table was a chandelier of wrought iron, fitted with beeswax candles. (They did not smell like tallow.)
“You may wait here,” said the butler. “I will inform the Baroness that the first guest has arrived, though as I said, you are quite early. Tea is in an hour.”
“It’s cold out,” explained Hrelgi. It wasn’t very cold out, but that was the first thing that popped into her head. “I can wait here, thank you. I’ll sit and wait.” She perched on the seat of a chair at the edge of the room, feeling every inch of her height. She wondered, Why are Vallakians so short? Actually, the only human of a proper height she had met in the last three years was Felewin.
She was contemplating how long it had been when a youngster walked in. If he had been an elf, she might have said thirty or forty: he wasn’t quite finished growing because he still had the spindly look of someone whose body is trying to catch up to his growth spurt. He didn’t notice her — of course, she was sitting very still, thinking — and he headed over to the table, to lift the cloche and take one of the sandwiches. Then he took a second.
“Hi,” said Hrelgi.
Startled, the teen jumped and dropped the cloche on the platter and his hand. He dropped the sandwich and pulled his hand free, knocking sandwiches across the table.
Hrelgi got up to help. “I’m Hrelgi.”
“You’re gorgeous. I mean, I’m, uh, I’m Victor.” He looked at the table. “Valentina is going to be so angry.”
“We’ll tidy up. Valentina doesn’t need to know.”
He studied her as she rearranged the sandwiches into a pyramid. “Usually the tea guests are scared of me.”
“There’s the secret. I’m not a tea guest but I didn’t get a chance to tell him.”
“Ruprecht can be a bit of a charging bull. You’re here to see my father?”
“The Baron? No. Your mother. I’m here to see the Baroness.” She put the cloche back on. “Done. Now we need to get the crumbs off the tablecloth.”
“Um. You don’t have to do it. I can clean it,” he said. Everything about his posture said, I want to impress you. She had seen this in human males before.
“Empty it and shake off the crumbs? There’s really no place to put things except the floor.” Hrelgi made a face.
Victor said, “I can make it like new.”
Hrelgi looked interested. “How?”
“It’s magic, I can do magic. I’m a wizard,” Victor said quickly in a low voice.
“Oh.”
He mistook her statement for disbelief. “I can!”
“I believe you.” She sized him up. “You are the wizard of this house?”
He puffed his chest a bit. “I am.”
She clapped her hands. “I am so pleased to meet you!”
“Of course,” said Victor. “Why?”
“Because I knew there was a wizard here.”
“Are you an agent of…him?”
Hrelgi was shocked. “No. No, of course not. Your workshop must be on the top floor, right?”
“What?” He seemed worried by the way the conversation had gone.
A woman in a fine dress entered. “Ah, you are the replacement for Goody Ulbrek. And you have met my son, Victor! Such a fine boy.”
Victor implored Hrelgi with his eyes not to say anything.
“Yes,” said Hrelgi. “I am Hrelgi. I have been having a lovely chat with Victor, but that isn’t why I came here.”
“Of course not. You’re here for the tea party.” The Baroness smiled falsely. “We must have tea. Happiness must be upperness!” The woman kept the same fake smile plastered to her face. “The Baron made that up. Clever, don’t you think?”
Behind her back, Victor made a gagging motion and rolled his eyes.
The Baroness looked at Hrelgi, clearly expecting a response and as clearly expecting agreement. “Yes,” said Hrelgi. “And I did want to speak to you but about other things; that’s why I came early.”
“Not affairs of state, are they? I leave all of that to the Baron.” She smiled that fake smile again. “I concentrate on maximizing happiness among the people I can reach, for ‘happiness is our best defense.’ The Baron came up with that one, too.”
Behind her, Victor made a throat-cutting gesture and then hung his head as if he had been executed.
“It’s lovely. No, I have a wedding to attend, and I have been asked to procure a gown for the bride.” The Baroness was listening. “Lydia — may I call you Lydia? — I have been to some fine dressmakers” (how would Felewin spin this?) “including Goodwife Janek, and she tells me that there is no bleached linen in Vallaki to make a new wedding gown in the time I have available.”
“Very careless of you to have put it off this long,” said the Baroness. “Why, the bleaching alone takes months.”
“As I have learned.” Hrelgi said. “Alas” (that sounded very Felewin in high mode), “I have just been given this charge. I immediately thought of the fine seamstresses of Vallaki, and I thought there would be a store of spare bleached linen.” Hrelgi shook her head sadly. “There is not.”
The Baroness said, “The Festival of the White Sun did use an awful lot of linen for the costumes.”
Behind her back, Victor imitated being hanged and swinging from a gallows. Hrelgi had to stifle a giggle.
“Still, there should be some left. There is none, you say?”
“So I am told.” Hrelgi took the Baroness’ hand in hers. “If I might borrow or buy your wedding gown…just until the wedding, which is in a month.”
“Well.” The Baroness turned to Victor, who immediately adopted an air of polite interest. “I was saving it for your wedding and your bride, but that seems to be off.”
“I’m afraid so,” Victor said. “Her having gone mad and everything.”
The Baroness turned back. “Are the people being married noble?”
“He is; she has noble ancestry but the line is mixed.” Hrelgi felt safe in saying that because she was morally certain that one of Vasilka’s body parts came from a noblewoman.
“Interesting.” The Baroness rang a small bell; a woman in a maid’s outfit appeared. Victor positioned himself so that is body blocked her view of the tablecloth. “Valentina, please go up to my room and fetch my wedding gown. I am lending it to this nice lady for”—she looked at Hrelgi—“two months.”
“That will do fine,” Hrelgi said.
“Very well, madam,” said Valentina and left
“Who could be getting married?” The Baroness mused. “It’s not one of the Wachter youths is it? I’ll wager that they got someone in trouble, and Fiona Wachter does not want to approach me herself.”
Hrelgi said, “I am of course not at liberty to say, but you are free to guess as you will.” She couldn’t remember who the Wachters were; Ireena must have mentioned them, but Hrelgi hadn’t really paying attention.
“Oh, it must kill her to have to ask for my help through an intermediary.” The Baroness clapped her hands together. “This makes for an excellent day!” She remembered that Hrelgi was there and said, “Excuse me. I must make preparations. We will not speak a word of this to the Baron—that means you, Victor!—until she is truly in our debt.” Victor rolled his eyes. To Hrelgi, she said, “Do you mind leaving once you have the gown?”
Victor implored her with his gaze. Please don’t go.
“I would very much prefer it,” said Hrelgi. “I can come back at a proper time for tea.”
The Baroness practically bustled out of the room, beaming with happiness.
Victor looked at her with anger and sadness.
“You don’t have to go. Mother needs a new lady in waiting, you could do that.”
“I have no experience at that.” Hrelgi asked, “What happened to the old lady in waiting?”
Victor said, “I tried to convince her to leave Vallaki and Barovia. I succeeded, but in the worst way.”
#
Felewin examined the wood carefully. “Someone else forced it open. Be quiet as you can.”
“You’re the great hulking lump,” said Uthrilir.
“True. We’ll both be as quiet as we can.”
Felewin regretted that Hrelgi had taken possession of the perpetual lantern; there wasn’t really time to make a flame and light the bullseye lantern. He drew a regular bolt and fitted it to his crossbow, winching it tight as they walked. Uthrilir, who could see in the dark, went first. Felewin could see dimly in the light coming through the closed shutters, but not much more than Uthrilir’s dark form and some furniture.[2]
As they searched the next room, Felewin bumped into something — a table, from the feel of it — and sent it sliding across the floor. They both froze, listening for the sound of reactions.[3]
The other’s footsteps were faint but audible. Felewin briefly thought about not pulling out his sword—they were intruders here—but the building was supposedly unoccupied, and the land of Barovia had a way of offering deadly opposition when you least expected it. There shouldn’t be anything in an empty house in the heart of a bustling village…yet here was a sound.
Felewin drew his blade; there was the soft rustling sound of Uthrilir readying his mace.
Then, Uthrilir said softly but clearly, “It’s no use hiding in the dark. I can see you and your three friends.”
“Turning to face behind us,” Felewin said softly as he turned. He could see no one in the murk, but he would be no use to Uthrilir if he were unconscious.
A man’s voice, local accent. “We were in need of a sacrifice for our next ritual, to send a soul to the demons. How nice of you to volunteer.”
Felewin grinned. If they were locals, they needed light. Any light they used, he could use. The opposition here does not seem top-notch. Then he cautioned himself about being overconfident. Every fight has its dangers.
“I volunteer to stop you,” said Uthrilir. “Go ahead and light the room. You probably want to see what you’re dealing with.”
“In a moment,” said the man. “We were planning on using the Baronet for this ritual — we were sure that would please our spiritual leader, and the Baronet is a spindly youth, easily overcome...but two souls, though without the (shall we say) piquancy of the Baronet, would be twice as effective.”
“You know that adventurers cannot leave Barovia,” said Uthrilir. “Have you heard the theory that even souls cannot leave Barovia? They are doomed to reincarnate into new bodies.”
There was a pause. “Untrue,” said the voice.
“If true, you cannot send a soul to the demons.”
“Untrue. We have seen rituals that work,” said the man, insistently.
Felewin[4] saw two robed cultists approaching from what had been behind. Rather than tell Uthrilir, he kept quiet. His advantage in seeing them was all he and Uthrilir had right now. The two were carrying sticks of some kind, possibly with knives fastened to the ends. Yes…he saw the glints off the blades. Presumably the other four were armed the same way; Uthrilir would have seen that.
Felewin planned his move. Unless they were experienced fighters, they would be hesitant; his job was to disarm both of them. Without their sticks, they would be much easier.
“Worry not,” he said softly to Uthrilir.
Uthrilir asked the man, “Will anyone miss you? I suspect not. Are your people in place now?”
In answer, the man cried, “Attack![5]”
At the command, Felewin moved for his two foes, bringing his sword across. That he had seen them and the reach of the blade surprised them, and they both lost their sticks, which clattered to the floor. They were unhurt but too surprised to move.
Uthrilir, for his part, hit one of his foes and with a satisfying whack; Uthrilir felt no resistance underneath the tunic, and the man screamed. The other two stabbed at him; one hit, and in a place without armor.
Uthrilir, for his part, did not scream. “Some help, Felewin?”
“Once I deal with these two.[6]”
The man who seemed to be leading them spoke words, a spell, but nothing happened.[7] Felewin stepped forward to stand on one of the makeshift spears, swung at one of his foes but missed. The two of them grabbed for their spears but missed, not realizing that Felewin was standing on one of the weapons.
Uthrilir[8] hit two of his opponents — one was the one he’d hit before, and Uthrilir had the satisfaction of hearing the man scream again and whimper. Both of them missed him, for which he was grateful.[9]
Felewin lopped one head off[10] and his sword went deeply into the thigh of the other, who fell to the ground. The air was soaked with the coppery smell of blood. The two thuds were masked by screaming from the others.
Uthrilir[11] solidly hit the other cultist but the man who had been speaking managed to defend brilliantly. “Your blood?” he grunted to Felewin.
“Other guy’s.” Felewin sank his sword deeply into the other — well, he was hoping for chest but turned out to get the person’s throat. “Now I can help.[12]”
Uthrilir, frustrated by his opponent’s brilliant parry,[13] ignored the other three and struck at the wizard. He hit truly and well, and the man was knocked to the side, stumbling against a table of occult paraphernalia. The others tried to stab Uthrilir but missed, staggering like drunk men and women.
Felewin swung at two and missed one, killed the other.[14] The smell of the person’s bowels was immediately apparent. Uthrilir hit the other two easily and they groaned and died. The man spoke words, which failed. He tried to bring his dagger up to his chest, and Felewin knocked it out of his hand.
Felewin said, “First you talk. Then you can choose to die.”
Defiantly, the man said, “I will never betray my leader!”
Felewin said, “Although loyalty is an admirable trait, I think your leader would easily betray you.”
“She wouldn’t!” Uthrilir filed away the gender of the leader. He looked around. The table that Felewin had first bumped into was loaded with candles and goat skulls. The floor held a pentagram in two circles, with some kind of emblems around the sides. It looked like nothing he knew about. He suspected it was hogwash but he didn’t have a comprehensive knowledge of the Powers Below, so he couldn’t be sure.
“A friend told me that magic depends on words, mostly,” Felewin said. “So we’ll gag you right now, tie you up, and examine the place. Then we’ll see if you want to give us information.”
He stripped the robes off one of the dead people and used them to bind and gag the man. The dead were three women and two men. Then Felewin arranged him so the man was as uncomfortable as possible, and fetched a tinderbox out of his belt pouch. “Uthrilir, would you light something so that I can see?”
Uthrilir found and lit several black candles. Soot or something black had been mixed with the tallow.
Felewin said, “I assume they should be away from the pentagram?”
The dwarf shrugged. “I know little about the Powers Below, but that seems a good idea.”
Felewin carefully put them out of range. The man watched them with baleful eyes.
Felewin continued, “I assume the circle is magical, so we’ll break that circle, like we did when we killed what’s her name.”
“Baba Lysaga?” asked Uthrilir absently as he looked through the material on the table. The man’s eyes widened. He obviously recognized the name.
“Sure.” Felewin used one of the sticks to pry up a board, breaking the circle. Under the floor was only earth and wooden beams. Felewin tucked the marked floorboard under the floor and pushed it far in the other direction, so it would be difficult to get.
“Now we look around,” Felewin said.
Previous: Chapter 23 An Unexpected Side Quest — Chapter 25 Rictavio’s Secret
Man, Tural (the cult fanatic; we’ll learn his name next chapter) failed every magic roll. Poor guy.
Monsters
The choice of Brawling, Dueling, or Melee depends on story circumstances. Noble or middle-class cultists know dueling. I suppose fanatics always know dueling for the sacrificial stabby-stabby, but probably less than your average butcher.
Cultist
| Abilities | Fitness 3 Awareness 2 Creativity 1 Reasoning 2 Influence 2 |
|---|---|
| Skills | Brawling or Dueling or Melee 3 (≤6), Subterfuge 4 (≤6) |
| Gimmicks | Fearless |
| Weapons | Knife or sickle (1 inj) May be different outside cult setting |
| Armour: | Usually robes (0), Leather sometimes (1 fat) |
Cult fanatic
| Abilities | Fitness 3 Awareness 3 Creativity 2 Reasoning 2 Influence 3 |
|---|---|
| Skills | Athletics 4 (≤7), Dueling 4 (≤7), Brawling or Melee 4 (≤7), Subterfuge 4 (≤7), Fabrica Motus 4 (≤6), Fabrica Materia 4 (≤6), Composure 3 |
| Gimmicks | Fearless, Descrying Reality, Resistant[F. Mentus] |
| Weapons | Knife or sickle (1 inj) May be different outside cult setting |
| Armour | Usually robes (0), Leather sometimes (1 fat) |
| This fanatic had memorized latency of F. motus to hold people and a spell from F. materia for lighting fires/wicks/torches. Choice of Dueling or Melee (or Brawling frankly) depends on story circumstances. | |
Game Mechanics
[2] Mythic suggested theme: Kill Home (Ambiguous Event)
[2] Neither has stealth, and Felewin is big besides. I will let them roll versus Survival at Difficulty 2. Felewin rolls an 11, margin -5, a calamity; Uthrilir rolls a 5, margin -1.
[3] Difficulty 2 to hear, automatic action for both of them.
[4] Felewin’s awareness is 3, and he rolls a 3. That’s sufficiently amazing that I’m not going to assign a difficulty: he sees them.
[5] Both Felewin and Utrilir have been readying themselves for this for some time. The Fanatic is going to try Motus to hold Uthrilir in place. The skill roll is ≤6, he rolls an 8, it fails. With a 5 and a 7, both of Felewin’s attacks work and their sticks go clattering to the floor. Both of them fail Reasoning+Composure (2+0) rolls with 7 and 9. The one that Uthrilir hit (margin 0 vs margin -2) fails his Fitness+Composure roll (rolls 9 versus a 3). The other two cultists attack; one hits, even in dimness, with a 3 and the 5 does not because it’s difficulty 2. That one gets through for 1 inj.
[6] Reactions: Felewin 14, Uthrilir 8, Cult Fanatic 9, Cultist 8
[7] The cult fanatic was trying to light the lanterns but rolls a 9 on his 6- Fab. Materia.
[8] Hits two of them: the one he has already injured and another one (he rolls 7 and 5); both fail to defend (with margins of -5 and -3). The first renders the already hurt cultist as 4 lethal, and the other cultist at 3. Those three roll 5, 5, and 6, which are failures in the dimness.
[9] Reactions: Felewin 14, Uthrilir 8, cult fanatic 10, cultists 9
Uthrilir’s plan is to hit the one he hasn’t injured plus the fanatic. Cultists will stab or retrieve weapons or rest (two injured failed the f+c rolls, with 9 and 6. Cult Fanatic will try to light the lights again. Felewin is going to attempt to slash both his opponents.
[10] Felewin rolled a 2, which is a triumph; he just wins against that one. He rolls a 4 to hit the other, which is margin 2, and the other rolls a 7, and is hit for 3 (6,5, 1, 6). That one fails Fitness+Composure, with an 8.
[11] Uthrilir rolls 2 3s (margin 6), the cultist defends with 3 (margin 3), so is hit, and the fanatic rolls a 2: a triumph, so he isn’t hit. The Cultist takes 2 inj. The cult fanatic rolls 7 and fails his F. Materia spell.
[12] Reactions (Felewin just used his action) Uthrilir 12 Cult Fanatic 12 Cultist 1 6 Cultist 2 7 Cultist 3 8
[13] Uthrilir rolls a 6 (margin 4) versus the cult fanatic, who can’t see and rolls a 5 (margin -1 with difficulty 2) for defense. All 3 injury levels get through. The Fanatic fails his composure roll. The other 3 cultists try to stab, but fail (8), fail (11), and fail (7).
[14] Felewin rolls a 9, which fails, and a 3, which succeeds. On the second, all 4 get through. Uthrilir rolls a 7 (success) and a 3 (success).
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