Being the chronicle of the first action in a Gothic Horror campaign, set during the tumultuous and varied wars of Napoleon Bonaparte.
My name is Alexandre Abbé. I am and always have been a studious and bookish man, with a tendency towards the study of economics that has taken me far in the Emperor Napoleon's France. I have risen to a high enough position in the service of His Majesty, but it is one that has brought me neither fame nor accolade. This suits me well, for I a prefer to do my work in relative private. It suits my work better, for I confess that my duties and interests have moved beyond economics and into more esoteric pursuits, still in service to the Emperor.
You see, I also hold a keen interest in matters of history, religion and forgotten lore. All this put together, I have travelled some strange roads this last year or so, whilst war rages between France and Austria. None so strange as the road I and my companions travelled this last two days.
Deeply undercover were we five companions, far into the East in the enemy's territory among the Carpathian mountains, where my recent studies had led us. As I said, my interests are many, and concern things forgotten - or best left forgotten - as we found out.
Evidence, compiled with care, of a valuable treasure buried in a deceptively humble grave in an ancient village in the East had convinced my masters enough to fund our expedition to retrieve it, for its value would more than repay the Imperial treasury.
Five of us there were:
Myself, Alexandre
Jean-René de Longeville of the Guard, a keen swordsman
from a good family who served the revolution well.
Jerome de Gigaux, 3e Régiment de Cuirassiers
Whose armour and uniform he always unpacks and wears for action.
Claude-Ettienne Clérmont, Imperial Spy Perhaps here to watch us as much as anything.
Eugene Fontaine, Sapper from the army. A stout, discreet and reliable man.
We reached the village after some hard travel, disguised as ever so as to avoid much notice. Through the machinations of the agent Claude-Ettienne, we had gained a contact in the form of an Orthodox Priest from a larger town, who made it his business to visit the village's ancient church before our arrival. There we met with him, and used the old building as a base whilst we awaited dusk to perform our task. The village was quiet enough, but its sullen folk would cause more trouble than we could afford if we were seen digging up graves in the daylight. We spent some time unpacking our equipment and changing into our preferred attire, or in Jerome's case, armour.
We talked with the old priest. He seemed almost embarrassed to take his payment, but not remotely embarrassed to insist that we wear various holy icons he pushed into our hands one by one. These, he said, ought to be worn in ancient places such as this. Clérmont indulged the old man by accepting a trio of sharpened stakes, in case we were set upon by a strigoi, and I myself accepted a vial of water after he blessed it with a prayer to the Almighty. De Longville looked at me with a wry smile, even as he placed a large polished cross around his neck.
"It doesn't hurt to keep what friends we have happy, eh?"
The priest left us whilst it was still light, and we were relieved when dusk arrived. Looking out the partly-open door, we saw no locals were to be seen as the sun set. I thought: as well they shouldn't lurk here, given their local superstitions.
We left the church at dusk.
We wasted no time. I bid our group spread out and search the graves, keeping my book handy. The old tome detailed the history of the old noble István Dózsa, who had fought against the Ottomans in the old days, and returned with a priceless treasure but without his sanity. It was long rumoured that he had buried that priceless treasure in a fit of madness, in the unremarkable grave of some unknown person, before wandering into the mountains never to return. I believe I had found the name that would be on the gravestone we sought. I shall not chronicle here how I found it, but needless to say, it took all my scholarly ability and a great deal of time.
We searched among the many old graves, as the light faded.
Time passed as we carefully searched; squinting in the growing darkness, not daring to light a lantern lest the locals be roused to our presence. The darkness closed in around us. Aha! The grave! I called Eugene over to help me dig, and quickly.
We all jolted in alarm at the sound of a great howl, as though from some great wolf - the likes of which are rumoured to dwell in the deep forests of the region. But the howl was piercing; so terrible that it sounded like it came from no natural beast.
A howl from the dark treeline.
Bounding from the darkness, through a line of trees, beyond the walls of the upper graveyard, came a wolf of such ferocity and size that it must have been spawned in and escaped from some nightmare. All of us sprang back in fear. It fixed its eyes - which I swear glowed with malice - on Jerome, who stumbled back as the creature's great maw scraped his breastplate.
Jerome de Gigaux's reflexive pistol shot stunned the great beast.
By God, but the thing was fast. Jerome, likewise, was fast and recovered his wits enough to draw his pistol which he discharged point-blank into the hound's demoniac face. The foul creature faltered and stumbled to its side with a heavy thud and the crunch of leaves and dust. Jean-René drew his sword - a family heirloom plated in silver - and plunged its razor tip into the thing's thick neck. The wound nigh on hissed as the beast thrashed about, nearly ripping the sword from de Longville's hand even as its black blood gushed across the earth. Jean-René stepped back, recovering his grip on the sword and prepared to defend himself, but the brutish creature gave one last gurgling howl and collapsed to stillness.
We wasted no time. Eugene made short work of his task, as much as pushing me out the way as my own efforts merely slowed him down. His shovel encountered the wood of a coffin, and he cleared the earth around it before using his axe to break open the lid. My eyes lit up, as it seemed so did the grave in the light of the treasure that I now beheld. My efforts were not in vain, to my great relief. I drew out my knapsack and quickly packed up our prize. Eugene stroked his beard and looked on in wonder. The others stood guard.
But they could not know that from the darkness, a new presence watched with keen and hateful eyes as we made for the church to wait out the night.
It sprang from the blackness, in a flutter of wings and with a grotesque noise that I cannot describe. Eugene lagged behind, and I assume he saw it first as I heard his terrified scream.
The thing towered over Eugene, stalking slowly forward as he swung his axe in fury and horror both. Clérmont, who has never lacked for courage, rushed to Eugene's aid, firing his pistol at the black horror. The shot missed, but saved Eugene; the creature turned its terrible gaze on the agent, who now brandished his sword and one of the sharp stakes for which he was more grateful than he ever thought possible.
The beast bore down on Claude-Ettienne Clérmont, who
desperately held off its vicious claws with his sword, and held it at bay with the point
of the sharpened stake.
Much of this was unknown to the rest of us who, in our terror, ran from our glimpses of the creature towards the village. We of scant faith never thought about trying for sanctuary in the church. We would rather face trouble from the locals than stay at the mercy of whatever it was that had emerged from the dark.
For a moment I tripped and fell to my knees. My knapsack hit the ground and the great treasure rolled out somehow, once again with a queer luminescence. Scrambling, I managed to recover it, but I could hear that tell-tale flutter of leathery wing behind me. Had I drawn its attention with the treasure?
Surely I had, for Clérmont tells me the beast seemed to flick its gaze away from their struggle, and then it leapt into the air with unnatural speed and grace. It flew back to the upper graveyard from where surely it watched me desperately recovering the treasure beyond an old statue where I had tripped. We looked back into the darkness, seeing nothing, but hearing terrible sounds. We knew it watched us.
It stalked after us, and the other men took their chance to run, despite the thing standing between them and the road to the village. What else could they do?
Clérmont says they ran as fast as they could, but the creature seemed to decide it would not catch us and it turned its gaze back to them. They nearly reached the church before they heard that terrible flutter of wings and the crunch of ground behind them. They turned just in time to avoid being torn apart by the beast, which seemed almost frenzied with rage.
Axe and sword tore the air but the thing reacted with panther-like grace, avoiding the men's fear-fuelled attacks even as it leapt forward at Eugene, whose courage broke at last, and he turned to run desperately to the church.
The creature leaps upon the fallen sapper, tearing him almost in twain.
Too late! The creature was faster - it leapt upon the old sapper who screamed piteously and was silenced by the swipe of its monstrous claws. Blood splashed over the horrified agent, and his own ample courage ran out. Clérmont remembers naught but a delirious retreat from the thing that had torn apart his comrade before his eyes. Flashes of terror mingled with moments of control where he thinks he fired a shot But mostly running, running from a thing that should not be. He knows not how he escaped.
We reached and roused the village in our terror. I hid the knapsack containing our treasure. The locals seemed ignorant enough of our attire - an irony I'm sure you'll agree, and after gathering himself Clérmont was able to describe to them that something unnatural was at large in the graveyard and had killed our companion. Fear was on the faces of most, but a sort of knowing-suspicion was on the faces of a few I noticed; their eyes seemed piercing. The priest appeared among the gathering crowd and bid us follow him to the small old inn where he was staying. We had much to discuss, and we all needed a drink to steady our frayed nerves. I had to write down the events of the night before I could sleep.
Rest in peace, Monsieur Fontaine. We will bury you when we can.
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The end! For now! This was a very enjoyable game of Fear & Faith, those being a horror skirmish ruleset by Ganesha Games. It was played a couple of weeks ago on a Tuesday night, at the start of my favourite month of the year; October!
I can take absolutely no credit for the beautiful scenery and models, which all belong to my friend Andy who kindly hosted this game. We are intending to get back to some regular skirmish gaming, and it's been a pleasure to give Fear & Faith a go after many years. It's a simple ruleset on paper, but gives such a good game, especially when the players approach it narratively and a good scenario is prepared.
I sort of "GM'd" this one, by controlling just the two monsters. It was a game to get to grips with the rules again, to ensure we got all the fear mechanics right etc. It was very fun to do, and I tried to control the vampire-beast in an unpredictable and frantic way. I figure an ancient evil creature would not just mindlessly attack when outnumbered, but would flit about with its speed and grace, utilising its terrifying nature to unman its prey and to try and isolate them. But I only managed to bag one pitiful human this time. Let's see what happens in the next game and what our characters do next!
