RAVENLOFT: The One That Got Away, Chapter Fourteen
Posted: Sat Jan 13, 2018 12:27 am
BENN, KAT, and ALAIN
Leave the Grim Bastion’s cellars and make their way through the upper ruins.
Rain splatters from the dark sky visible through gaps in the ceiling of some halls and chambers.
Outside, they find the vacant lot and streets as empty as ever in the gloaming. Fat drops of black rain splash all around, and a look up at the source shows the Black Cloud dissipating as the downpour grows heavier still.
Unless someone knows weatherproofing magic or is wearing a slicker, the three adventurers are pretty damp by the time the reach the bridge over the Musarde.
At the bridge a party of men lurking the archway step out to confront the party. One man holds up an oil lantern, screwed down to a dim glow. He increases the light.
“Halt! Curfew’s on! You lot got a pass?”
Gendarmes. Nine—no, ten-- half with hands on their sword hilts.
The faces that you can make out don’t look those of men pleased to be out tonight.
Benn’s papers and name suffice to put the patrol officer and his men at ease.
“All right then, be about your business, monsieur. You vouching for these two is good enough for me.”
A gale starts up, howling from the west and blowing the polluted rain after them, as if the Black Dog’s ghost has pursued them across the river.
By the time the three reach Benn’s house, they’re drenched and chilled.
But brandy, dry clothes (Charlotte didn’t pack everything she owns, so if Benn doesn’t mind, Kat can wear something from the closet. Alain always seems to have on hand whatever basic stuff he needs, and tonight is no exception.), and a hastily built fire soon put them all right.
Benn finds the ornate silver key in his collection, right next to Maytr’s knife, safely locked away in a cabinet packed with trophies and evidence from old cases.
The little group meets not a soul on the way back to the bridge.
They don't even spot a rat in a gutter or a stray cat lurking under an awning.
The bridge guards make only the most cursory inspection before going back to their riverside huddle under the arch. Anyone glancing down there sees the men dicing by lantern light on a flat board. One is tuning a squeezebox.
As the party hastens to the Grim Bastion, the squeals of the guard’s instrument shift to actual music.
Someone begins to sing:
“Lolly, lolly, rags and bones…”
The words fade in the patter of rain on cobbles as the party trudges on…
MEANWHILE, UNDER THE GRIM BASTION
Klokulf searches his prisoner, finding a book and a box in the man’s slim pack, which had been (crudely but effectively) concealed under his robe and over his underclothing.
Alwina huddles in her borrowed clothes, eyeing the heaps of corpses.
The grim headsman stands vigil beside the now-blocked portal, huge chopping sword held at rest, point down, both his hands on the hilt.
Klokulf’s gaunt prisoner grumbles through his gag, but doesn’t make any attempt to leave the alcove where Dorgio deposited him.
Dorgio finishes a brief, mumbled prayer and then goes among the dead. He stops by each man and closes the eyes if they remain open.
Then, one by one, he begins moving the corpses out of the portal chamber and down the hall, using his cloak as a makeshift litter.
Leave the Grim Bastion’s cellars and make their way through the upper ruins.
Rain splatters from the dark sky visible through gaps in the ceiling of some halls and chambers.
Outside, they find the vacant lot and streets as empty as ever in the gloaming. Fat drops of black rain splash all around, and a look up at the source shows the Black Cloud dissipating as the downpour grows heavier still.
Unless someone knows weatherproofing magic or is wearing a slicker, the three adventurers are pretty damp by the time the reach the bridge over the Musarde.
At the bridge a party of men lurking the archway step out to confront the party. One man holds up an oil lantern, screwed down to a dim glow. He increases the light.
“Halt! Curfew’s on! You lot got a pass?”
Gendarmes. Nine—no, ten-- half with hands on their sword hilts.
The faces that you can make out don’t look those of men pleased to be out tonight.
Benn’s papers and name suffice to put the patrol officer and his men at ease.
“All right then, be about your business, monsieur. You vouching for these two is good enough for me.”
A gale starts up, howling from the west and blowing the polluted rain after them, as if the Black Dog’s ghost has pursued them across the river.
By the time the three reach Benn’s house, they’re drenched and chilled.
But brandy, dry clothes (Charlotte didn’t pack everything she owns, so if Benn doesn’t mind, Kat can wear something from the closet. Alain always seems to have on hand whatever basic stuff he needs, and tonight is no exception.), and a hastily built fire soon put them all right.
Benn finds the ornate silver key in his collection, right next to Maytr’s knife, safely locked away in a cabinet packed with trophies and evidence from old cases.
The little group meets not a soul on the way back to the bridge.
They don't even spot a rat in a gutter or a stray cat lurking under an awning.
The bridge guards make only the most cursory inspection before going back to their riverside huddle under the arch. Anyone glancing down there sees the men dicing by lantern light on a flat board. One is tuning a squeezebox.
As the party hastens to the Grim Bastion, the squeals of the guard’s instrument shift to actual music.
Someone begins to sing:
“Lolly, lolly, rags and bones…”
The words fade in the patter of rain on cobbles as the party trudges on…
MEANWHILE, UNDER THE GRIM BASTION
Klokulf searches his prisoner, finding a book and a box in the man’s slim pack, which had been (crudely but effectively) concealed under his robe and over his underclothing.
Alwina huddles in her borrowed clothes, eyeing the heaps of corpses.
The grim headsman stands vigil beside the now-blocked portal, huge chopping sword held at rest, point down, both his hands on the hilt.
Klokulf’s gaunt prisoner grumbles through his gag, but doesn’t make any attempt to leave the alcove where Dorgio deposited him.
Dorgio finishes a brief, mumbled prayer and then goes among the dead. He stops by each man and closes the eyes if they remain open.
Then, one by one, he begins moving the corpses out of the portal chamber and down the hall, using his cloak as a makeshift litter.