A Stitch In Souragne: An Invitation

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Port d'Elhour, 14th of June, 758 BC.

"Some chilled wine, your holiness?" the servant offered, managing to bow and keep the serving tray perfectly still at the same time.

"Thank you, my child," Toret Corveau replied. He had to restrain himself from downing the whole goblet in one go; the summer had arrived right on schedule. The rains had not. Souragne was roasting in an unnatural drought, and this was beginning to have its effects on the people.

The servant scurried away to offer his tray to the rest of seigneur LaPasse's guests. Corveau did not envy the old man. Wine, water, all potables were being consumed at a record pace during this unnaturally dry summer. The old man would be very weary indeed by the time his shift ended.

Corveau sipped his own wine again and sighed. 'Trust LaPasse to find some way of chilling his drinks,' he thought. He reprimanded himself for a stab of envy, and muttered a brief prayer of penitance to Ezra. Priestly magic was not to be used for the priest's own luxuries, but for the betterment of Ezra's flock. And speaking of the betterment of Ezra's flock...

LaPasse was standing closeby, chatting with a lovely young woman in a dress with a daring cut. From what Corveau caught of their whispered conversation, she was lamenting the fact that the oppressive heat prevented the seigneur's guests from dancing to the stately tune produced by the orchestra in the corner of LaPasse's 'grand hall'.

"Ah, your holiness!" the nobleman said when he noticed the Anchoite making a beeline for him. "Please excuse me, my dear," he said to the young lady. He kissed her fingertips and smiled at her pout. "I am afraid I have some business to attend to with the hand of Ezra -- but don't go anywhere, I will be back for you shortly."

"You are kind to make time for me, sir, very kind," Corveau said as LaPasse gently took him by the arm and guided him to an unoccupied corner. "Especially with so many of your friends here to visit..."

"Mais non," LaPasse countered. "I am always happy to make time for the hands of Ezra in our fair land. Even when that fair land is troubled by drought. which, I believe, is the main reason why you asked to see me, is it not?"

"You have changed, monseigneur," Corveau said, one eyebrow raised. "Just a month agp, you would have had me talk for an hour about the state of your hunting reserve before getting down to business."

"It's this damnable heat, your holiness," LaPasse replied with a chuckle. "It makes men hasty. And to be perfectly honest, I share your concerns. Just today, half of my workers had to be carried off the field because they were suffering from heatstroke. I do not suppose that Pêre Lefebvre has managed to uncover some highly potent prayer to Our Lady in the Mists that might bring the rains...?"

"Sadly, this does not appear to be the case," Corveau replied. It irked him to have to admit it. When the drought started, the church of Ezra in Souragne had offered to send up prayers to its goddess that would summon the rains from wherever they were lingering. Nothing they had done had worked. Nothing magical, at least.

"How regrettable," LaPasse sighed. "Very well. And since all of the voodans' capering and drumming has failed to bring the rain and I refuse to have any dealings with that disreputable little man from Marais d'Tarascon, that leaves me only one choice. We're stuck for it. How much does the bloody Lamordian want for his water purification device?"

"One thousand gold Gluttons," Corveau sighed. "He claims not to trust any coin but that of his homeland."

LPasse whistled softly between his teeth. "So the church would like me to cough up a third of this sum?" he asked. "With another third paid for by the church itself, and the last part...?"

"Gathered by the people of Souragne," Corveau replied. "This drought is hurting everyone and will end up killing us all if we do not find a way to make up for the lack of rain. With the Lamordian's device, we can purify mass quantities of sea and swamp water, which can then be stored in new freshwater basins..."

"Which are then maintained by those affluent enough to participate and willing to let all share the water equally," LaPasse finished. "D'accord. I know better than to ask whether I can expect any preferential treatment when it comes to accessing this marvelous new water, but..."

The conversation in the rest of the room suddenly died, due to one woman's outcry. "Listen, everyone!" she called, excited. It was the girl in the low-cut dress from before. "I think it's raining!"

The musicians stopped playing and seigneur LaPasse's noble guests all clustered around the window, as eager for the sound of pattering rain against the panes as any farmer might be. "Perhaps we can keep our money in our pockets after all, eh?" seigneur LaPasse said with a wink to the Toret.

"Ezra be praised if she bestows such mercy upon us," Corveau said wholeheartedly, and raised the small shield on the chain about his neck to his lips for a quick kiss.

Everyone listened... listened. There came a soft rapping at the windows, a pattering, but not as of rain. At first, it sounded more like the delicate twigs of a tree's spring growth brushing against the glass. But seigneur LaPasse's gardens were kept in pristine order. No such new growth could touch the windows.

When the sound changed, it was too late. The glass shattered under the onslaught of grey fists, and stiff bodies exploded into the hall. The woman in the daring dress was the first to go down under their onslaught, screaming in abject terror.

"Zombies!" someone shrieked. And so they were; the bodies of the dead, walking again. The stench of decay wafted ahead of them, an unclean stink not unlike the one that came from the swamp these days, with the water level dropping.

"Monseigneur, get your guests out of here!" Corveay shouted as he raised the sign of Ezra before him. "In the name of Our Guardian in the Mists, begone!" he bellowed, calling upon the power of the goddess. He felt her might explode outward from the sign, rush through his frail shell and fill the room... and the zombies did not even hesitate one moment.

Fresh screams and a rush of running bodies heralded worse. The servants were fleeing out of the kitchen and the other servant areas and into the grand hall, their faces twisted by terror. More of the walking dead were right on their heels, their eyes and mouths stitched closed with black thread, but their step unfaltering, their claws eagerly seeking the flesh of the living.

'We're trapped in here,' Corveau thought as the slaughter began in earnest. Some of the guests had weapons with them -- toys that looked enough like weapons to be fashionable, and were of absolutely no use against the marching dead.

All around Corveau people were screaming, fleeing, but he was frozen with shock. Only when a portly matron was pulled down right in front of him did he regain enough of his equilibrium to call on Ezra again. The woman was killed, her corpse savaged, and the zombies did not seem to notice him until they were done -- and turned their attention to him.

Anchorite Corveau died with the screams of seigneur LaPasse and the rest of his guests in his ears. 'Ezra, why?' was his last thought.

***

Port d'Elhour, 15th of June, 758 BC.

"What of our brother, Corveau?" Sentire Lefebvre asked. His voice was as soft and controlled as always, but there were lines of strain around his eyes.

"Also dead, your holiness," Anchorite Gaston replied. "All in seigneur LaPasse's home were dead. Killed by the walking dead. The tracks are almost childishly easy to read. The... the bodies of the dead had been staked out on the front lawn. There was a message attached to the body of... of Toret Corveaux." He swallowed. "It was addressed to you, your holiness," he said.

"What is this message?" Sentire Lefebvre asked, his eyes closed in an expression of pain.

"The message reads, 'Worshipers of foreign gods, beware and begone. The greatest of all loah walks the land and many are his fists. Flee across the sea so that the wrath of L'homme Broché does not wipe you from the land. Fools who worship the lesser loah, repent and reconsecrate your altars to L'homme Broché, for he is the true Master of Souragne. Until all bow before L'homme Broché and all the pretender gods and spirits have been driven away like the frightened rats they are, there shall be no rain. There shall be no peace. No one will save you from his wrath, so submit to his will'."

Sentire Lefebvre sighed... and opened his eyes. "How many Anchorites do we have available to meet this threat?" he asked.

"We have none, your holiness," was the reply. "All Anchorites are busy creating potable water for the farms and citizens, when they are not patrolling the countryside to prevent wildfires. The fields are as dry as tinder, and parts of the swamp are drying out. We need to be on guard for disease as well, now the more shallow parts of the swamp are in danger of being exposed to the open air, and many creatures are about, maddened by the loss of their homes in the murky depths and mud."

"I will prepare a letter of request to the Home Faith," Sentire Lefebvre decided. "And also to the centers of Ezra's faith in Mordent, in Dementlieu, in Richemulot and Darkon. It is regrettable that we must appear to be incapable of dealing with our own problems, but the people are in danger. We need someone to investigate this matter."

"Your holiness," Gaston said, feeling quite as nervous as he sounded, now that he was contradicting the Sentire. "Could we not try to find local people to investigate this matter? Not everyone is busy on the farms, after all..."

"Who could we trust?" Sentire Lefebvre asked, a note of profound sadness in his voice. "Who? The cult of L'homme Broché -- the 'Stitched Man' -- is growing stronger every day. So who can we trust?"

***

Maison D'Sablet, 15th of June, 758 BC.

The old man dragged himself onto semi-solid ground. His breath was deep and uneven, his heart was pounding far too quickly. But he was still alive, still alive and in possession of his treasure.

With trembling hands, he set the treasure down on a tree stump. It was a poor altar for the treasure, but it was the best his old, ruined body could provide, especially with the bleeding claw wounds in his back.

"Please," he whispered as he fell to his knees. "Please." Then he remembered the proper way to go about these things. He drew the vèvè in the earth before the stump -- 'Non, the altar, you fool! Think of it as the altar!' -- and then clapped his hands in the proscribed rhythm. Really, he should be dancing, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"Please, oh great one of forgotten times," the old man whispered. "Please. I have no flowers to hang about your neck, no rum to pour upon your lips, no meat and fruits to sate your hunger and decorate your altar. But hear me, please. Here, a man offers heart and life and soul for your Arts and your Works.

The people cry out. They cry out for your great protection. Spread your wings about them as Notre Dame des Brumes spread her cloak over them before she became Ezra. Raise your sword over their heads in protection as Ezra does not. Ride the bodies of your champions to victory as the loah do not. Here is one who offers heart and life and soul for your Arts and your Works. So please, please..."

The treasure, the statuette, did not reply. It did not move. But the old man continued to clap and sing until he passed out from his injuries. One of his hands fell upon the vèvè and his blood stained earth that should have been much more damp.

In the hollow eyesockets of the treasure, something stirred. In the distance, drums started to beat out a message, then faded into silence. Silence of the ear, not of the heart. To a very special heart, they continued to beat out their message: "Come to me come to me come to me come to meeee..."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

'A Stitch In Souragne' is meant to be a one-off campaign, set on the Island of Dread named... you guessed it: Souragne. Should there be a huge outcry for a sequel when we've finished, I'm sure something can be arranged. ^^ I have six slots available for people who would like to play.

The land is in the grip of a terrible drought. Not a drop of rain has been seen for far too long, the freshwater supply is running low, being maintained only by the intervention of the Anchorites and Voodan -- and even they can't keep up with the growing demand. Especially since they are being targeted by what appears to be the cult of a loah no one has heard of before, but which is quickly growing in strength as it intimidates people into joining.

The recent attack on the manor of nobleman LaPasse is actually only the most recent attack by 'the fists of L'homme Broché'. It is simply the first noble target.

You are, for one reason or another, familiar with the Church of Ezra. And for one reason or another, you have been contacted and asked to go to Souragne and help turn the tide of evil that is threatening to wash over the small island and carry its people into oblivion - or worse.

Starting level is 3rd, with Gold as average for a character of that level, as defined in the DMG. Feel free to spend your money on equipment as you please, although magical/psionic/whatever kind of special equipment needs to be okayed by your friendly neighbourhood DM first.

Feel free to draw material from the PHB, PHB II, Complete Adventurer, Complete Arcane, Complete Divine, Complete Mage, Complete Psion, Complete Warrior, Expanded Psionics Handbook, Heroes of Horror, Spell Compendium, Races of the Dragon, Draconomicon, Dark Tales and Disturbing Legends, Legacy of the Blood, Magic of Incarnum and the Ravenloft PHB.

There is one slot open for an Outlander; first come, first served, and all other players should be Demiplane locals.

There is also one slot open for a Souragnien Voodan. Again, first come, first served.

I encourage you to consider healing options when creating your characters.

[Sareau]

Sounds interesting-love to participate.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Welcome! ^^ Please write up your character sheet at www.myth-weavers.com and pm me the link when you have it ready. Please just pm be your backstory, with the reason why you were asked to come to Souragne -- unless you'd like to be the Voodan.

[ewancummins]

Looks cool, Rock.

I'm too busy to join, but perhaps we ought to let PathofDreams, Griselda, and Varrus know about this? I'm sure they'd all be down for a game, as JMatyr's game is on a hiatus.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

If they want in, they're welcome. ^^

[Baron Zamedi]

Hey Rock!

This sounds really interesting, I would very much like to participate.
I was already playing in one of your PBPs but that seems to be dead.

Just one question, how familiar are you with the Pathfinder RPG rules?
Would you maybe consider allowing material from that rules set?

[steveflam]

You know me, I is a rping monger. Outlanders welcome? Souragne, who can say no to that!

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Hey Rock! This sounds really interesting, I would very much like to participate. I was already playing in one of your PBPs but that seems to be dead. Just one question, how familiar are you with the Pathfinder RPG rules? Would you maybe consider allowing material from that rules set?

Heya, BZ. You're welcome to join up. ^^ Yes, the other one died -- let's see if we can give this one a fighting chance, hmm? I'm familiar with the Pathfinder setting, but I'd need to know which material specifically you'd want to use and I'd prefer you use the source books I mentioned earlier in this thread.

You know me, I is a rping monger. Outlanders welcome? Souragne, who can say no to that!

Welcome aboard, Tarlyn, you have just claimed the Outlander slot. Warning to all: No other applications for an Outlander role will be accepted.

***

With this, we have four players. I have two slots remaining for people who want in. If those applicants already approved will please get their backstories and character sheets to me via pm as appropriate, I would appreciate it. ^^

[lordsathien]

This would be my first PBP game in a long time, but it does sound like a very interesting campaign. I noticed that you listed Heroes of Horror, but not Libris Mortis. Was this deliberate or an oversight? What does the party consist of so far?

[Rock of the Fraternity]

It was just an oversight. You're all free to draw from Libris Mortis as well. And I'm not revealing anyone's exact class features or character background -- that'd ruin the surprise. Let me suffice to say that the one character sheet I've received so far is for a primary melée warrior. If you join us, we now have five people and one slot remaining.

[lordsathien]

I'm assuming this is a 3.5E game, but ditches those annoying class weaknesses they added in the 3.5E RL PHB? I'm in. Give me about a day or two to put together a concept and refresh myself with the basics of the relevant domains.

[Ail]

I don't know if I still get a free spot, but Souragne is very high in my list of favourite domains. Can I enter? Please, please, please?

I have previously made an alteration to a monk class ( I think) to give it the feeling of a brazilian Capoeirista. Can I try to convince you to its merits?
Anyway, I could check all those option books too before

[steveflam]

I handed in my p.c as well which is of course subject to approval.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Ail: you would be our sixth and final player. Welcome. And yes, please do have a look at the sourcebooks. ^^; No one seems to have claimed the Voodan slot yet, and I would be intrigued to see how it works.