Chapter 9: No More Running

Session 9 of my solo Cairn campaign

Opening the session

Welcome back to my solo Cairn campaign!

Last session, Ralund arrived in Gideon’s Reach to find a cold welcome from Captain Qity of The Stag Knights. He had to give up his weapons to get inside and even so Qity remains suspicious. She’s a wytch hunter and can sense the wytchery on Ralund — especially now that he has the Hexeye. This gives him the ability to sense magic but everyone else can sense that about him.

Unbeknowst to Ralund, Captain Qity is watching him closely in the tavern: The Skunk-drunk Friar.

To start, I used my one-sheet to roll my theme, weather, and random event.

• Session theme: “Ethereal” & “Coven”

• Weather: Grey & Grim

• Random event: none

Good luck, Ralund…

The sun rose behind pewter clouds, casting a weak umbrous glow on Mushroom Market. The rats frenzied over the last of last night’s offal. They fled from the emaciated dogs who took their turn. The Geese waddled through rain pools and bickered with the guards as they came to douse the braziers. Folks pitched their night soil onto the pavers below. The town was waking up and all Ralund wanted was sleep.

He remembered The Skunk-drunk Friar from the last time he came to The Reach. That must have been six months ago — maybe more. The Friar’s top floors leaned over the street unsteady like the eponymous drunk painted on the hanging shield outside. Ralund cupped his hands over the horn-hide windows and watched the fuzzy shadows drifting inside.

“We’re not open yet,” one of the shadows groused.

“I don’t need food. Just a bed.” Ralund said. He jingled his coin purse to soften the demand. He could hear the shadow clopping along the boards inside towards the door. The innkeeper threw open the heavy door and Ralund nearly fell back into the street.

Game notes

I rolled a quick NPC using Cairn 2e and continued the scene — Enter Ramil, the innkeeper.

The innkeeper might have been carved from wood — tall, statuesque, and a mane of dark braided hair and beard.

“I said we’re not open, old man.” His voice was a thundercloud.

“I’ll pay,” Ralund said, jingling his coin purse again. “And keep quiet. I just need out of the rain.”

Game notes

How does Ramil reaction to Ralund? — Curious.

Oracle: Does Ramil accept the coin? — Yes.

The innkeeper snatched the purse. He poured the silver coins into his cleaver-sized palm and needled through the pile with his index finger. He took three of the coins for himself and handed the rest back to Ralund.

“Go on in then, old man,” the innkeeper said. He held the door open and let Ralund pass under his arm. “Sit you down — not at the table — no, sir — at the bar. No, the far end. There, right there. Wait there. I’ll get you something hot in a moment.”

Game notes

Oracle: Is Ramil alone in the closed tavern? — No.

— Does he have a family here? — Yes.

I rolled another NPC to learn Ramil is married to a musician called Sysa. Her reaction to Ralund — Kind (literally the first time I’ve rolled that in this campaign)

That made me wonder…is she a wytch too?

Oracle: Yes.

Ralund sat quietly at the bar and rubbed the filth — and blood — from his fingers. He could hear chairs scraping along the stone floor behind him as the innkeeper turned them over and reset them at the tables. A woman came from the backroom with candles bundled up in her apron skirt. She locked eyes with Ralund and they both exchanged forced, half-hearted smiles. She joined the innkeeper, kissed him on the cheek, and began to set and light the candles. Before long, the cold, smoky light began to shimmer warmly.

Ralund could hear them whispering behind him.

“Who’s this man, love?”

“Sorry old drunk is all. He’s paid up for a room and food.”

“Did he pay for a bath? He stinks.”

Ralund stole a sniff of his underarms and coughed.

Outside, the dogs barked at a braying donkey. Someone rang a tinny bell and shouted about a sale on yesterday’s steader’s honied pastries. Day old but still gold — only two coppers! A priest sang a hymn with performative vibrato — Lo! then shall the supernal hart stride the bitter waters of The Vale to guide the divine host home — a child was crying and the mother cooed at it — There there darling, it’s only a goose — wagon wheels clattered and splashed in the mud. Buskers played and guards shooed them off — off with you! Fire rushed and roared. Metal sang. Doors opened and cracked and slammed and broke and crashed and —

“What are you drinking, friend,” the woman said.

Ralund swallowed the panic surging in his chest and coughed again. He could…see…the wytch in her. Same as the others out in The Weald. Same as Addy. He looked over his shoulder at the man — there was nothing on him — nothing like her. He felt for the totem at his neck again, and again remembered it was long gone now. Another blighted star...

“You alright?”

“Yes — sorry. Sorry — something hot?”

“Sbiten! Gijar brought us a fresh cask last night. I’ll heat it up for you.”

Ralund pulled out his purse to pay. His hands shook and the coin rattled until she touched his filthy hands. They were warm and soft but strong. The wytch’s hands.

“You’re paid up, sir — remember?” Her eyes were full of fear…and threats. She could see it in him, the same as he did her. They were both in danger — both a danger to each other, but not if they kept quiet and calm.

“Right. Sorry.”

The morning and the breakfasters filled the tavern before long. They took care to avoid Ralund as he drank away the cold and the noise of it all. By midday, he was well into his cups and took a room key from the innkeeper. He stumbled up the creaking, raw-cut stairs, into his room, and collapsed on the straw-stuffed mattress like a body into a grave. He felt the mites crawling on his flesh just before sleep took him.

“This must be how Reed feels,” he thought and nearly laughed. “Poor bastard.”

He dreamed of wytches. Of Addy. Of death.

Game notes

Recalling that Ralund Steeleye is now Ralund Hexeye, we know that folks sense wytchery on him. In The Wenderweald, magic is a kind of contagion and leaves sign — visible and invisible. I wondered if anyone on in the tavern sensed this about him and might have reported it to Captain Qity.

Oracle: Does anyone report to Captain Qity of Ralund’s wytchery? — Yes.

— Does Captain Qity come to arrest Ralund? — Yes

— In full force? — Yes

The door thumped, split — splintered, and crashed open. A Stag Knight shouldered through what was left of the door and wheeled up with an axe to bring down on Ralund’s head.

Ralund rolled off the pallet and onto the boards, as the axe split the bed in half beside him. Ralund stood and reached for his absent weapons.

The knight raised his axe again to strike, and Ralund charged under his guard and knocked him to the ground, sprinting for the door.

He looked left — two more knights ran at him along the mezzanine, screaming prayers and swinging broad swords.

“Purge the wytch! Purge the wytch!

He looked right — a horn-hide window at the end of the hall. Ralund ran and dove through the paper-thin window and out into the dark.

Game notes

DEX save to land safely – Fail! Ralund suffers 2 damage from the fall. HP: 3/5

Oracle: are there other Stag Knights outside? — Yes. 1d6 (2) Knights.

— Do they spot him? — Yes.

— Does he run? — Extreme no.

For once, Ralund refuses to run.

Ralund picked himself from the mud, gritting through the pain. The fall was hard enough and harder on his still bruised ankle. He stood to find two broadswords pointed at his throat. The Stag Knights had him dead to rights.

One of them pulled a set of rusted manacles from his belt and tossed them at Ralund’s feet.

“Put those on, wytch,” he hissed the word like a curse.

Ralund eased down, wincing through the pain, to pick up the manacles and latched them in place as he was bid. Familiar pain bit into his wrists as the metal pinched closed.

The knight sheathed his sword and unspooled the chain lengths from his gambeson. He moved behind Ralund to cinch him with the chains while the other knight fixed Ralund with his blade.

“Do not provoke the wytch, brother Urmin.” The knight behind him said. “They are capricious when threatened.”

Ralund didn’t know what capricious meant. He only knew he was tired of all this. Tired of running. Tired of giving in and giving over to the wytch and wytch hunters. Neither accepted him or Addy. Both drove her mad — both ripped her apart. There was no place in this world for her then or for him now. They were little better than animals to them, to be cured or culled.

He was tired of running. And he wasn’t dying in The Stag Knight’s dungeons.

Game notes

DEX save to disarm the knight — Pass!

Ralund Hexeye has broadsword now…

Ralund reached for the blade at his chest, snared it within the chains linking his hands, and wrenched it from the knight’s grip. He ducked a blow from behind and picked up the fallen sword.

Ralund wheeled on the knight behind him in an upward stroke and he felt the ribs break under the chainmail. He crashed to the ground, screaming.

The disarmed knight lept on Ralund’s back and hooked his arm around Ralund's throat. He levered the hold with his free hand, putting more pressure on Ralund's throat.

Blood pumped in his ears, his vision swam, and his legs swayed under him. But he couldn’t give in.

“Die wytch!” The knight elbowed Ralund’s head, trying to drive him to the ground.

Game notes

Ralund suffers 3 damage — no more HP. He has to pass a STR save to stay standing — his STR is 6…Fail!

With no choice, I used all 3 of my luck dice to drop the roll down to a pass. Ralund was running on fumes now.

DEX save to throw the knight off — Pass!

Ralund rolled the knight on his back over his shoulder, down into the mud. The knight tried to rise, but Ralund stomped on his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

He lifted the blade over his head and drove it down through the knight’s face. Gore fountained and the iron snapped on the bone, leaving behind a jagged spar.

He turned on the other knight. He was lifting himself up with his sword as a brace and Ralund kicked it from under him before he could rise. The knight fell to his belly and begged "wait!" as Ralund cut his throat.

More knights stormed out of the tavern into the market and surrounded him.

Ralund Hexeye stood over the corpses with half a sword, full of rage, and no more fear.

He thought of the wytches. Of Addy. Of death.

There was nowhere left to

run. He was going to die here and now, or else kill every last one of them.

Closing the session

Finally! Ralund stays in the fight and makes a stand. So many of my readers have said they hated Ralund for leaving Reed behind to die. I did too — I hated him when I made him. But the dice wouldn’t leave him alone. They challenged me to sympathize with this character I detested, to learn who he was and why he acted as he did.

I’m glad they did. Ralund Hexeye is my favorite least-favorite character.

Next session might be his last — we’ll see…