So far we’ve got…
- Admiral [Class/ Race]
- Drakar: [Class/ Race]
- Kaelyn: [Human Cleric]
- SilentOne: [Elven Ranger]
Background:
Hidden in the woods beyond the village of Lostwithial lie the ruins of an ancient castle. In some age long since past it was home and fortress to a mighty lord of these parts and his retinue, bastion against the savage tribes of the northern wilds, festooned with bright banners and alive with the bustle of everyday routine, with the ringing of horns and the beat of horses’ hooves. Local folklore would have it that on a quiet night in the forest one can still hear the shouts and laughter of folk some centuries stilled, of the clash of steel on steel in the keep’s parade ground, of ringing toasts to heroes and battles long since forgotten in the ashes of the mead hall. Their age long since past, the tribes defeated and near-forgotten, the lord and his warriors retreated into myth and song. The castle had served its purpose and in time it was abandoned, the embers in its hearth grew cold and the old fortress was finally given up to the embrace of the overgrown trees.
All was quiet until some seasons ago, when a small band of goblin-creatures- refugees from some inter-tribal scuffle in the western mountains- happened upon the old keep and took it for their home. Still, the goblin-folk had sense enough to know their own weakness- content with the theft of an occasional sheep or chicken and exacting a toll from those who ventured too close- and, once the initial shock of their discovery wore off the local peasantry were too prosperous and lazy to risk their lives trying to take the place back. An uneasy truce prevailed until the last new moon, when things took an abrupt turn for the worse. Under the cover of darkness several farmsteads were attacked- their inhabitants murdered or dragged off into the night- and come morning the earth was churned with the tracks of dozens of forked, goblinoid feet. Strange chanting is to be heard around the old keep at night and those brave or foolish enough to chance the forest bring back tales of eerie lights burning through the crumbling keep’s broken windows. Rumours abound too of some far greater creature- perhaps an ogre or troll of some description- accompanying the goblin band though reports are mixed as to whether it leads the group, or is itself a chained captive and slave of the tribe.
Anxious to see something done and to press for the return of the captives while there is still hope the local shrieve has held a quick collection to hire adventurers and scraped the sum of some two hundred gold crowns together. He offers this as recompense for any men or women bold enough to fight their way into the old fortress and put paid to whatever dangers might lurk inside.
OOC: “Castle Mistamere” was the name of the dungeon from one of first ever D&D modules. “Lostwithial” is a town in Cornwall, I just liked the name.
I may edit the above text slightly at some point tomorrow when I finish writing the adventure up.
Anyhow, if anyone else is interested in playing then we definitely have room for a few more.
Return to Charadun - Q&A
The Morphing Game
Return to Charadun - Recr
