The Diary of Skullweed Moonflower

Purple Elf and Selene Moonlord: part 3

A midnight murder spree followed by unsavoury revelations in Hohoho…

Fireday, Disorderweek, Seaseason, 613 TA – early afternoon

Despite the action I’m still heavily under the influence of Ernest’s Revelation wine. I’m lucky that I didn’t have to wield my sword against the disgusting ulunn (literally, a deformed and hideous monster) – I’m seriously hung-over, and there’s nothing in the Ravings or the Apocrypha to help with that.

I try to concentrate as we discuss what to do next. We want to push on because we need to reach Hohoho by tomorrow at the latest but Ernest’s report about Vikings is worrying. It shows how much I’m out of it because Tommy has to suggest sending Ithilté on aerial reconnaissance. That should have been my idea but my mind is so slow.

We get the wagon going and I send Ithilté off with orders to stay at 600ft to keep her safe from arrows and spells. She’s back within the hour, having found no sign of the Vikings between us and Westward-Ho, which we reach without incident an hour before dusk, by which time I’m feeling a little more edhellen (‘elvish’ – much as a man might say he’s ‘feeling more human’).

Westward-Ho is a one-inn town, the Moon & Cheese, where the landlady seems a little overwhelmed to have a Moonlord under her roof. She offers the best, room and board for the lot of us for 12s. We ask if she’s heard about the Vikings and she is sufficiently concerned to ask a friend to send her ally-spirit, an owl, to survey the road to Hohoho for us. She dons a shawl and leaves us eating dinner.

With a very nice pork and apple stew inside me, I’m feeling much recovered when Lady Celia Windfall joins us. Her owl has pinpointed the Viking camp, about 40 yards right of the road about a league from Westward-Ho.

I mistake Celia’s enthusiasm and ask what support we can expect from the villagers in dealing with these Vikings but she makes it quite clear that any support will be moral rather than material. Oh well, the sky is partly overcast but we’ll have the light of the Gibbous Moon so we agree we need to deal with them tonight.

Celia does find us a couple of guides, dressed in leathers and clutching a longsword each. Their job will be to get us as close to the camp as possible without getting involved but in my experience these things have a way of getting messy so I take them out into the courtyard to test their prowess with their weapons through a little light sparring. Callum doesn’t get anywhere near me but Samuel comes close to skewering me good, despite my footwork, only a deft parry saves me – better than I feared but, if the worst comes to the worst, they might tie up a Viking for a couple of exchanges so let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

While I’m getting the measure of our guides, Tommy, Roxie and Harlequin ride up the road a mile to get a feel for the terrain. It’s apple orchards for the first mile but they glimpse a camp fire about two miles beyond that, set in flat terrain, occasional copses but mainly grassland. The camp looks to have fair visibility in all directions, so the Vikings aren’t quite as stupid as some.

Come midnight, Callum and Samuel do an excellent job of getting us close, using the nearest copse as cover. Once we get to the far side we see the camp fire about a hundred yards away. Ithilté spots a crow asleep in a bush forty yards beyond the far side of the camp. Good! If it looks like waking up, Ithilté will Befuddle it. The presence of the bird means the runelevel must be a priest, which means runemagics – I’d prefer a straight-up runelord.

Our plan is for Tommy and I to sneak close to their camp and take out their guards, hopefully as quietly as possible. Then, when Ithilté signals, the others will come and join in the general fight. I’m a little concerned that it’s just the two of us, we’ll be facing serious odds if the Vikings start waking up. Harlequin vacillates about whether to shuck his armour and join the scouts but in the end he claims he feels safer in his armour. All that iron and no spine… I recognise the risk, but night-time stealth actions are what the Maolrim (Purple Elf race) were made for.

Tommy and I set out, approaching through the night together, casting spells (I opt for Shimmer, naturally, and Bladesharped sword with Speedart on my discus, just in case). At fifty yards it becomes clear there are just two sentries – the one on the far side has no armour on his head, the nearer has an unarmoured midriff. Tommy nods toward the further sentry and vanishes into the dark.

Crawling, the grass is less than a foot tall but that’s honestly all I need and I just know I’m next to invisible to my prey, which is just as well when I kneel on a dry twig. (What’s a twig doing a hundred yards from the nearest tree?) At what sounds to me like a deafening crack the sentry looks my way but I can tell by the way his gaze slides off that he sees nothing and to him it was just another minor night noise.

I creep closer, the feir (mortals, singular fair) do one of their sporadic saunters round the camp, mutter a couple of words and come back to where they were, during which time I’ve reached the edge of the camp and kneel in the shadow thrown in the fire-light by one of the lean-tos. There are six such lean-tos, each housing a snoring Viking. The one on the far side has two figures, one of them a woman. Knowing Viking psychology, I suspect the priest has laid claim to her. There’s another figure lying off to my right without a lean-to for shelter, probably another prisoner.

On the far side of the camp I spy Tommy rising up behind his sentry, which is my signal to take mine – as he steps past, looking north, I glide behind him, taking my time, before stepping forward and thrusting hard into his bare midriff. My blow goes true, all but cutting him in half, but I catch his upper torso, lowering it to the ground with hardly a sound.

I look round the camp – Tommy has his fair down and is finishing him off, there’s no sign of movement from anyone else so I move to the nearest sleeping figure as Ithilté swoops off to signal the way is clear for the others.

Again I take my time. Tommy moves over to his next fair; there’s still no movement from our sleepers. My new fair is sleeping in leathers with a broadsword and bastard sword next to him. I line up my blade perfectly and stick him the guts! With a twist, he expires in a strangled gurgle. As I look up I can hear Tommy is in some sort of wrestling match with his fair. (Later I learn that Tommy had his head off with one slash but the fair must have divinted, thanks to his death being so ignominious.)

Well all good things come to an end and so it is with our midnight murder spree. Three feir sit up and I hear one say, ‘Eh, what?’ but the fair to my right stays asleep. As I step towards him I launch my discus at one echuien (awakened), knocking him down with a strike to the head before an arbalest bolt comes out of the darkness to finish him off.

Ithilté tells me the others are on their way. She tries to Befuddle another echuien but before her spell can strike home he dies under a barrage of arbalest bolts – Harlequin’s favourite!

With a howl of rage the runepriest bursts from his blankets, screaming, “Wake up you fuckwits!” Ithilté reports the crow stirring in its bush so I tell her to Befuddle it.

The runepriest looks round and sees me standing over the last fair. My plan is to slaughter him and parry the priest if he reaches me. The priest charges but somehow loses his focus as he passes the fire – looks like the Befuddle has gone down the Mindlink – such a shame. Again, I take my time – I don’t do quite as clean a job as the first two but my fair dies with sleep still crusting his eyes.

There’s a slightly surreal minute or so as everyone gathers round with reloaded arbalests and I retrieve my discus. I stand with Corbie, ready to take the priest on with our blades (because nothing is certain), but a barrage of arbalest bolts and one discus puts him down and Viking isn’t interested in giving him another chance.

While the others start collecting weapons and armour, I attend the Selenite captives. The woman is Lunar Lightflower (almost a Faerie name). She has been brutally beaten and, of course, repeatedly raped by the Vikings. She’s in shock and asks if she’s safe now? I try to set her mind at rest but, to her credit, she’s equally worried about the other captive. He’s Michael Drillfield; while he’s not been raped he has been thoroughly beaten and used as a beast of burden. What they both need is rest.

Overall we collect seven battleaxes (two of them iron), one greatsword, two bastard swords, one broadsword, a great axe, one large shield, two throwing axes and a hatchet. We also recover two mail shirts, one pair of mail trews, three sets of vambraces and three open helms. Between them, the Vikings had 130 shillings and two gems worth 30s each.

That all went ridiculously easily. We bury the bodies in a mass shallow grave inside the copse, where they’re unlikely to be found. Then we return to Westward-Ho with the prisoners. We get three hours in bed before we get up to continue our journey.

Moonday, Disorderweek, Seaseason, 613 TA

After breakfast we head off, reaching Hohoho without incident mid-afternoon. We approach from the south-east. As we crest a low hill we see the hamlet laid out before us. On the far side is a triangular field littered with tents before a low stage.

Today is meant to be the climax of the Rave so we are expecting serious all-day partying, but while we see a few figures it’s surprisingly quiet. Perhaps they’re all recovering from last night and will be up at Moonrise for the big event?

The first building we encounter is the gaol but you’d never guess from the sign outside which is incredibly badly written. There’s some people inside, one of whom steps out and introduces himself as Darren. He claims to be the sheriff of Hohoho and I’ve no reason to doubt him but I can’t help noticing his black and white striped socks…

Darren welcomes us but his tone is very subdued and he reveals there’s been a terrible tragedy. Last Claynight, with the revels going full force, an army of undead crawled out of the ground and attacked the revellers! Apparently two zombies also came out of a nearby copse but the majority of undead were skeletons who came out of the field itself! By the Smiling Moon, was the village built on an old Azraelite/Wraithe cemetery? It’s like cheap novel by Penny Dreadful (one of my favourite authors).

Eventually the undead were all killed (if that’s the word I’m looking for) but there were casualties, though Darren’s a little reluctant to give a head-count. Harlequin asks who organised the Rave and Darren points us to Rosa Moonlight, who is the head of the Revellers, and the innkeepers of the Moon & Pig, Joshua and Enid Tetley.

Mmm! If Selenites were killed I may be doing some burials today.

Harlequin thinks we may get free accommodation and investigating the incident will be good cover for our other enquiries. Well I suppose he’s right but it seems a trifle cold-blooded.

The Moon & Pig is easily the largest building in the village – almost imposing! Inside, bar staff bring out Enid Tetley, who immediately asks if we want rooms. Harlequin promptly mentions that he’s met Humakt – name dropper! Unlikely as this sounds I’ve a feeling that Harlequin genuinely believes this is true. Enid, possibly regarding me as an authority on the matter (which of course I am) asks whether he’s blest. I whisper back that it’s probably safe to assume he is. Harlequin claims Humakt has given him Turn Undead and there I’m sure he’s fibbing, but he gives this as a reason why we should be investigating the incident from Clayday. He’s angling for free board, of course, but that’s not going to happen. This is why we have ‘expenses’.

Enid apologises that her luxury accommodation in ‘the annex’ is already booked by visiting gentry – and she quotes their names, proving Harlequin isn’t the only name dropper in the room, though at least hers are believable: Sir Stanwick and Lady Cassandra Wibblethorpe and the Honourable Raving Mandrake. When Enid asks why we’re so interested and Tommy, waving a paintbrush, tells her we’re all Gowrie entertainers seeking patronage. I just love the way my friends lie with such facility.

So we take three rooms on the first floor: Roxie and Carrie together in one, Harlequin and Tommy in another, the Neibelungs and I in the third. Once we’re alone I raise the subject of Sir Mortimer – did he pay for all the free food and drink just so he could slaughter the revellers with undead?

We need to investigate and I have the cure of souls so I head to the Selenite chapel at the north end of the village. Inside I find two worshippers praying. I ask the sexton for the priest and he fetches the minister.

Minister Robinson is a small man with a grave demeanour. I introduce myself and offer my services for the coming burials. He’s surprisingly reluctant to give the number of casualties, asking for my discretion before revealing there are twelve bodies in the crypt below. I ask if any other runelevel Selenites could help but Minister Robinson says there’s only Rosa Moonlight, the Chief Reveller, and he clearly thinks she’ll be fully committed to the Rave, since the climax is tonight. I tell him I’ll be back at Moonrise (or Ithilrûn, as we say in the woods).

Meanwhile, the others visit the Rave field where they find perhaps a hundred revellers keeping things ticking over until Moonrise tonight. Several people anecdotally confirm that the Rave was at its height when a horde of skeletons clawed their way out of the earth and set about the revellers. The team of a half-a-dozen bouncers waded in with armour and weapons but it was pandemonium for a couple of hours.

Most of the Rave field has been churned up by all the dancing but on the edges of the field they find several pits indicating that someone must have buried all the bones beforehand. So it wasn’t an old cemetery, but a deliberate conspiracy – someone seeded the field with bones and cast a Wraithe Mass Raise.

By now I’ve joined the others in the Rave field. There are a hundred people still dancing right now, if a little lacking in vigour. We speak to the bouncers, who say there were perhaps twice as many on Claynight.

We all troop over to the copse where the zombies were seen to come from. We find tracks of some horses that go northwest before arcing round to the south – Sir Mortimer and his cronies? We also find much older tracks of a cart from weeks or even seasons ago, doubtless it brought the bones.

That seems like a lot of work, to bury all those bones in secret – and it must have been in the middle of many nights, to bury so many without being seen. Then to cast Mass Raise – I’m no expert but that’s the most infamously powerful of Wraithe runespells. Someone wonders if this was an assassination done up to hide the fact but that seems a little unlikely to me. But then what motivation could there be for something so outlandishly contrived?

One way to find out – we must view the individual bodies to see if any of them are VIPs. First we visit the shed where all the skeletal bones are being kept. Aside from a couple of Trollkin they’re all human, and probably not very old, alive within living (human) memory, as opposed to an ancient cemetery raided for the purpose. The zombies aren’t here and the villager in charge says they are stored with the other whole bodies, since they must be regarded as victims as much as the revellers.

Back at the Selenite chapel Minister Robinson is reluctant but relents. In the cellar are twelve Selenite bodies, with multiple random injuries – Minister Robinson says two still haven’t been identified. There are also two older bodies who are the zombies. These are older but only by about a week, putting them close in time to those upturned and partially burned carts outside Hilltown – coincidence? I recall the two stray leg bones we found, were those carts carrying bones?

Some of the Selenites have no defensive wounds and Minister Robinson says they were almost certainly slain while enraptured by the Goddess. I can’t tell their social status from the state of the bodies but Minister Robinson is certain they were all young people, mainly locals.

Minister Robinson advises there are more bodies in the Matari temple so we go there next. The Priestess is initially reluctant to let us see them but Harlequin lies officially and I play the ‘respectful associate’ card that gets us led downstairs.

There we find eight bodies, stripped and wrapped in shrouds. Is this it? A total of twenty bodies? There were close to two hundred revellers when the undead rose up. There are a hundred left now, we have twenty corpses. Are we to believe that an undead horde created just twenty corpses in two hours? Where are the rest?

Harlequin examines them closely (under the watchful and suspicious eye of the Priestess, who seems to think we’ll desecrate them at any opportunity) and points out that most have the same injuries as the Selenites but two are different. It looks at first like they were shot in the back by some heavy siege weapon, causing their ribs and breastbones to be thrust out. But there are no corresponding entry wounds in the back.

It’s like something burst out of their chests from inside…!

Harlequin immediately thinks of Broo impregnation but a Broo would emerge from the abdomen, not the chest. Were they some sort of demon? Then I remember that the most infamous associate of Wraithe was Baal, the demonolater! My sap runs cold!

I look down at the two sorry corpses then round at the others and I can’t help thinking of the Ravings: the Apocrypha according to The Great Tramp, Book of the Crime, Song of the Curtain, vss 1-5, “The actors and jesters are here. The stage is in darkness, unclear. They’re raising the curtain and no-one's quite certain whose play it is”.

It’s an hour to dusk and the stage will soon be dark; we actors and jesters are here, but we have no idea who’s written the play, nor of the plot.

It’s time to speak to Rosa Moonlight!