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| King of Vestland |
As I mentioned in my last post about Douglas Niles's B5 Horror on the Hill, I promised to write my next post on Douglas Niles's X3 Curse of Xanathon, a mid level adventure set in the City of Rhoona, in the Kingdom of Vestland. B/Xers might recognize this as the world of Mystara. Or they might not, what the hell do I know?
The premise of the modge is that the PCs have arrived in the city of Rhoona only to find that it's ruler, the Ducal Duke Steven, has been passing a bunch of comically insane decrees that, while good for a laugh, are destroying the morale of his people and the economy of his Duchy.
What's going on is that the Duke has been cursed by Xanathon, Priest of the demon god Cretia, who is openly worshiped in the largest temple in the city. His plan is to weaken the Duchy so that the Ethangareans from the plains to the north of the duchy can wander in and take over the joint. Allied with Xanathon is the head of the Ducal Guard, Draco Stormsailer, a potent fighter who enforces the Ducal Decrees with, ahem, draconian zeal.
And yes, the word "Ducal" is used an awful lot in the module write up.
The only evidence of this plot is an encoded confession written by Xanathon and found in Draco's quarters. Don't worry about the code, there's a helm of deciphering sitting next to the message on Draco's desk. What you have to worry about is the thin motivation provided for getting the PCs to sneak into the Ducal Guard's quarters in the first place.
What follows is a comprehensive list of all the information that the PCs will be provided with in order to risk life and limb sneaking into Draco's quarters in the Barracks:
- Draco is generally regarded as having an undo amount of influence over the Duke
- A ranting dwarf in a tavern informs the PCs that the dwarves [hired to build a wall at the castle] "have noticed people who don't belong [in the barracks] coming and going" No indication as to who these "people who don't belong" are is provided.
- A heretofore unknown beggar approaches them shortly after the dwarf's rant and says "wisdom may hide behind a hairy face." The beggar also refuses to elaborate further.
- If the PCs have still not figured out what to do, the unknown beggar--who is, in fact, a 14th level cleric and the High Priest of the Temple of Forsetta the Lawful, the most prominently worshiped deity in town--will track them down a day later and--still in beggar garb--mutter to them "Seek your answers in the lair of the Draco!" before again running off.
If that's not enough reason for the PCs--who are not natives of Rhoona and therefore don't have a vested interest in this plot--to break into the Ducal Barracks and thoroughly search the place, risking confrontation with a large host of lawfully (ie. good) aligned guardsmen then X3 is not for them.
Anyway, while researching the module I discovered the following excerpts from the journal of Erik of Forsett, the aforementioned High Priest of the Temple of Forsetta and wannabe PC ally.
From the Journal of Erik of Forsett, High Priest of Forsetta:
Day 10 of Month 4, Year 12 of the Ducal Reign of Steven
At last, I've spotted what I hope will be a worthy group to save Rhoona from the maleficent influence of those vermin from the plains, the Ethangareans. His Ducalness, Steven was mad to allow them to build such a large temple for their malignant cult, larger by far than our own temple of Forsetta the Lawful!
And his recent Ducal Decrees confirm that madness has struck our esteemed Steven, Duke of Rhoona. It's been 10 days since he demanded that taxes be paid solely in beer, already all of the taverns and breweries in town are depleted entirely of malted beverage.
And three days ago he decreed that all horses must be ridden whilst facing the animal's tail. Now even the noblest fop has been forced to sully his slippers on the streets, leading his horse by the tether.
And Draco Stormsailor, Master of the Ducal Guard, seems to take great delight in enforcing these insane decrees. I am convinced he is in league with Xanathon, the Cretian priest.
Which is why I was so excited to spot a group of adventurers arriving in town by ship. A group which included a dwarf, a magic-user, 2 thieves, and a goodly number of fighters. They appeared to be mid level adventurers, with total levels of 35-50. [It should be noted that these are the party composition suggestions provided in the "Notes for the Dungeon Master" section of the module. How Erik, an NPC in the module, gained access to this type of meta information is unknown--D. Chux.]
I can't approach them now, I'll have to wait for the right moment so as to maximize the impact of my cryptic words.
Vestry meeting tomorrow at sundown. Must remember to pick up a parcel of sweet buns and a pot of marmalade beforehand.
Day 11
Attired as a beggar, I tracked down The Party at the Tavern of the Crystal Corset. It's good I go unnoticed in this garb, should anyone see the High Priest of Forsetta the Lawful in such an establishment I would have some explaining to do.
A verbose dwarf is ranting at the bar, angry--like everyone else in town--at the beer shortage. The Party seem amused by the dwarfs antics. It expresses its hatred of Draco Stormsailer, blaming him for much that has gone wrong in this city of late; perhaps this dwarf can be of use to me.
But before I can act there's a commotion outside; I hear the trumpet of the Ducal Herald. Will this be yet another madness-induced decree? We all run outside to hear the latest.
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| Curmudgeonly for good reason. |
Despite the threat of imminent torture, the ranting dwarf returns to the tavern--I suppose to finish its mug of over-priced cider--and renews its tirade against Draco, adding some bit about the "Dwarves see things, people coming and going at the Barracks that shouldn't be." then runs off, presumably to get out of town before the shaving commences. This is my moment, I approach The Party, who are still watching the diminutive figure walk away, and catching the attention of one of the goodly fighters, I say "Wisdom may hide behind a hairy face" and quickly slink away, even as he calls to me "what was that?"
That should do the trick. With a little luck, they'll have uncovered the plot by midnight tonight.
Stopped off at the bakery for 2 dozen sweet rolls and a dozen cheese pastries. Must remember to get reimbursed from petty cash.
Day 12
The vestry meeting was tumultuous last night, they were particularly annoyed that I forgot the marmalade. Whiny bastards. And I lost the receipt from the bakery so the Treasurer won't reimburse me the 12 silver I spent on the pastries.
Anyway, I spent the day loitering around the barracks in my beggars outfit hoping to catch some news of The Party's actions, but nothing. Silence. All quiet on the western front. Did they succeed so well that they raised no alarm? Or is it bad news, did they fail to understand my message?
As dusk approaches I head back to the Crystal Corset tavern and inquire with the landlord as to The Party's whereabouts. He clearly wants me to buy something before he talks so I order an overpriced carafe of wine. My first sip reveals that is a fortified wine from the Night Train vineyards. My beggar guise is working too well.
"Them blokes with the goodly fighters? Yeah, they skipped town yesterday. There was a dwarf in their party, you can't really expect them to stick around after that latest Ducal Decree. And they had paid upfront for a week's lodging; I had to refund them! Damn Duke, first he takes all the beer, now he's driving off paying customers. What's next? Banishing the light of the sun?"
"Did they say where they were headed?" I asked.
"Sure, they said something about seeking the wisdom of the dwarves in Rockhome."
Egad!
Ah, but luck is on my side. Before I finish my enhanced wine, another party enters the pub. No dwarf this time, but goodly fighters and thieves and a fellow with a pointy cap adorned with stars; they should do the trick. I approach them and deliver my line: "Wisdom may hide behind a hairy face"
"Hey Ralph, this coot thinks you're pretty wise" says one of the thieves to the pointy-capped companion who, to be fair, does have a beard.
"Get yourself another round" he says and hands me a few copper pieces.
These dullards, with the current beer drought in town, a few coppers won't buy you anything worth drinking.
I need to lay all my cards on the table here and now, I blurt out "Seek your answers in the lair of the Draco!"
"Thanks but I'll be seeking my answers in a different kind of lair," he says as he turns toward a pair of comely ladies who've just approached the bar.
My cause is lost.
Day 13
Another Ducal Decree; the insanity continues:
Henceforth, no burning of combustibles during the "period of the sun's resting, lest we incur the jealous wrath of his heatful self [the sun]"
Fortunately we can light the temple with our Forsetta-given powers, but the commoners will be living in the dark.
Day 14
Why are adventurers such dunderheads! In my disguise I approached 3 more gangs of mid-level adventurers with my subtle call to action. Two parties did not even pause to acknowledge me, treating me as if I were a common beggar! The third replied:
"Draco, that's Latin for dragon, no? Are you saying there's a dragon lair nearby? Can you lead us there?"
Perhaps it is a matter that without the ranting dwarf to provide context for my cryptic clues, I am at a disadvantage.
Day 18
At last I finally found a party willing to investigate the Ducal Barracks! I had to lay out the entire plot for this group of dullards but they ultimately agreed to check out the barracks, and they're doing it tonight! The plot behind the Ducal Madness will soon be revealed and we'll be freed of the evil presence of Cretia!
Day 19
Oh, what have I wrought? During the night, the Ducal Barracks were burned to the ground, 40 guardsmen dead or missing including three of the highest officers of the Ducal Guard, all patrons of the Temple of Forsetta in good standing. Witnesses claim to have seen a group of well-armed adventurers fleeing the inferno toward the docks, each burdened with bulging sacks. And yet His Ducalness has imprisoned the few surviving guardsmen and servants for defying the decree against igniting combustibles during the hours of darkness.
Father Gorton, Pater of the Church of the Spuming Nooga is coming over for our monthly ecumenical conference this week. Perhaps I'll make fishsticks for the occasion.
Worse than I remember.
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