This partially comical tale is a one sided summary of the cultist campaign event we were invited to on 26.07.2011. Screenshots added for extra flavour. And i dared to use two of Greagoirs' pictures from DB forum without permission.
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Deep in the dark forests of Duskwood, stood two, even darker robed figures above the mounds of unmarked graves.
- Have you got the shovel? – asked the relevantly smaller, on his annoyingly high-pitched voice, compared to human standard.
- You was supposed to bring it. – came the reply on a deep tone.
- Then use your hands!The human just stared down at his companion as a response then looked at the third member of the party, standing further to his left.
- Order your imp to dig.- Oh, he’s useless until throwing stones.To validate his point the gnome threw a small stone toward the imp, missing it.
After some more long minutes of discussion about who should do the dirty work to dig up the burried relics, they agreed to leave and meet up with the others.
On a hill east of Darkshire, cultists met up to brew a plan agaisnt the coming threat to their land, and freedome.
Standing in the middle of the assembled, a man in grey hat hold a long – and to the map-reading gnome probably uninteresting – speach about the blindness of the Light followers, the egoism of the self-righteos and the ignorance of the innocent killers, where the end justifies the means.
Anxious to act and impatient to wait for the return of the out-sent scout, the gnome thugged his companion’s robe.
- Let’s go for a walk.- Are you sure this is the best time for your night stroll? – asked the other one unimpressed, and unsuprised. –
But let’s go for a walk.. – gave in before the little one could shot back.
As the two were about to leave, they got assigned to scout as well, and make notes of anything particular about their enemies.
- And now we’re to be scouts… - commented the human clearly annoyed as they were out of the ear range of the rest. For once he and his companion agreed about something; this work to be under their rank.
- You know what.. – started the human again as they were walking down on the side of the hill –
..let’s just dig up some relics of yours, instead.The gnome didn’t belive he heard it right at first, but decided not to question the decision for long, and just run off to the city to get a shovel finally.
Quite sometimes later, following the guidance of the gnome, they arrived at the dead end of a narrow path, marked by a single torch planted in the ground. Checking his map twice the little one assured the human, that all sign proved his idea that a great treasure was burried right under their feet. Why else would a path be left unfinished, with a torch at its end?
Again, not coming to an agreement about who should dig, they returned to the main road.
- Let’s ask the help of someone passing by! – suggested the gnome.
- You could lie on the middle of the road, preteding to be dead. – gave the human another suggestion which brought a puzzled look on the face of his short friend.
- I can’t see how would that help us find someone to dig.- Their codes tell them to burry the dead. – explained the human with a grimly serious expression.
- You’re crazy sometimes.- I’m flattered. – he said, then added shortly after –
Now lie on the road already.- But what if i don’t want to? – asked the gnome unpleased about the idea.
- Then you won’t need to imitate to be dead. – promised the human, which made the gnome to do what he was told at once.
Despite the careful planning, the group travelling on the road that night became instantly suspicous when spotting the form, lying still in front of them, fruther on the ground. Some ran to see the state of the gnome, while others were ordered to spread out and check the surrounding. The gnome couldn’t resist the tickly touches for long, neither the human’s hiding place behind the nearby tree proved to be enough good, resulting them to be surrounded on the middle of the road shortly after. The group demanded an explanation, so the human cultist offered one:
- It all started with my companion not bringing a shovel… - he began to explain everything bit by bit from the very begining. But the truth didn’t sound enough true for the group and left the two companions behind with their story about shovels and relics, deemed to be lunatics.
When they remained all alone, the human told his suspicion about the identity of the group, but the gnome seemed to be too obsessed by his new finding, a golden coin. He brought up the idea to enchant the coin with a power that would turn any living greedy and make one see all friends as enemies. Weather already under the effect of the coin, but the gnome suggested what was already done.
Boldly they went after the group, finding them in Darkshire.
The group and some others, wearing the unmistakable whitecross gathered in the town, greeted them with growing aggravation and awareness. The gnome presented them his coin, and his suddenly sewn tale about its great power, warning them of the threat it could mean. His companion, seeing it as best, just agreeded with and nodded sternly to whatever his short friend made up. By their suprise, not just they didn’t got attacked on the spot, but managed to convince a significant amount of the assembled ones to help in the search of the remaning dangerous relics.
They ventured back to the torch and started to dig. Concidence or something else, but soon they found more of the coins. The human cultist was watching the unravelling scene with silent amuzement while his friend could barely stand in one place in excitement; an argue errupted as a worgen member of the group wasn’t willing to hand over the coin despite the repeated requests of a whitecross-bearer, who tagged along.
When words seemed to fail, acts spoke. To the grief of the two companions no blood was shed.
Thinking that the strange behavior of the worgen was attached to the coin and the gnome, the Chapterian took both in custody, and away. Shortly the group left the scene as well, to the relief of the remaining cultist. However realization struck him and he follow the group on their way back to town, keeping a safe distance.
Standing on top of a northern hill, he gazed down at the roofs of Darkshire, waiting, apparently patiently. Many minutes passed when a figure, clad in dark armor, arrived and dropped on his knees next to him.
- Ah, finally you’ve arrived. – noted the robed man, with his sights still fixed on the town.
- I’ve hurried as much as i could after i got your call.- My companion got taken away, which wouldn’t bother me. – he paused a bit –
Unfortunately, i don’t think he’ll be able to hold his tongue. We’ll need to free him.- Or kill him to prevent him from talking. – added the kneeling one. The other just nodded in respons.
The human had heard where to the gnome would be taken, so after summoning their steeds, they rode off, their goal to be the Chapel of the old cemetry, to the south.
When they arrived at last, they found the previous crowd from the town to be there.
Greatly outnumbered, they didn’t risk a frontal attack, but rather agreed to ask for reinforcement. So the armored man did, and to his call the long deads asnwered and raised from their graves. In the errupted chaos the cultist was waiting for the right time to act, which occured soon, when he spotted the Chapterian at the other end of the cemetry, making his way away with the gnome. Leaving his minion behind, he rode after the holy man to catch up to him further away from the cemetry, near an abandoned house.
His companion was alive, but with a sword pinned against his tiny neck. Despite his foe’s warning, he didn’t stop approaching, and started to form a bolt of shadow from the energies flowing from his fingers. The gnome maybe had enough time, before his throat was slit, to realizes that saving his life didn’t have priority over the kill of a Chapterian.
The battle, though fierce, didn’t last long. The cultist could see he dealt some serious damage, but it didn’t serve him any satisfaction over his own, more serious cut wounds. He had underestimated his opponent, thus he fell.
The Chapterian, far from unscarred, dropped on his behind on the blood-soaked ground. His battle wasn’t over yet. In his weakened state he heard the voice. It promised wealth beyond imagination, a wealth everybody eager to get at all cost, turning friends to greedy enemies. He fought the voice, focusing on his faith, but it didn’t seem to leave. He found his hand slipping on the pouch, containing the coin of the gnome, realizing the source of the haunting voice. After managing to surpress the temptation, dictated by the cused object, he threw the pouch away not far on the ground. Finally it was silent again.
After some resting he made his way back to the Chapel and the others – who by the time fended off the threat of the undeads -, dragging the two corpses along to eventually burn them in purifying fire.
Somewhere deep in Duskwood, in a plain pouch the cursed coin might still be waiting its new owner and victim to heed its call.
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