Tacky Cat-Tics

As if moulded from oil and smoke, the six huge, cat-like creatures stealthily flow around the wide rooted trees of the dark Fey forest, in search of their nighttime prey…

A large-ish group of assorted two-legs, alongside a quartet of horses and a stinking dog. Bizarrely, the group seemed to have been attempting to track them, but now they’d pay a price for their temerity.

The pack leader halts and Half-twists in place, her sharp-fanged head, front taloned paws raised and two long barbed tentacles waving above, while her four back padded feet remain firmly planted on the leaf covered ground, long, thin tail quivering in anticipation.

“Quiet. We close. They stopped. But not resting. Not sleeping. Still, plan is good. Ready or unready.”

Her voice is quiet but loaded with barely restrained menace and the other ‘cats’  purr submissively.

“Three pairs. Spread out. Take position in dark. Use cover. Be silent. Stay hidden until my signal.”

One of the other shadowy, deep purple creatures moves slightly forward and growls low; questioning.

“Why hide? Surely dark cover enough?”

The pack leader growls back to assert her dominance.

“Dwarf there. See good as we. Will warn others. Spoil surprise!”

The second in command narrows her yellow eyes.

“Target Dwarf first?”

The pack alpha shakes her boney, fur covered head.

“No. Dwarven meat no good. Too salty. Too tough. Be swift. Go for horses. Kill vile dog if get chance.”

The five Betas nod in agreement before the Alpha finishes her brief.

“Watch for me. I go first. When they move to intercept me. You come from other sides of clearing. Pick off weak.”

Marriage Vows

Eleven months pregnant but still tall (by High-Elven standards) and elegant, Lissomny calls to her chambermaids to have her second-cousin Filigren granted entry to her private chambers.

“Have you read the documents I had couriered to you? Do you agree to these terms?”

The shorter elf sneers in response.

“A marriage of convenience. I gain a sizable share of your wealth and my family name is elevated back into the upper echelons of Glendorian society. What’s not to understand?”

Lissomny Sighs. 

“And in exchange, you marry me and promise to claim this child as your own and never reveal their true origin?”

Filigren scowls. 

“Yes, yes, I’ll pretend your half-cast brat is mine but when his true heritage is eventually revealed and this charade is finally over, I’ll still expect you to continue financing my, soon to be lavish, lifestyle.”

Lissomny sighs again. 

“Unlike you, I’m an Elf of my word but, if my son ever does discover the truth and I find out that it was you who told him or were behind it in any way, there will be nowhere for you to hide and I will have you killed.”

For the first time since entering Lissomny’s chamber, Filigren’s sour expression pales.

“I swear, if and when the time finally comes, it’ll not’ve been me who told your mongrel son the awful truth.”

Optimistic Session Planning

Assuming the best:

9am, Sunday morning, the 21st of September, 2025.

Will you manage to reach Lord Urdurel?

Risk free Goodies

Considering you got nothing from the six Displacer beast pack, it only seems fair that I was generous in other areas.

From Rifkin’s satchel:

Mir Hundur got a collar (medallion) of Natural attack +3

Liga Bur got a scroll of Heat metal  

From the Lightning tree:

Murmul goat a full set of Horseshoes of speed.

Fortu got a pair of Gauntlets of Ogre power +2

From Magritte:

Potions of 

4 x Cure Light Wounds 1d8+1 

2 x Cure Medium Wounds 2d8+3

1 x Cure Serious Wounds 3d8+5

2 x Delay Poison

2 x Barkskin +2AC (10 minutes)

1 x Bear’s Endurance +4 con (1 minute)

1 x Bull’s Strength +4 str (1 minute)

1 x Cat’s Grace +4 Dex (1 minute)

2 x Lesser Restoration 

(Although we’ve suddenly got a situation where two of the three characters can cast these spells themselves, we can argue who takes what potion next session, but up until then, Rifkin puts them in his satchel for safe keeping.

Update your character sheets and Scott, take this opportunity to un-disable poor Liga Bur and fix Dijonn.

Innocence Lost

Lamenta’s beloved and kind-hearted mother, Lady Dulcetta had died at just thirty-three years of age. As cruel fate would have it, precisely the same age as Lord Urdurel had been when they’d first met and fallen in love. Since her death though, everything had changed dramatically for the worse.

Life in a cage, no matter how gilded, is mere existence. Since her Mother’s premature death, her Father, Lord Urdurel had cut her off from everything and everyone she’d known, except for her Mother’s now, long-in-the-fang, deer-hound; Belvedere. Her Father treated her as if she were suddenly too delicate to face the world, as if she were made of the fragilest crystal. A situation that had only grown more wretched since her Father suddenly remarried a woman with obvious evil intent, even though he seemed completely incapable of seeing it. He was infatuated with his dark-locked and voluptuous new bride, to the point that he hadn’t even seemed that interested in her newborn half-brother; Briefadel.

Lord Urdurel, under the thrall of Hetzabah, had returned to his warring ways, blind to the objections of his advisors or the suffering of his own people.

Lady Lamenta’s life had been reduced down to that of little more than a prisoner, kept hidden away in her dead Mother’s tower under lock and key. She was sixteen now but there was nothing sweet about her situation.

The Commander of the guard; Captain Aglet had recently halved her protection detail, on the instructions of her step-mother but then immediately reinstated it, on the orders of her suspicious Father, with twice the number of men as before. He’d even stationed an armed guard immediately outside her bedroom chamber door. 

This was the second week and there was a change in soldiers. Her new door guard; Padrik, was fair-haired, fresh-faced and handsome, perhaps only a year or two older than herself. Even though she knew he was instructed to keep his eyes to himself, she couldn’t help teasing him with glimpses of a bare ankle or an, accidentally revealed, shoulder.

That night though, something was wrong. She’d changed into her nightgown and stepped over the multiple, concentric, magical protection circles etched around her Mother’s old bed and wriggled under the silk sheets. With her big, old dog lying at her feet, her dreams were no longer haunted by evil witches or giant, shadowy horses, but Lamenta still felt a cold wave of anxiety in her stomach as Belvedere abruptly twitched awake and started to growl. 

Slipping quietly out of bed and heading to the iron caged balcony, she thought of the young man standing guard just outside her door. She knew he wasn’t allowed to leave his post but she needed someone close. Then, in the darkness of the walled garden below, she saw a flash of a steel blade and could hear someone beginning to scale the wall. The balcony was protected and her windows were barred but certain magics could easily overcome mundane iron, no matter how thick.

Paralysed with fear, she tightly clutches her loyal hound in fear and calls out.

“Guard! Guard!”

Almost immediately, Lamenta sees the shadow of her young protector fall across the frosted glass panels of her bedchamber door and she hears him whisper…

“My Lady?”

Then, before she can reply, another shadow looms up behind him on the other side of her bedroom door, followed immediately by the splatter of Padrik’s dark arterial blood across the glass. 

This is when the sixteen-year-old Lady Lamenta screams, 

Despite his advanced age, the boney but still pony-sized Belvedere stands bravely, fangs bared and hackles raised, between his young Mistress and the door, but when the two black-clad Assassins pass like smoke through the, still locked, barrier, there’s nothing the dog can do beyond dying by their wickedly curved blades.

Lasting barely a few moments longer than her slaughtered dog, despite her pleading, Lamenta‘s pitiful screams are quickly silenced by the merciless killers.

The kind-hearted and innocent young woman’s last words are…

“Father!”

Dulcetta’s Decidedly Deadly Dreams

Happiness is ever elusive and always fleeting and the joy that King Urdurel felt, although sublime, was dependent, absolutely, on the love he felt for his young wife; Dulcetta and consequently, on the love she openly returned to him.

From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he was a changed man. No longer driven by the need for conquest, his raging heart had been instantly quelled to the point of conciliation with those nations he’d so recently waged war upon.

Despite giving up his rightfully earned, battle-won and blood soaked title, the now; Lord Urdurel maintained his castle stronghold in Cottis and still retained power over Stowan and the surrounding conquered kingdoms but now they flourished under his newly benevolent stewardship. 

Then though, after the birth of their perfect daughter and fifteen years of joy and peace, beautiful Dulcetta fell suddenly ill. It was subtle at first, just fractious sleep and fevered dreams. 

She sought solace in her daily horse rides, walking her loyal hound; Belvedere and spending time with her beloved daughter; Lamenta, but nothing soothed her tortured soul, and then, over the next few months, it became worse. Much worse.

Paranoia, violent outbursts and self-harm. She’d awake in the night, drenched in sweat and screaming, as if pursued by black-hearted hags in her terrifying nightmares. 

Despite all Lord Urdurel could do, all the healers, priests and sorcerers he drafted in to help, his beloved wife lost her mind and her enfeebled, frail body soon followed.

After just a few months of failing health and mental anguish, all that was left of Dulcetta, was her grieving fourteen-year-old daughter and a husband, broken and overcome with rage anew.

The Fifteen Year Onslaught

Sitting tall in the saddle atop his large, heavily barded and well trained warhorse, King Urdurel glances sidelong across the first rank of his armoured lancers. They face the opposing army flanked by hundreds of loyal foot-soldiers and archers. This was to be the last battle in his decade-and-a-half campaign. Five of the six kingdoms along his border had already fallen but this final one had proven to be the most resistant.

After each battle, each victory, King Urdurel offered the best of the vanquished a place at his side. All they had to do was swear absolute fealty to him and, when offered the headsman’s axe as the alternative, most did. And so, with each triumph, his army grew considerably larger and more powerful.

Leading his opposition, less than a thousand yards away across the valley, two figures, armoured in the silver their land is renowned for, stand beside the large tent displaying their colours. Two figures of about the same age as King Urdurel was when he killed King Vagitus. A young man and a young woman. Twins. Their army is impressive and large enough to offer a real challenge to his own armed forces. King Urdurel was confident of a victory, but the lay of the land offered no strategic advantage to either side and, regardless of tactics, hundreds, if not thousands of men would die this day.

Much to King Urdurel’s surprise though, the twins mount their horses and, riding under a white flag, without guards, gallop toward him.

Intrigued rather than intimidated, the Stowanian army part before them and, once dismounted, escort them to King Urdurel’s own command tent.

Inside, King Urdurel receives them with only two of his most trusted captains for protection.

The two nobles remove their plumed, silver helmets in the kind of coordinated motion only twins are capable of. They’re both tall and beautiful, with pale blond hair and eyes as blue as sapphires. It’s the young man who speaks first but King Urdurel can hardly drag his gaze away from the young woman. A woman barely half his age.

“King Urdurel, we are here to broker a peace between our Kingdoms.”

King Urdurel laughs.

“Peace? I don’t want peace. I want to see your parents’ heads on spikes. I want to see your skull crushed beneath my iron heel. I want all the fabled silver in your land transferred to my own coffers.”

Then the young woman takes her turn.

“Our parents are dead. My twin brother and I now lead our people and we would not have them die on this field. Take our silver, make our realm a vassal state and rule over us, but don’t let your bloodlust go any further.”

King Urdurel stops laughing.

“Why should I do that? What assurances would I have that you wouldn’t just plot against me from your position of safety?”

It’s the young queen who responds again, her voice sweet but firm.

“You leave my brother; Lucius here to govern in your name and I will submit to you as your prisoner. If my brother makes a move against you, no matter how seemingly insignificant or subtle, you can have my head.”

Taking her in, from her delicate features to her slender but obviously shapely frame under her ornate armour, King Urdurel stops, amazed with himself that he’s actually considering her proposition.

“What is your name?”

The beautiful young woman, sensing a glimmer of hope, smiles faintly for the first time. A smile so warm, so disarming, that King Urdurel’s heart seems to stop mid- beat within his chest.

“My name? My name is Dulcetta.”