Things are escalating quickly in the Fiefdom of Nurien. Welcome back, dear reader! Today marks a very special episode of Essryd’s adventures on the Misty Ilse of Hârn. I always have a safety net below my characters when I do a solo campaign, and I always just let them perish when nothing else remains. This time I resorted to means so stange, I never did before.
WARNING: The following part of the campaign features violent and bloody scenes. Please be aware that it is not suitable for minors. I also have to add that is not suited for audiences who are sensible for depiction mental disorders.
Scene #20 – Sometimes the worst place you can be is your head
5 Kelén 720 TR
Upon waking, an unshakable sense of foreboding grips Essryd. She realizes she has neglected a crucial detail: the conspicuous pattern of retribution now linking her to perilous consequences. Someone might discern the string-puller behind these deaths, placing herself and everything dear in jeopardy.
Ynyr, Earl Denyl Lynnaeus, and her advisories’ warnings echo ominously. Her pursuit of vengeance, clouded by fury, has left her vulnerable. Sitting half-dressed on her bed, trembling, she pounds her fists against her head, chastising herself for the reckless folly of her actions—a stark reminder of youthful impetuousness in a game where missteps are lethal.
“You stupid little girl!”
Yet, a relentless determination grips Essryd’s mind, overriding caution and foresight. The singular focus is revenge, at any cost. Rational thought dissolves under this consuming fire—it becomes now or never to sever the clear thread of simultaneous deaths linked to her family’s demise.
Tonight, she resolves, will be the final act to close that chapter definitively.
With renewed purpose, Essryd finishes dressing and strides into the courtyard, where Segric’s call halts her progress. He conveys his awareness of recent murders in Techen, with local guards on high alert. Uncertain if she has left a trace for Segric to suspect, Essryd adopts an air of innocent ignorance.
As she proceeds towards the stables, Segric’s scrutinizing gaze follows her every step, intensifying the tension. To Gwawl Mower, the ostler, Essryd announces her return after nightfall, attempting to mask the tremor in her voice with a composed demeanor.
En route to Techen, reality strikes: it is too early for her planned action. Overwhelmed by panic and indecision, she seeks refuge in the woods, waiting for dusk.
There, amidst the cold breeze chilling her breath, Essryd feels tears escape, a stark reminder of her vulnerability. Her inner daemons fiercely reprimands her:
“No! Not now, stupid child! Show no weakness!”
Hour after hour drags on, but eventually Essryd judges the moment opportune. Her resolve rekindled by darkness, she prepares to proceed.
Scene #21 – Accept my offerings this night …
5 Kelén 720 TR
Urging her steed gently, Essryd approaches Techen’s outskirts, locating a secure spot for tethering it until she completes her task and returns to Nurien Keep.
With practiced ease, she secures everything for a swift departure. Navigating the familiar shadows of Sigeric Carucenus’ estate, Essryd’s stealth is suddenly compromised: guards patrol the premises. One guard murmurs about an unsettling sound from the alley—exactly where Essryd has concealed herself.
Her heart pounding, she remains perfectly still, blending into the darkness as their conversation continues.
“Calm down! Calm down! Sssssh! They are not talking about you!”
Firmly gripping the dagger that ended her kin’s lives, Essryd prepares to strike should the guards near, her mind steeled with the conviction that these infidels shall face Balgashang’s cleansing wrath. In this moment of heightened tension, every sense is acute as she awaits their next move.
Relieved by the guards’ apparent disinterest, Essryd meticulously observes their patrol patterns: timing their rounds, identifying gaps in coverage, and plotting her ingress.
With precise calculation, she seizes a brief window of opportunity—literally and figuratively—as the guards commence another lap. She darts from her concealment, utilizes a nearby barrel as a makeshift ladder, and swiftly scales to an ajar windowsill, slipping inside with practiced agility.
Moving silently like a feline shadow, Essryd navigates the darkened chamber towards an occupied bed. The silhouette beneath the blanket reveals a slumbering woman. Adapting swiftly to the dim light, Essryd identifies her target, every movement calculated with lethal precision.
“No time for art! Sting like a scorpion! Kill swiftly, child!”
Upon confronting the grim tableau before her, Essryd is positioned before the bed drenched in blood, its once serene setting now a stark testament to violence. Her visage, usually marked by beauty, is grotesquely transformed under crimson splatters, a silent scream frozen in her expression. The sudden sound of approaching footsteps sends a jolt through her. Could it be Sigeric? With heightened alertness, Essryd readies her dagger, though she harbors no intention to grant him the swift mercy afforded his companion.
As the door swings open and a gravelly male voice inquires about the safety of his wife, Essryd acts with calculated precision. In a fluid motion, she secures Sigeric from behind, her cold grip on his chin as the dagger presses ominously against his throat. Recognition flickers in Sigeric’s wide eyes, betraying a mix of shock and dread. He remains silent, the perilous edge of Essryd’s weapon ensuring compliance.
Without hesitation, she procures a gag and silences him further before forcefully pushing him back into the room from which he emerged. The scene is one of controlled aggression, each action underscored by an unspoken message: defiance in this chamber comes at a lethal cost.
In the haze that engulfs Essryd’s consciousness, reality blurs into a crimson miasma. Emerging from this stupor, time becomes an elusive concept; seconds or minutes dissolve in the thick fog of her trauma. She finds herself prostrate on all fours amidst a gruesome sea, her hair matted and soaked with blood. Overwhelmed, her body betrays itself as she retches violently, the contents of her stomach adding to the visceral horror surrounding her.
“It is all good, child! It is just the …”
With a raw, agonized scream, Essryd demands silence against the cacophony of unseen voices. In this heightened state of shock, she lifts her head, her senses momentarily sharpened by fear and urgency. The sounds from above hint at the presence of guards; realization propels her into action.
In a desperate maneuver, she bolts toward the window, vaulting herself into the night with little regard for the peril below. A searing pain grips her as she lands awkwardly, her foot snapping under the impact. Ignoring the agony, Essryd limps urgently into the enveloping darkness of the woods. Her horse, a glimmer of hope amidst chaos, awaits—each step toward it a testament to her sheer willpower.
Upon reaching Nurien, the sanctuary provided by her steadfast horse becomes Essryd’s anchor. Leaning heavily on its sturdy neck, she finds herself attended by the diligent ostler and a concerned stable boy, their hands moving with practiced care to offer aid. Distant but persistent, a voice calls for Moire, imploring for her well-being in the midst of this turmoil.
The chaos around Essryd coalesces into a blinding blur as her consciousness teeters on the edge of collapse, the overwhelming ordeal rendering everything else indistinct and distant.
In the dim light of a familiar chamber, a soothing voice gently eases Essryd’s frayed nerves as she realizes her vulnerability—naked in a bathtub with water stained a deep crimson by remnants of blood. Moire’s touch is delicate and deliberate; with a soft sponge, she meticulously washes away the grim reminders of that tumultuous night, each stroke a tender act of solace.
The cleansing ritual transforms Essryd’s physical state from one of grotesque aftermath to a semblance of calm, albeit haunted by the echoes of recent events.
Scene #22 – … and bless their flesh with your searing kiss
6 Kelén 720 TR
Awakening from a fitful slumber, Essryd’s senses are immediately attuned to the sounds outside—horns blaring ominously and guards on watchtowers shouting with urgency. The darkness suggests either an impending dawn or the persistent gloom of nightfall, leaving her momentarily disoriented.
Moire’s arrival at her bedside is accompanied by heart-wrenching tears as she stammers the dire news: Nurien Keep is under siege. Compelled to act, Essryd grasps Moire’s shoulders firmly, endeavoring to inject calm amidst the turmoil. With a focused command, she instructs Moire to fetch her casual attire and her sword, preparing for whatever confrontations lie ahead.
With determination etched across her face, Essryd prepares for the imminent challenges awaiting outside the keep’s walls. She instructs Moire to gather essential provisions: necessary clothing, a modest sum of money for sustenance, and food supplies.
Adding strategic directives, she directs Moire to secure her horse from the stable and utilize the secret exit leading into the woods. Essryd reveals an old refuge—an abandoned silver mine north of Nurien—as a sanctuary detailed to her by her father since childhood. This hidden enclave is intended as a lifeline, a place where Essryd and now Moire must seek solace until the storm of siege subsides.
“Leave the slave behind! Rescue yourself, you are worth far more than she will ever be! You are …”
Moire’s heart wrenches as she witnesses Essryd lash out, striking herself with the pommel of her sword while screaming for respite from unseen tormentors—her mind a battleground of fear and fatigue. In a gesture of compassion, Moire reaches out tenderly, attempting to soothe the tempest within Essryd.
With tears brimming in her eyes, reflecting the terror and vulnerability of a hunted creature, Essryd assures Moire with a strained composure that she will manage. Her firm directive is clear: Moire must flee towards safety, avoiding any return to Nurien unless they reunite at the specified silver mine. For further sanctuary, Essryd maps out a strategic retreat—advancing down the Thard River by ferry, ultimately reaching Kanday where safety might still hold sway.
With resolute purpose, Essryd exits Nurien Keep to confront the sight before her: a contingent of Techens’ soldiers and hired mercenaries assembled with deliberate menace. At their rear, Earl Lenesque sits astride his horse, issuing terse commands that echo through the early morning air.
As her presence is noted, the earl’s gaze hardens, and he directs a biting remark toward her. He announces, with an air of official cruelty, that by the King’s decree and at the behest of the Earlom of Techen, Essryd of House Gehwær stands accused as a traitor to the crown. Her extradition and subsequent execution are now mandated by royal edict.
Unbowed, Essryd’s voice rises defiantly as she challenges the earl’s proclamation, daring him to settle their grievances through a duel—woman against his perceived cowardice. The Earl, momentarily caught off guard by her audacity, grants her an hour to contemplate the gravity of the King’s demands—a chilling reprieve before the inevitable confrontation.
With a sense of solemn duty, Essryd approaches Segric Gllâome and issues a decisive command: he must orchestrate the evacuation of Nurien Keep, ensuring every inhabitant—from soldiers to villagers, men and women alike—escapes for their lives. She openly acknowledges that it is her actions which have brought this peril upon them.
Segric’s response is steadfast; his allegiance to House Gehwær runs deep, and he refuses to abandon those who stand as kin in spirit if not by blood. Persistently, Essryd tries to sway him, emphasizing the imperative for at least women and children to seek immediate refuge. Her plea crescendos into a fervent cry, underscoring the urgency of saving those most vulnerable.
“Why do you care for those of mean birth? Why do you …”
Overcome by a surge of raw emotion, Essryd’s scream resonates with the primal agony of an injured creature as she collapses to her knees in the cold, yielding earth.
Rising with grim determination, Essryd’s vision blurs through a veil of tears as she steadies herself, her sword poised for the impending battle. The ominous sound of brass horns heralds the royal troops’ advance—a harbinger of violence that melds into an indistinct cacophony of pain, bloodshed, and hallucinatory shadows.
Time loses its grip as Essryd is seized by shoulders; instinctively, she swings her sword only to recognize, with dawning clarity, Segric standing before her—bloodied and bearing wounds but miraculously alive. The once-fortified walls of Nurien and the village now stand as smoldering ruins, a testament to the ruthless destruction that has consumed them.
“Nurien has been razed! It is your fault, stupid girl! It was you who betrayed the family, the heritage, and Agrik! You will always be branded as the failing link in the chain … you are an abomination!”
With a mix of exhaustion and urgency, Segric elucidates his actions: in the chaos, he rendered Essryd unconscious as a desperate measure for her survival, hiding her beneath a concealing layer of hay when all seemed lost. His words bring both relief and newfound anxiety as Essryd surveys the remaining survivors—figures like Gwyngad, Owin, and Gwynefa amidst the dead.
A surge of panic grips her at Moire’s absence until Segric assures her that she is not among the fallen. With a sense of desperate hope, he recounts how Moire has safely gathered his family, Liflour the slave girl from Kanday included, and fled northward from the village’s inferno.
Gazing upon the remnants of Nurien Keep, now reduced to charred embers, Essryd addresses the survivors with a heavy heart, urging them to salvage whatever wealth remains and flee for their lives. She absolves them from any further allegiance to Nurien or House Gehwær, her voice breaking with emotion as she seeks their forgiveness before sinking to the ground in a mixture of physical and emotional collapse.
Segric’s steadfast support helps Essryd rise once more; together, leaning on each other, they depart northward, leaving behind the ruins that were once their home.
“Damn you, you stupid girl!”
Scene #23 – Farewell
In the depths of the long-abandoned silver mine, once the domain of her family’s endeavors, Essryd discovers a concealed chest bearing a letter from her father. This missive serves as a cryptic yet poignant beacon in times of distress, echoing his admonition to seek refuge and strength within its walls if ever circumstances demanded. Inside, she unearthes approximately 5000 pennies and a more than substantial bond, evidence of a financial deposit—a precautionary measure her father had evidently orchestrated years prior, hinting at his foresight in preparing for dire eventualities.
Most revered Uncle Ynyr,
this missive bears a burdensome tale, which it grieves me sorely to impart. Alas, a calamity has befallen Nurien, of which I must confess myself culpable in full measure. Village and Keep are consumed by flames. In the tempestuous storm of my wrathful longing for retribution—borne from the lamentable demise of kin and thy noble brother—I spurned thine own sagacious counsel, along with that of Earl Lynnaeus, to embrace tranquillity.
Blinded by hubris and a false sense of secrecy, I pursued vindictive actions believing myself sufficiently obscured. Thus, our adversaries were emboldened, finding the pretext they craved to strike without fear of broader noble reproach.
Having dispensed the remaining sustenance among those who survived, I have absolved them from any further obligations to Nurien Keep and House Gehwær. The hours ahead shall be spent ensuring their safe passage across the treacherous Thard River, an endeavor we once perceived as crossing into enemy territory, though now it serves as a desperate bid for sanctuary. Our true foes, it dawns upon me, lie closer – within our own liege’s court.
This journey is less a strategic retreat than an escape, driven by my inner turmoil and self-inflicted guilt. My slave Moire, steadfast in her loyalty, refuses to forsake me. Her insistence on accompanying this forlorn endeavour speaks of her unwavering resolve, even as it adds another burden to my soul.
I beseech thee, dear uncle, to withhold harsh judgment, for I am already my own stern critic. My transgressions cannot be righted; yet in safeguarding Moire on this perilous flight, I find a meager penance for my sins. Thus, we proceed—an exiled remnant bound by duty and the lingering hope of redemption.
I now deem the name Rethem a bane rather than boon. Should fortune permit, I shall write when safe haven or new path is found.
Yours ever in humility,
Essryd
P.S. Grandfather’s shield and sword are secreted in an old silver mine’s cache, north of the Keep; likewise hidden be my findings on Earl Lenesque, for your perusal and that of Earl Denyl Lynnaeus.
As Essryd completes her epistle to her uncle, she seeks an update from Moire on the state of their collective preparations for departure. Moire informs her that Segric and his family are fully prepared, having successfully gathered additional survivors in the vicinity of the silver mine. They have collectively resolved to follow Essryd’s party as they traverse the Thard River into Kanday.
An hour passes and this disparate group of Nurien Keep survivors gathers to commence their perilous journey, Essryd’s pragmatic spirit takes charge. She allots 2000 pennies from the chest to herself and Moire while judiciously distributing the remainder among her fellow travelers. This gesture of shared resources aims to bolster their collective prospects in Kanday.
Under the cover of nightfall, they set forth towards the Thard River with Essryd leading. Her knowledge guides them to a ferry station operational at dawn, promising safe passage across and into unfamiliar territory.
Fate smiles upon them momentarily as Essryd’s guidance leads the group along an unpatrolled segment of their chosen path beside the Thard River. The moon, partially veiled by drifting clouds, casts intermittent shadows but is sufficient to obscure their movements from any prying eyes. With keen awareness, they conceal themselves in the dense underbrush lining the riverbank, undetected and biding their time until the ferry’s early morning activation.
With the first light of dawn, Essryd deftly negotiates with the ferry operator, securing their passage at a reduced rate. Swift and efficient, they are promptly escorted to the opposite bank of the Thard River, stepping onto Kanday’s soil with palpable relief. Though wary of lingering dangers, the shared sense of accomplishment and the promise of relative safety temporarily eases their collective tension.
Having concluded their extended farewells, the group disperses with clear intentions. Segric and his contingent set forth towards Zerien, aiming to deliberate their subsequent steps in a more settled environment. Meanwhile, Essryd and Moire embark south-eastward, their destination Heroth.
In orchestrating their departure, Essryd advises Moire to take her place on the horse while she shoulders one backpack. To manage their gear efficiently, Essryd secures the second backpack alongside the tent behind Moire’s position on the saddle. With a determined gait, Essryd takes the lead, guiding the horse as Moire rides, the two moving steadily towards their new objective amidst the promise of fresh opportunities and unknown challenges ahead.
To be continued …
As you might notice, this will change a lot for Essryd. I realized that the whole religious fanatism towards Agrik really had a grip on her. Her uncle a member of the Order of the Copper Hook, she who wants to follow in his footsteps but never really was allowed to. The local priest, who always riled her up in an attempt to encourage her sadism and fanatism. And additionally the need to stand her ground to her oppressive older brother Pryderi.
The most heinous and the most cruel crimes of which history has record have been committed under the cover of religion or equally noble motives. – Mahatma Gandhi
See you soon!
Sources used:
– HârnMaster Kèthîra (Keléstia Productions Ltd.)
– Kingdom of Rethem (Columbia Games Inc.)
– Mythic GME 2nd Edition (Word Mill Games)
