The Golden Key: From the Casebook of Nigel Spenser (Updated 9/16)

[Kid Charlemagne]

We're using Iron Kingdoms firearms rules, though none of us are the gun types, really. This is the second campaign eris404 has run in this particular universe (previous one was set in 1875), though the first was before Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, so no Raven King stuff in that one... I'm worried to death that our actions in that game (and specifically mine) may come back to haunt us in this one.

From a player's perspective (and I'll let eris404 add detail if she chooses), the tech is somewhat behind actual Victorian times as a result of the existence of magic. I'd say firearms are 50-75 years behind what they'd be in real-life 1888. No (or few) six-shooters, and things like that.

We haven't run into anything yet that involves more elaborate steam power, so I don't know what rules we'll be using if that comes up.

We're actually hewing pretty close to standard D&D, merely set in an unusual setting and flavored-up to feel Victorian. Eris404 has a neat concept with "Urban Barbarians" that makes perfect sense when you think about it.

 

[eris404]

This is the second campaign eris404 has run in this particular universe (previous one was set in 1875), though the first was before Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, so no Raven King stuff in that one... I'm worried to death that our actions in that game (and specifically mine) may come back to haunt us in this one.

heh.

From a player's perspective (and I'll let eris404 add detail if she chooses), the tech is somewhat behind actual Victorian times as a result of the existence of magic. I'd say firearms are 50-75 years behind what they'd be in real-life 1888. No (or few) six-shooters, and things like that. We haven't run into anything yet that involves more elaborate steam power, so I don't know what rules we'll be using if that comes up.

The only thing I have to add about that is that I was more interested in ease of play than accuracy of certain things. Historical figures and events (or "fluff") are one thing, but translating "realistic" firearms into d20 rules is another thing entirely. KidCharlemagne's setting uses the Iron Kingdom rules for firearms and I play a gun mage in that setting, so I went with what I knew already.

In the first campaign, I did have steam engines (locomotives) that were powered by captured elementals. This was pre-Eberron, so I might actually have an excuse now to buy that setting and plunder it shamelessly for such things. I love anything that has to do with clockwork, cogs and robots, so I can't resist putting in some magical clockwork here and there, though I'm not sure that I'll be using the warforged.

We're actually hewing pretty close to standard D&D, merely set in an unusual setting and flavored-up to feel Victorian. Eris404 has a neat concept with "Urban Barbarians" that makes perfect sense when you think about it.

Again, I wanted to stick with what I knew - I love D&D, I just wanted to do something a little different with it. It's pretty easy to change the window dressing and make all the familiar things seem different.

I just wanted to add that I feel a little flattered by the attention this thread has gotten. The writing is all KidCharlemagne's, so I can't take any credit for that, but I'm glad that people like the setting enough to post comments and questions.

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Well, we are (mostly) vulgar Americans.

That's mostly Americans, BTW. We're totally vulgar.

I would expect nothing less.

**Wanders off to don tweed suit and gaze lovingly at an ancient map from the days when the sun never set on the British Empire and bounders from the colonies knew their place ... **



Seriously, I remain very impressed with everything about this storyhour - setting, characters and the writing. I look forward to more about all of it.

 

[Kid Charlemagne]

Nigel took a swipe at Iron Tusk’s ankle, hoping to topple the burly Orkling, but he deftly lept back and scampered to the peak of the roof.

“Let’s see if ye can catch me,” Iron Tusk growled with an unpleasant grin. He disappeared onto the opposite side of the peaked roof.

Nigel swore under his breath, and clambered up the rest of the way onto the roof. When he reached the peak, Iron Tusk was just reaching the edge of the roof. He lept casually the ten feet to the next roof and stopped at the next peak, looking over his shoulder at Nigel.

Kendra let out a cry from above. From the street below, Orla saw IronTusk on the roof and began to climb up after the Orkling and Nigel. Sandor and Artimis came running out of the brothel moments later.

“He’s on the roof,” Orla cried, from about the second floor of the building. She was not as good a climber as Nigel, and her progress was slower.

Artimis and Sandor ran along the alleyway, trying to keep an eye on Iron Tusk as he lept from roof to roof. Nigel drew his two hand axes, and began to make his way down the slop of the first roof. A shingle came loose under his foot, and he fell, sliding towards the edge and a thirty foot drop.

With barely a moment to spare, Nigel drove one of his axes into the roof of the building, like a mountain climber on a glacier. The axe stuck, and his momentum halted just before he would have gone over the side. He stood back up, and gingerly jumped to the next roof. Having found his footing, he managed the next jump fairly easily.

Sandor watched Iron Tusk make another leap, and hurled a dagger in his direction. It clattered off the stone wall, missing by inches. Artimis advanced to the next building. Orla finally pulled herself up onto the first roof, but she was three houses behind Iron Tusk and Nigel.

Nigel lept onto the next house, and here it looked as if Iron Tusk was going to make a stand. The Orkling was working himself into a seething,angry, rage, and switched his table leg from one hand to the other, grinning madly in anticipation as Nigel clambered up to meet him. The two faced off against each other, straddling the peak of the roof.

“Now, I’m gonna take ye down a peg or two, little man,” Iron Tusk grumbled. “I’ll….yawn…”

Iron Tusk let out a deep yawn, and fell fast asleep in mid-sentence. Below him in the alley, Artimis passed a hand across one of his tattoos, and grinned a satisfied grin.

Iron Tusk hit the roof, and went sliding down to his own thirty foot drop. Nigel reached out, and with a single blow from his axe, drove the axe head through Iron Tusk’s wool coat, and into the roof. Iron Tusk went flying off the roof, and the wool coat tore, but not completely. It held, and the Orkling was suspended thirty feet off the ground, held up only by his own ratty overcoat and Nigel’s axe. The table leg clattered onto the cobblestones below.

Nigel sat at the very edge of the roof, cross-legged, with one hand on the haft of the axe. He waited for Iron Tusk to wake up, patiently. Orla made it to the roof opposite, and groaned in disappointment, having been looking forward to a good dust-up. Sandor and Artimis waited below, in case the Orkling fell.

Finally, Iron Tusk stirred, suddenly thrashing about wildly as he got his bearings. A faint tearing sound from his coat caught his ear, and he realized his predicament. It did nothing for his mood.

“I’d suggest you not struggle too much,” Nigel said calmly, his hand placed gently on the haft of the axe holding Iron Tusk’s coat, and by extension, him, in place. “It’s quite a ways down.”

“I don’t care!” the Orkling yelled. “I’ll kill ye! Every last fooking one a ye!”

He thrashed about some more, trying in vain to reach the eaves over his head, but his coat was bunched up under his arms, and he couldn't reach far enough.

"We don't particularly care about you," Orla said, matter-of-factly. "We're just interested in recovering some things you've stolen."

"So why are young hanging out here instead of at your house?"

Iron Tusk seethed, practically foaming at the mouth. "Dunna wanna get sick, do I? Bloody hell!"

Sandor shrugged. "Can't argue with his logic," he said to Artimis.

"We know you paid Balthazar to get Melthorpe into his shop after hours," Nigel said. "But who paid you? And why?"

"What the fook do I care why?" Iron Tusk howled. "Cyranthus wanted that key and book, and I just do what I'm told!"

His belligerence was starting to take a toll on him. The thrashing slowed, and Iron Tusk stopped trying to reach behind his head for the roof.

"Where's he?" Nigel asked. "And what did he want with the key… and book?"

"Hell if I know. Probably at the house. He gave the stuff to a priest, one of those freaks that follows the Five."

"Where is the house?" Nigel moved the handle of the axe slightly, and Iron Tusk's coat ripped a little bit more.

"Highgate," Iron Tusk answered.

Nigel looked down at Artimis and Sandor, and they nodded. He backed off from Iron Tusk, and let the Orkling gain his bearings. Iron Tusk climbed down the wall of the building, found his dropped table leg, and slipped away into the night. Nigel and Orla climbed down to join Sandor and Artimis.

"What is this 'Five' he spoke of?" Sandor asked.

"It's a really old religious sect, maybe Fey-related," Orla replied. "I don't know much, it's not really my thing. It's a group of gods, they're known as The Five, or The Family."

"Let me see." Orla closed her eyes in concentration. "Daughter of Spring, Mother of Summer, Son of Autumn, Father of Winter, and The Bastard. They don't have names, they're just known as 'The Daughter' and so on."

Nigel wasn't paying attention to Orla's explanation. He was searching the alley for something. Finally, he stopped with a cry of discovery, and dug into a trash pile, pulling out a fish skeleton wrapped in newsprint. He shook out the bones, and straightened the paper out on the cobblestones.

British Museum Burglarized!
Public Outraged! Police Baffled!
Young Librarian Beaten Within An Inch Of His Life; Stolen Book "History of John Uskglass" Thought To Be Forgery
Scotland Yard remains at a loss to explain the mysterious break-in at the British Museum this past weekend. Gerald Wist, museum librarian, was beaten severely by an intruder who left with a recently discovered manuscript, "The History of John Uskglass," which purported to be the history of the legendary Raven King, but which Museum authorities had believed to be a forgery...​

"You know," Nigel ruminated. "I think I really should have seen that coming."

 

[Kid Charlemagne]

And that brings us current to the end of Session One, with Session Two this Saturday! Off to Highgate, a district of London known for hills, and for Highgate Cemetary. I'm sure that last bit isn't important at all...

 

[Arrgh! Mark!]

This is so incredibly cool.

 

[Matchstick]

As a long time admirer of KC's work, I'm not at all surprised at how much I'm enjoying these stories. Take a great chronicler and let him write in an interesting and compelling setting and this is a sure fire winner.

Excellent stuff eris and Kid.

 

[Kid Charlemagne]

Hey, Matchstick, good to see you again! And welcome, Argh! Mark, as well Glad you're enjoying it... We just had our second session, which included a new PC joining our intrepid band, some fighting, some investigating, and a PC running down the streets of London with a stirge sticking out of his neck...

EDIT: Went back and edited in a few names changes - Cyranthus' name spelling, it's Gerald Wist, not Simon, etc. Nothing major.

 

[Kid Charlemagne]

The Sick House

Flagging down a hansom at such a late hour proved a challenge, but eventually one was found. The investigators determined that their next step should be to visit Iron Tusk's house – or perhaps to be more accurate, Cyrathus' house. First, however, Nigel insisted on returning to his rooms in order to pick up some more items of use. The cabbie was none too thrilled at the long, roundabout route he was being asked to take his fare.

"This ain't the way to Highgate, guv'nor," he insisted.

"I'll just be a moment," Nigel replied.

Finally, the building were Nigel kept rooms loomed ahead in the foggy darkness of London. Nigel hopped out of the hansom, and then stopped dead at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Out of the murky mist stepped a man in a dark overcoat, dressed as a physician, or perhaps an undertaker. The stranger stopped a few steps away.

"Forgive me for startling you," the man said. "Peabody from Lloyd's sent me, to see if I could assist in your investigations. I assume you are Mr. Spenser? My name is Henry Holmes. Doctor Henry Holmes."

Nigel's looked at him curiously. "Holmes?"

"No relation," he responded. "I get asked that a lot."

"I'm an American," he continued, as if his accent weren't evidence enough.

"Well, I suppose we could use the help," Nigel said. "Especially a doctor's help. We've apparently got some sick folk on our hands."

Nigel introduced Dr. Holmes to the others, who explained their current situations, and then ran upstairs for a few moments. When he came back down, he was carrying two bundles, one about five feet long, and another half that size. He climbed back into the hansom. Dr. Holmes climbed up next to the cabbie, and began asking questions about Highgate, and about the Family. The cabbie was quite well-informed, in the manner of a man used to talking about London, and knew quite a lot about the old religion.

"Yoo see," the cabbie explained, "the Church of Holy Family is something the Raven King brought from Faerie. Eech of the Family has their holy animals and such. The Father's is the owl, the Mother's is the rabbit, the Son's is the fox, the Daughter's is the robin, and the Bastard's is the raven."

"I see," said Dr. Holmes, encouraging him to continue. He rubbed his hands together to keep them warm in the chilly London fog as the horse's hooves clattered monotonously.

"Now, there are two groops 'oo worship the Family," the cabbie said. "Yoo've got the Quintarians, 'oo think all five o' the Family are holy, and yoo've got yoor Quatarians, who think that only four are. Yoo see, the father of the Bastard is a demon."

"That must make Christmas awkward," Dr. Holmes replied.

"Aye. The Quatarians think the Bastard is a demon 'imself. They've been known to jump Quintarians and coot off their thoombs to make a point of it."

"Lovely," the Doctor replied.

Highgate Cemetery loomed in the darkness ahead of them, with a sign helpfully proclaiming that visitation hours were from sunrise to sunset. The five investigators disembarked from the hansom, and paid the cabbie an extra few schillings for his trouble so late at night.

Nigel unwrapped his bundles, which turned out to be a longbow and a quiver of arrows.

"Big game hunting?" Orla asked with a smirk.

"Can never be too careful," Nigel said, testing the bowstring. "Besides, it's a traditional English weapon. I was on the archery team at Oxford."

Orla rolled her eyes, and the five began looking for the Green Dagger hideout. After an hour or so of looking, they had narrowed the choices down to one likely suspect. It was an old dilapidated mansion, with a small carriage house attached, with large stable doors drawn shut. A good number of the windows on the first floor were boarded up, and Sandor found the few that weren't to be so dirty that nothing inside could be made out.

Over the carriagehouse, a single flickering light could be seen. Nigel decided to risk climbing up to the second floor to try and peer inside. He started up the wall, but his foot slipped on the drain pipe, and he went totally still, waiting and hoping no one inside had heard.

The light moved closer to the window near Nigel, and then drew back quickly. Nigel dropped to the ground near Sandor and cursed under his breath.

"I think someone saw me," he said. "I saw a face."

"Well, might as well go in if they know we're here," Doctor Holmes said, and with that he stepped up to the front door. He pounded on the door.

"Health department!"

Artimis stepped up to the stable doors, and slid them open with some effort. It was totally dark, but he could hear the noise of wings flapping, like pigeons disturbed by the noise. He peered into the darkness, but couldn't clearly make out anything.

Sandor and Nigel joined Holmes and Artimis at the front of the house. Orla drew her rapier.

"This isn't quite how I hoped this would go," she said. "The entire Green Dagger gang is probably on the other side of that door waiting for us."

"Wait," Doctor Holmes said, and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small rat, whom he set down near the door. It wriggled under the front door, and after a moment the Doctor smiled.

"It's clear," he said, and threw open the door. Orla and Nigel stepped inside.

The room was dark, and filled with debris. Doors stood to either side, and directly in front of the front door was a set of double doors. They once no doubt were quite impressive, but time and age had taken their toll. Now, their only decoration was a pair of crudely painted green daggers, one on each. The Doctor spoke a few words under his breath, and then the lantern that they were using for light lifted into the air of its own accord and floated into the room.

With a gesture, Doctor Holmes directed the lantern. Orla stepped to the left hand door, and opened it. It opened into a hall, and the first door gave off an odor of death and decay so strong she dared not open it.

"Next door," she said to Nigel, and cautiously stepped into the hall. Holmes' rat scurried down the hall ahead of her and around the corner.

Sandor tried the double doors, and on opening them just a fraction of an inch, heard the sounds of claws skittering across a bare wood floor. He slammed the doors back shut, and quickly lashed them shut with a small length of rope. Something smashed against the doors from the other side, and the doors bulged outward, but the rope held.

"Dogs!" Sandor yelped. "Big dogs!"

Artimis had had enough of trying to see the source of the flapping noises in the carriage house. He spoke a word, and the shaft of one of his arrows began to glow. He fired it into a rafter in the center of the room.

He now had a better look at the source of the noise. There were six small flying creatures, each the size of a small hawk. Their wings were bat-like, and they had beaks that looked like long, bony syringes.

"Oh, dear Lord," the Doctor proclaimed. Inside the house, the lantern fell to the floor as his concentration shifted. It landed upright, but went out, throwing the room into darkness.

The creatures flew out at Artimis and Doctor Holmes. One landed on Artimis and jammed it's needle-like beak into his shoulder, drawing a great gulp of blood out. Another landed on the Doctor, and thrust it's proboscis into his neck.

Artimis and the Doctor both responded with encantations, barely cast through the pain and blood. Several of the foul vermin fell fast asleep, but of course neither of the two that were attached to them. The one on Artimis took flight only to be replaced by another. Orla ran out of the house, and skewered one with her rapier, and Nigel shot an arrow clear through the one that had just detached from Artimis, showering Doctor Holmes with Artimis' blood. The Doctor fled, stumbling down the street with the bat-like thing sticking out of his neck.

Nigel drew back an arrow, but held to see if someone else could better help the Doctor.

Sandor stepped out of the house, and weighed his options. He didn't like the idea of trying to strike the thing off of Doctor Holmes with one of his knives, but took careful aim and tried anyway. The dagger flew wide and to the right.

Nigel let his arrow fly, and it struck the creature full in it's torso, tearing it off of Holmes' shoulder and neck. The Doctor held his hand to his neck as he collapsed against the wall, nearly unconscious.

Artimis helped him stop the bleeding, and the returned to the house. The hall Orla had seen merely went around the corner and into the stable. Another door opened into a dining room, and Nigel saw a glint of light through a painting on the wall. He stepped up to it, and found that it concealed a door, and through the cracks of the door he could see several Orklings sleeping, their breathing raspy and shallow.

They tried the right-hand door, still avoiding the double doors which were still being shaken and rattled by the dogs beyond them. Orla advanced cautiously, carefully examining the floorboards as she approached a door on her left.

"I don't think we're likely to find any traps in here," Nigel said.

Orla opened the door, and stepped into the small room beyond. A heavy spiked ball, like the end piece for a flail fell down from above the door way and smashed into the fencer's head, drawing blood.

She glared back at Nigel.

"Umm," he stammered. "Scratch that last bit."

 

[Amy]

One minor quibble:



Not even the Telegraph would use a vulgar Americanism like "Burglarized"!

Hmm, how about "burgled"? Now that's a Britishism.

--Sandor the Knife-Thrower