Gaunt dead that cannot die

"One hundred years of vampire cinema: opera capes and neck-nuzzling, glowing beauties and monster-kid wish-fulfilment. Gone! The whole lot swallowed up by this eerie bacchanal of sex and death."

That's Alec Worley on Substack, talking about Robert Eggers' 2024 remake of Nosferatu. Personally I found the movie disappointing after Eggers' previous work (especially The Lighthouse and The Northman) and would have spent my time better re-watching Werner Herzog's version or F W Murnau's 1922 original -- both so much eerier. (Spoiler-free review here if you're interested.)

My own preference is for the unglamorous and grave-cold variety of vampire, not the kind that snarls and growls and prowls like a big cat. It's a taste that may have been formed originally by Gerald W Page's short story "Thirst", which swept away my childhood notions of the vampire, acquired from reading Dracula when I was 10 years old*, and gave my teen self an unplugged, proto-punk take on the myth. Mr Page was kind enough to find the time to correspond with aspiring writers like me, so he may have discussed his reasons for wanting to break the mold. When I have time I shall go through his letters (which of course I have kept these fifty-three years) to see what he had to say about the story.

Later in my teens I was inspired by Gryphon's song "The Unquiet Grave" -- not specifically vampiric, admittedly, but chilling all the same with lines like this:

"My lips they are as cold as clay, my breath smells earthy strong,
And if you kiss my cold grey lips, your days they won't be long."

Robert Dale, with his deep knowledge of British folklore, encouraged this predilection with his very chilling depiction of Pyron the reaper, a vampire in the Brymstone campaign. Oliver Johnson a few decades later gave us another feral vampire in his Lightbringers game. This is from the game write-up:

"A pitiful mewling cry came from a thorn thicket to the south of the clearing. It sounded like a small child in distress or perhaps a snared bird. A narrow crawl way snaked deep into the thorns towards the sound. Nafaj squirmed into the tunnel. The thorns snagged cruelly at his clothing and skin. When he was several yards into the thicket, he saw a boyish white face staring back at him down the darkened tunnel of thorns. Though he had steeled himself for such an encounter, his will deserted him as the creature started whispering its blandishments. To his horror he found himself crawling forward. Soon he was next to the vampire. All its limbs had been ripped off; it was but a torso and a head.  The vampire drank Nafaj’s blood and instructed him to return later that night.

"Nafaj emerged from the thicket. The setting sun causing him discomfort, he had thrown the hood of his cloak over his head, but none of the others thought to question why this was. He was carrying a dead bird and explained the noise had been its dying song. The others were eager to be gone from the accursed place, but the marquis’ horse was suddenly lame and this caused a delay. Darkness fell, a temporary camp was made and watches held throughout the night."

The natural habitat of these revenants isn't a Victorian drawing room, nor even a Gothic castle. They are the dead who won't stay quiet, clawing their way up out of the dirt of the graveyard and crawling along ditches and over country lanes because enough of a spark of consciousness remains that they are jealous of the living and want to steal their warmth and lifeblood.

Such walking-corpse vampires can still have uncanny powers, like Gerwin in the Jewelspider scenario "Death Is Only The Beginning" who is able to hide himself from mortal sight after dark, though I prefer them to be nothing more than bloodless cadavers with a raging thirst, like the thing that visits you in your sleep in Workshop of the Gods:

‘Wake up!’

‘My friend... I dreamt a beautiful vampire was about to drink my blood.’

‘Beautiful?’ cries your companion in a voice thick with horror. ‘It is a monster. See!’

You look where he’s pointing and in a split-second you’re on your feet, heart pounding with adrenaline. Because only the vampire’s appearance was a dream. The rest is all too real. You see the vampire now as she really is – not a pale and beautiful woman, but a rotted corpse with maggots writhing in her pock-marked cheeks and lustreless eyes that leak brown slime. Clammy strips of dead flesh hang from her bones. The room is filled with the stench of decay.

She lurches forward, swollen grey fingers reaching for you, her lipless teeth clacking eagerly.

Sleep tight!

* To be fair to Mr Stoker, the Count is not intended to be a typical vampire. His wives and Lucy Westenra present as chillingly inhuman, nearly mindless vessels of simple appetite.

A baker's dozen

There's very little new material released for Dragon Warriors these days, but I prefer to take a goblet-half-full approach, consoling myself with the thought that what is released is of top quality and written and drawn by the best creative team an old-school RPG designer could possibly wish for. Yes, I'm talking about Red Ruin Publishing, whose latest offering is Casket of Fays #13.

If the cover alone isn't enough to tempt you, look at the contents: a couple of adventures (one of them solo, one of them with orcs), rules FAQs, some very useful campfire magic for travellers, a two-part article adding some details to the light-level rules and how they interact with spells, and creatures both new and really old. And you get bonus campaign material about the port of Gatina on the Azure Coast.

What do you have to pay for such riches? This is where the goblet magically runneth over, for Red Ruin are giving it all away for free. (The madness rules are in DW book 5, you'll recall.) Go and clear out the treasure hall now on DriveThruRPG.

Next year is Dragon Warriors' fortieth anniversary. I'd like us to mark it with lots of new stuff -- Robert Dale's brilliant Brymstone campaign for starters. Here's hoping the stars will align.

Everything must go

It's always a wrench having to chuck stuff out. Well, it is for me as I'm a bit of a hoarder. But lately I've had to take an "exterminate all the brutes" attitude to clearing out, so I've given a couple of boxes of gaming treasures to my wife to flog on Ebay. It's that or take them to the tip, and with classics like these that would be a crime. 

There's sets of Imagine, Adventurer, Red Giant (with Brymstone by Robert Dale), and Fantasy Chronicles - including the issue above with Steve Foster's superb Christmas adventure which I still remember us playing in his house on Western Lane.

There are some scenario books, Chaosium games such as Big Rubble, gems like Bushido and Champions, and some figurines. Take a look if you have space for them. I'd like to think they'll go to a good home.

Hear ye! Hear ye!

"There are going to be at least twelve Dragon Warriors books, surely," said the chief sales rep at Transworld as he drove me and Oliver around the country to run demo games for the book buyers.

That was thirty-five years ago, before the distributors messed up (they sent all the copies of DW book 1 to one part of the country, all the copies of book 2 to another) and the foreign rights department turned down a gold-plated deal from Gallimard.

Well, stuff happens. Dragon Warriors stopped at book 6, The Lands of Legend, and one calamitous consequence of that was Robert Dale's brilliant campaign set around the town of Brymstone never reached the wider audience it deserved.

Actually, part of it did get published a few years later. Jamie and I were offered the editorship of a new RPG magazine to be called Red Giant. We turned the job down (the title was the sticking point) but we did recommend the publishers get in touch with Robert about serializing Brymstone.

Red Giant sadly only lasted two issues, but roleplayers had got a glimpse of Brymstone at least. Over the years, its reputation rightly grew. But it's been like finding the Finnesburg Fragment -- until now, because (fanfare please) Serpent King Games have done a deal with Robert Dale to release his complete, definitive, remastered Brymstone. Read about it here.

I gather it's going to be a big book but (continuing last week's theme) none of that is extraneous padding or overscripted acts and beats. It's a true sourcebook packed with everything you'll need to run freeform adventures with Brymstone as a base -- the NPCs, key locations, rivalries, alliances, grudges, folktales, customs, and adventure seeds -- whether or not your player-characters engage with the épine dorsale, namely Robert's compelling central plotline of gathering danger, dread and doom.

Talking of the central plot, the big bad of this book is the Brollachan, a mythical creature with no true form that's said to take the shape of what you most fear -- or those you most trust. I still feel a shudder when I remember our encounters with it in Robert's original campaign. Dragon Warriors players have a treat in store.

Building up a threat

After writing the last post I was looking at William of Newburgh's account of a 12th century revenant. Passages like this have an almost dreamlike matter-of-factness:

"Hastening to the cemetery, they began to dig; and whilst they were thinking that they would have to dig to a greater depth, they suddenly, before much of the earth had been removed, laid bare the corpse, swollen to an enormous corpulence, with its countenance beyond measure turgid and suffused with blood; while the napkin in which it had been wrapped appeared nearly torn to pieces. The young men, however, spurred on by wrath, feared not, and inflicted a wound upon the senseless carcass, out of which incontinently flowed such a stream of blood, that it might have been taken for a leech filled with the blood of many persons. Then, dragging it beyond the village, they speedily constructed a funeral pile; and upon one of them saying that the pestilential body would not burn unless its heart were torn out, the other laid open its side by repeated blows of the blunted spade, and, thrusting in his hand, dragged out the accursed heart. This being torn piecemeal, and the body now consigned to the flames."

I find the same effect in the opening scene of A Serious Man by the Coen Brothers, in which a man may or may not have inadvertently asked a dybbuk home for supper. Anyway, that reminded me to go digging around a little more in the Brymstone material for a couple of descriptions of the Brollachan, who was the Big Bad for that campaign. First we have this sober account left by a scholar called Edlym Whitebeard:

"Long ago, before the awakening of men's hearts to the True Faith, there was found in the far north of this land a strange being left over from the parting of Death and Life. No form had it, save what it could seize, and the men of the North Country feared it, believing it to be a god. At each new moon they sacrificed to it their goods, cattle and even their children. The demon Achferinar took it for a servant and bestowed upon it great gifts of sorcery, yet it was ever wilful and would not answer its master's call when he summoned his servants to the feast of the Breaking. Thus it was that it survived the fate of the old gods and continued to trouble the men of the North. At length Kurnac Mac Dir, whose domain this now was, sent out his heroes to seize and bind the monster. He himself sealed the enchantment by which the Brollachan was sunk in the depths of the sea, to thresh and chafe impotently there and trouble the hills and vales of the middle world no more..."

That we found in a local monk's library, but later in the campaign we received a rather more vernacular description of our adversary from a farmhand who had been sleeping off an evening at the tavern:

"I were dozin' behind this tree by the river, see, 'avin' drunk perhaps more 'an I needed, an' I woke about midnight to see these little goblins carryin' some poor chap out of a boat. Well, there were this tall thin feller on the other bank, an' 'e called across to 'em, sayin' "Bring 'e 'ere, you knows I can't cross". All them goblins started a titterin' an' a-gigglin', an' the poor feller they'd ahold of moaned somethin' fearful, when suddenly this thin wight calls out again, only this time 'e's got a voice like a clap o' thunder! The goblins all fall down in a tremblin' heap an' start wailin' for mercy, then they bundle the feller in the boat again an' row 'im over to where the other one's waitin'. Well, 'e took that poor feller's head in 'is thin hands an' the next thing - an' I swear on me good mother's grave I were sober when I saw it - he sort o' belched up all this black smoke into 'is face! I only 'eard a muffled scream, but I caught a 'orrible whiff o' brimstone right across the river. The thin feller, 'e falls down like a broken puppet, but the feller the goblins 'ad I thought he were a goner, but 'e sort o' breathes in the smoke an' then some'ow 'e's turned into the other feller even though 'e don't look no different. The goblins all start to grovel at 'is feet, but just then 'e sees me an' gives a great shout. Well, I don' need no tellin' but I'm off like a ferret in a hole, an' don' turn round till I'm 'ome and a-holdin' on to a crucifix in one 'and and an oak club in the other...."

We didn't actually encounter the Brollachan in the flesh until the very end of the campaign, but you can bet that he had been built up enough by then through hearsay and eyewitness accounts that the whole party had a healthy terror of him.

It won't stay in the ground

About a year ago we ran a short series of posts about the town of Brymstone, a setting for roleplaying games in the land of Legend. I played in this campaign back at Oxford originally, before Dragon Warriors was even thought of. The town was called Sneyp then, though not apparently from the Old English root meaning a marsh, for it was surrounded by farmland and downs. Robert Dale, its creator, later renamed and relocated Brymstone to the DW country of Ellesland where, funnily enough, it seemed like it had belonged all along.

The main thrust of the Brymstone campaign was the tension between the traditional power of local lord, Erek Longsword, and the town guilds that were gaining in strength. This conflict was embodied in the Brollachan, a primordial shapechanger who had settled in the district and seemed to be fomenting strife for his own reasons. I'm keeping the rest of the campaign under wraps because possibly the team at Serpent King Games may want to do something with it someday - and in any case, that decision is Robert's, not mine. But here is a short episode that gives a little of the folkloric flavor:

A VAMPIRE AT CRADOC'S FORD

This incident has nothing to do with the Brollachan storyline, but will provide some light relief for the player-characters, as well as a good fight. The creature in this adventure is not quite the standard sly bloodsucker. Folklore abounds with a number of interpretations of the vampire, after all. The shrewd and scheming tactician personified by Count Dracula is one; this is another.

The characters hear that the villagers of Cradoc's Ford are looking for adventurers to help guard an isolated farm against attacks by a vampire. The young daughter of one of the farmers, Anskar, has suffered recurrent attacks. Local efforts to track the creature down having proved ineffective, outside help is sought. The characters will be expected to arrange themselves into a hunting party by day and provide protection by night. For this they will be paid 25 silvers a day each (payments will be made one day in arrears), and there is a reward of 300 silvers for whoever removes the vampire's head. The villagers will lend a hand if the characters make any attempt to track the vampire, but they will not fight except in extreme circumstances. The vampire's lair is an old forgotten barrow on a low hillock north of Cradoc's Ford (see map). There are no really clear tracks, so unless a search party stumbles across it by accident there is only a 10% chance that even the most experienced trackers (say Assassins of 5th rank or higher) will succeed.

The characters will probably soon see that the best way to catch the vampire is to let it come to them. At Anskar's farmhouse they will meet his ailing daughter Kara, frail and pale but still winsome. Her swain, a youth named Skuli, is also present. He is a very likeable sort, though not particularly charismatic or forceful. However, he is utterly devoted to Kara and will doggedly insist on joining the characters' vigil. They need only watch for one night before the vampire makes its appearance.

Pyron the Reaper (vampire)
Reflexes 18; ATT 22; DEF 2; Sickle (d6+2,6); Unarmed Combat (d6,4); AF1; 30HP; MAG DEF 7; EV 7; move 10m(20m); STEALTH 13; PERCEPTION 10 (darksight); nonmagical weapons (unless of solid silver) score half damage

Pyron can fight until literally cut apart, but effectively only has animal-level intelligence. This does not mean that he is stupid, merely that he cannot reason logically. It would never occur to him to lie low for a week or two to throw hunters of his scent, for example. When approaching his prey he may utter phrases of reassurance ("But wait - Pyron means you no harm..." etc, etc) without consciously remembering their meaning. In trying to imagine himself into Pyron's role, the GM should perhaps consider something like a very long and horrible nightmare. Pyron's conscious mind fell into the sleep of death years ago, and the fragment that remains is primitive, tormented and irrational.

He is not affected by garlic or crucifixes. Because he is just a walking corpse as opposed to an undead spirit, he does cast a reflection. He cannot change into a bat, mist or perform any other Hollywood trickery such as mesmerism. Immersion in fresh running water renders him powerless, and at the sound of cockcrow he must depart to his lair or be destroyed by the first rays of dawn.

In a fight at the farmhouse, Pyron will continue to attack until he is obviously losing the fight. If he manages to retreat (perhaps taking advantage of a chance diversion such as burning logs spilling from the hearth and starting a fire during the struggle - the GM can improvise) the villagers will insist that a hunt is mounted to destroy the monster once and for all. They will not pay the characters any more until Pyron is slain, and will place themselves under the protection of Erek Longsword if threatened.

Pyron's hasty retreat from the farmhouse will have left good tracks, and his barrow should be found without difficulty. Forewarned by now that he is not the kind of vampire they are accustomed to, the characters should no longer be caught off balance by the fact that he is immune to the usual precautions. If they enter after sunrise they will find Pyron lurking in the very heart of the barrow. Bearded in his lair, he fights to the true death.

A distinctive mood may be brought to this adventure by giving some emphasis to the characters of Anskar, Kara and Skuli. Anskar does not entire endorse the youngsters' relationship, so Skuli is eager to prove his worth. So eager that he might just rush into battle against Pyron - and either get himself killed if the PCs do not act quickly, or just possibly end up as the one who slays the vampire and claims the reward. It could be interesting for once to give the player characters the impression that they are not at the centre of the stage, but peripheral characters in someone else's story. Whether that story is one of tragic love, grand heroics, gentle whimsy or broad farce... that is up to the GamesMaster.

There is a small amount of treasure in the tomb, though most of the grave goods are of purely archaelogical interest - just old pots and so on from the player-characters' viewpoint. There is a gold drinking cup worth 900 silvers, silver belt fittings (on the belt around the vampyr's waist) and a necklace of jet (not worn by Pyron; perhaps a last token from a loved one). The silver would fetch perhaps 60 silvers and the jet (prized by sailors as a charm against shipwreck) another 100 or 150. All told, some 1100 silvers. The villagers will claim a quarter share as is their due under local law. Again, they will invoke the protection of Lord Erek if threatened.

As I read through this, I'm aware that Pyron as an archetype has appeared a few times in our games, most recently in Tim Harford's Immortal Spartans campaign, where he dwelt in an ancient tomb by the eastern walls of Rome and was known as "the Etruscan". If your taste is for these gray, loam-smelling, grave-cold vampires, I can recommend Marcus Sedgwick's My Swordhand is Singing and Lindsey Barraclough's Long Lankin as two novels that will send a chill down your spine. In a nice way.

Brymstone beginnings 2

Another of the player-characters in the Brymstone campaign was Tobias of Vantery, played by Steve Foster with the degree of unbending self-righteous fervour that only someone who had been taught by the Christian Brothers could channel. Sir Tobias showed up in a couple of the Blood Sword books, illustrated here by Russ Nicholson in Doomwalk, and was a genuine warlock as per the Dragon Warriors rules. We played the game as written in those days, circa 1986, because the books were still coming out, so part of the point of running a campaign like Brymstone was to playtest the material that would go into DW Book Seven. Steve also played Cynewulf Magister before that, back when we were playtesting DW Book Four, so really he should be getting some of my royalties.

The early life of a fanatic

You were born a freeman's son, in eastern Albion. Your father Aldor was a staunch supporter and friend of the lord, Sir Caudris. Often he went to war with his lord, proudly astride the saddle in a coat of ring mail, with his longbow across his back and his sword at his side.

Your father was killed in a quarrel by a young stablehand when you were ten years old. The land and his house went to his cousin in Eckford, who sold it to your neighbours. They said their families were big enough already without taking you in, so Sir Caudris brought you to the manor house. He began to train you in the ways of chivalry. He took you hunting, taught you the use of sword and bow, made you practice long hours at the quintrain till your whole body ached. And he taught you to be a worshipful servant of God, and to seek for the Devil's works and worm them out wherever they lurked.

He bought your armour, sponsored your knighthood by Earl Montombre's sword. And when he rode with his sons on the Crusade, you went also.

Caudris of Leyfield died with all his sons on the crusade - all except his youngest, still at home in Albion, who then left the monastery where he had been studying to take overlordship of Leyfield. You survived the Battle of Ashatim where Caudris fell, and later joined the Worshipful Knights of St Wythan on Barada: the Knights Capellars.

This religious fighting order was formed when the Holy Realm was wrested from the Ta'ashim. It is their sworn duty to guard pilgrims on the road to Imbrahim, the sacred city. They originally called themselves "the worshipful Knights of St Wythan on Barada", but acquired their better-known name through their habit of blessing their swords before a battle in the chapel (or capella) where St Wythan's remains are stored. The Knights (mostly younger sons of the north-western gentry, with piety and chivalry in their blood and no inheritance to keep them at home) take monastic vows and cut their hair short to symbolize the casting off of wordly attachments. After a ceremony and all-night vigil at the Capellars' headquarters on the isle of Barada, the initiate takes up the distinctive accoutrements of the Capellars - a slender, slightly curved sword and a white surcoat adorned with an eight-pointed purple cross.

In the few decades since their formation, the Capellars have grown from a small band of poor knights to an extensive and very wealthy organization. They recognize no sovereign and are answerable only to the Pontiff. They loan and exchange money and have numerous business interests throughout the civilized lands. The Preceptory of the Capellars outside Ferromaine is almost every day crowded with merchants and explorers seeking finance or a secure vault for their treasures.

With regard to the Faith the Capellars are known to take a slightly heterodox line, but their usefulness to the Church gives them immunity from any repercussions. For example, they do not display the image of the cross anywhere in their chapels. The chapels themselves are octagonal halls where the knights stand in a circle facing the raised altar. They freely consort or even intermarry with the Ta'ashim, and some elements of the Ta'ashim religion have become absorbed in the Capellars' worship. They enforce their own laws and treaties, shunning the hospitality and company of other knights. Some practice wizardry and others have developed assassination skills in order to counter the power of the Marijahs. A "Knight" Capellar may thus be a true Knight - or he may be a Sorcerer or an Assassin.

Or, like you, a Warlock. You have studied magic, though you might have an ambiguous attitude to it: "Truly, magic is the Devil's instrument. But we must use any weapons to hand in our holy battle against the Prince of Lies. Let those who are slaves to unholy sorcery beware - some pious warriors have taken up these occult forces, and we are ready to turn them back upon our Lord's foes..." The apparent hypocrisy is unlikely to vex you. Capellars are not usually very rational men, anyway, and they are not prone to self-analysis.

Brymstone beginnings 1

Following on from the Brymstone town map, here is the introductory spiel for one of the player-characters in the Brymstone campaign. I just handed each player a background and let them work it up from there. Don't always do it that way - in fact, at no other time - but this was an experiment. The player in question was Ian Marsh, of Dragonlords and White Dwarf fame, who now runs Fighting 15s. The character was inspired by Vina's fate in "The Menagerie" - what if you got put back together by beings that didn't understand all the mortal components? I explored the theme again in my Knightmare novel, Labyrinths of Fear. (I don't think there was even a single labyrinth in it, but the title came from marketing. Surprising they'd know a word that long, actually.)

I did two versions of the character intro. One was all Robin of Sherwood, the other a bit weirder. Can't remember now which I gave to Ian, so here are both:

Meeting Anath

When you were young, you made a mistake that changed the whole course of your life. You killed a man.

The reasons do not matter now. Only the fact that you were once a fifteen-year-old boy with a bloodied sickle in his hands, standing over the body of a freeman. Your parents had died years before, and you had nothing to hold you to the village to wait for such justice as the lord would dispense. You stole a horse - second heinous crime - and fled to the wildwood, to become an outlaw. A wolf's-head. You have killed many times since then.

You thoughts stray back to that distant time. A long-ago night in another world, through which a terrified youngster rode from his pursuers. You pulled the horse about, trying to get it to leap a narrow crevasse above a stream. Snorting, it threw you. You plummetted down into darkness -

- you have been wandering for a long time in a lightless wood. Your hands grope blindly around the stunted boles of dead trees. A faint glimmer of starlight reaches your eyes, but as you make for it a tall figure steps across your path. You have a burnt stump of wood in your hand. You cannot breathe as the figure approaches with silent tread. A gleam as he smiles - a faint, ironic smile that does nothing to reassure you. He strikes his knuckles together hard, and a spark flies from them. It touches your torch, which bursts alight. You look up to thank the man, but he has gone. The torch burns brightly, giving you a hot red light with which to see your way from the wood. You make for an open field, feeling the heat of the burning torch on your face.

You woke then from the dream which has recurred so often since. Someone was standing over you in the darkness. Through all that long night you stirred fitfully, gripped by a fever, rising momentarily into consciousness and then sinking back into delerium. As dawn broke, the figure who had attended you throughout your ordeal laid his cold hand on your shoulder. "Sleep now," said he, "for I would have no ill befall thee."

You slept through much of the day following, wondering half in sleep about the strange man who had rescued you. He had brought you to a rough cave beside a river, a place which stank of herbs and earth. You rose to walk about the small cave, but found that your legs shook with weakness. You slumped back on your pallet of logs and stretched hide, waking again at sunset to find the tall man there again. He wore green, and his white hair, gathered by a silver circlet, touched his shoulders. He beckoned you to follow him to the mouth of the bower, pushing back a net of creepers. A pack of wolves waited in the gathering dusk for their master, crouched low and watchful.

"Thou art healed." The tall man turned to you, holding out a longbow and quiver for you to take. "I am Anath. Tonight we hunt together, my son."

You took the bow from his hand. His smile was like an icicle in winter sunlight.

Waxing poetical
It was at the turn of the year that you stood,
overshadowed by trees stiff with hoarfrost,
waiting for three lords baleful with ire to speak.
A green-garbed lord leaned forward on his throne of oak:

"Hearken to us, you who share the mortals' breath,
who choose to walk upon the earth broken by plough,
to drink the water plundered from ancient wells."
It was in the cold moonlight that you waited,
caught in a web-tangle of wooded shadows,
listening to three lords solemn with portent.
One spoke to you from his root-twined seige:
"Year has piled upon year since Kernac worked his magic.
The Shapeless One has long been fettered,
yet now men have forgotten those chains that are to break."
The third lord sat in silence
while the winter wind stirred his grey cloak.
A bittern boomed as the moon escaped from cloud.
He then said: "Surrender to sleep, you mortal's son.
Already the winter has stolen you from the old world,
licked your flesh with its barbed tongue,
filled your lungs with its cold laughter.
Awaken with the reborn land, go into the east.
Join battle with the ancient foe, the skulking one,
the stealer of gifts most precious and true."

With sweeping cloaks all three rose to stand in starlight.
Faces of ashen grey stared from under elfin hoods.
All spoke together:
"The days on middle-earth for all
are numbered; he who may should wrest renown,
steal from Fate his fame; that is a hero's sweetest solace,
his best memorial when he has departed from the world."

You wake up in a wooded bower. The forest around you is ablaze with the colour and sounds and scents of a glorious spring morning. The words of the poem linger in your mind like the fragments of a dream, but you can remember nothing else that happened since you rode into the wood. That must have been months ago, for it was close to midwinter then!

Of the two versions, I have a feeling I used the second one to start with because it dropped in that hint about the Shapeless One, who was the campaign's Big Bad, a shapechanger called the Brollachan. Well, I say he (it?) was the BB, but actually he only catalyzed the existing tensions that were building up between those loyal to the local lord and the freemen of the town. It was a riot - literally.

The town of Brymstone

A very rough-n-ready look here at Robert Dale's superb campaign setting, Brymstone. This barely gives you a taste of what it was like to walk those winding streets and be caught up in the intrigues being spun within the local lord's household and between him and the city guilds. And that's not to mention the return of the repressed, in the form of a very malevolent protean creature called the Brollachan.

Apologies for the scrappy maps, which I only intended as guides for our DW mapmaker, Geoff Wingate. You should still be able to make out the key, anyway - or see the much better version prepared by Lee Barklam of The Cobwebbed Forest website. What follows is Robert's description of the town, and although it is enough for any GM to flesh out some adventures there, it barely scratches the surface of his extensive campaign, which took in local landmarks such as the abbey at Inis Manistir. It would have been almost enough to fill DW Book 7 on its own - but that, alas, was not to be.

BRYMSTONE
Map key and description of buildings

(1) Penda's Fort
This comprises the citadel (which commands the estuary and the entrance to the southern basin), associated barracks, storehouses, and workshops beside Military Way. All buildings between the Delf Stream and the sea are inside the military compound, and much of the southern basin is given over to the navy.

(2) Courthouse
The administrative centre of the town, including civic archives and library, and a small lock-up. Administration was moved from the much older Guildhall (53) because of lack of space.

(3) the Minster
In addition to the Church of All Saints itself, this complex includes a walled garden, school, large guest wing, and library. The permanent staff includes: Archdeacon Gothi; his secretary, Markun; six priests; four chaplains attached to the naval garrison and the court; sixteen choristers; eight clerks; a master and usher of the Minster school; fifteen scholars, and twelve servants. The Minster was founded just over three hundred years ago, following the conversion of Brymstone to the True Faith. It had become somewhat dilapidated, but restoration work has now begun.

(4) Custom House
The compound where one may find the offices of the customs authority, the house of the comptroller of customs, and a number of bond warehouses. Duty is mostly imposed on luxury goods - including silks and spices off ships out of Ferromaine or Crescentium. The comptroller also collects harbour dues and regulates the entry of strangers into the town.

(5) Post House
For the rapid delivery of important dispatches and the rapid (and safe) transport of dignitaries. Messengers and officials can obtain fresh horses or take lodgings here. Reputable adventurers may wish to hire on as guards.

(6) civic granaries
The town is obliged to maintain a store of corn to feed the people in the event of a seige or bad harvest. These granaries are used as a central clearing house for Brymstone's grain requirement.

(7) naval boatyard
This is a small repair yard attached to the citadel. There are two slipways, a sailmaker's loft and a timber store. It is not a construction yard, though light vessels could be built here in an emergency. (There are a number of professional boatbuilders in the town, but their yards and the ropewalk lie just beyond the walls to the east.)

(8) Lord Erek's townhouse
The home of the lord of the fiefdom outside the town walls, including a formal garden, stable block and servants' quarters.

(9) the Theatre
Seating up to two hundred (but not necessarily in spacious comfort), the theatre features mystery plays and other quasi-religious ceremonies. In theory it has strong connections with the Minster, but in practice many of the younger actors are not all that devout in their adherence to the True Faith. Elements of pagan belief creep into many of their performances, and it is not uncommon for them to satirise (insofar as the medieval state permits satire) the Guilds, the Church and the liege lord.

(10) the Gymnasium
One of the places where the cultural "mafia" hang out, the Gymnasium is used for more than just weapons practice. The senior instructor, a hot-tempered giant of a man called Torvald Woodcleaver, gives training in the use of two- and one handed axe and sword. In game-terms, a Knight or Barbarian of 6th rank or less will gain 1d4-1 experience points a month under Torvald's tutelage. He charges 21 Florins a week. Nevertheless his classes are not oversubscribed because of their high casualty rate: roughly one pupil in six goes out with a nasty wound each lesson.

(11) inn: The Whale Road
The town's best hotel - frequented by wealthy traders, recently enriched adventurers, or others who have no connections in Brymstone. Rooms cost 25 silvers a night.

(12) watermills and windmill
There are three mills within the town walls (and many more outside). Two of the three are under civic control, but the third - built against the wall close by the South Gate - is owned by the town's brewery and provides malt for it.

(13) Lighterman's Wharf
This building, a clubhouse where food, drink and other services may be obtained, is the meeting place of the powerful Guild of Fishermen and Lightermen.

(14) warehouses and dockside equipment
There are seven major warehouses which deal in a variety of imported goods. They are mostly owned by the shipping firms (opportunities for profiteering abound), but individuals can sometimes obtain storage space in the Citadel or in Lord Erek's storehouse - at commercial rates, of course!

(15) bakeries
There is one bakery in Lord's Walk and another in Bakery Lane. These provide bread for the Citadel, stores of biscuit for shipping, and quality bread for the wealthy as well as rye for the not-so-wealthy.

(16) brewery
Supplies all the ale consumed within the town, selling to private individuals, ships, inns and taverns.

(17) smiths/armourers
There are three such, and since all cater to the needs of an urban clientele these are not places to buy blades of exquisite craftsmanship! The most that can be said is that their weapons are of workmanlike quality, their armour not unduly ill fitting. The workshops of Master Drenck, just off Black Horse Street, are perhaps a discerning adventurer's best bet. In addition to a variety of weapons and armour, the smithies perform the more mundane tasks of shoeing horses, mending agricultural implements, casting and forging a selection of hardware (domestic and "industrial") and supplying the town's shipbuilders with nails, spikes, cramps and anchors. These jobs usually get priority, so one must be prepared to wait for one's weapon/armour - or "induce" the smiths to speed their work (ie, add 20% or so when paying them). Better-quality weapons can of course be obtained by trading with merchants. For a scimitar of Crescentium Steel you would be talking about something in the region of 500 silvers, however. One of the exquisite kiriha swords of Yamato, if it were made available on the open market, would sell for 2,000 silvers or more. Such choice items are usually offered direct to a private individual.
[Note that it is to Master Trinton, the armourer in Cheapstreet, that one should go for crossbows (he sells but does not make them) - if you go to the bowyer's (51) for a crossbow you will get a very chilly reception.]

(18) banker
With Brymstone being such an important commercial centre, a trustworthy financier is a necessity. Guidon of Ashdown is a former Crusader of impeccable honesty. An elderly man, he retains the powerful stature of his youth and is also widely rumoured to have learned strange magic from the Marijah Assassins. All in all, thieves leave him alone. Very large sums of gold and silver are usually deposited in the strongrooms of the Citadel under official seal, but many people bring their letters of credit for Guidon to honour. He will also hold small valuables and can evaluate trinkets (magical and otherwise). Guidon's fees range from 3% to 10% per year, depending on the size and value of the item.

(19) inn: Wotan's Eye
Limited accomodation (ten rooms) of moderate quality (few rats) at reasonable rates (around 5 silvers a night). The food is good but unimaginative, complemented by a fine selection of wines imported from Kurland, Algandy and Chaubrette. There is no particular clientele, although less well-to-do youths tend to meet at the inn of an evening.

(20) inn: The First and Last
There are seven private rooms here, and stabling is available. The tariff is 5 silvers a night. The food is excellent - seafood is the speciality. The clientele is again varied. Farmers particularly favour this inn on market day, and you will often hear lively bargaining going on over a lunchtime pint.

(21) inn: The Cause is Altered
The odd name may be explained by a story that cattle would proverbially stop as they were brought through Cowgate; "The cows's 'alted," their herders would say with a glance at the pub, "so we may as well." The ten rooms offered are of low quality and price (3 silvers a night), and there is stabling. This inn is frequented by carters and drovers bringing cattle to the slaughterhouse next door. Food is cheap and cheerful, and the customers friendly. If you buy the landlord a drink he will bend your ear with various tall tales (including the apochryphal story about the inn's name). All is not necessarily as it seems, however, as strangers have from time to time disappeared mysteriously - probably to end up on southbound trading ships.
Presently in residence at The Cause is Altered is Makrof, a stooped fellow with a pot-belly who enjoys a nightly drink and a game of knucklebones in the taproom. He purports to be an antique collector, but in fact is a member of the Clan of Harbingers assigned to eliminate Cenncaradh the Painted Man.

(22) tavern: The Northern Cog
A quayside drinking-house used by fishermen and sailors off ships moored in the southern basin. Very much a nautical tavern.

(23) tavern: The Flying Horse
Provides food on market days, when it is usually crowded.

(24) tavern: The Painted Toenail
Frequented by the artistic (or arty) community, this small drinking establishment is viewed with suspicion by the authorities as a melting-pot for malcontents - political or otherwise.

(25) tavern: The Friend in Need
A quiet and expensive drinking house. It has links with The House of Pleasant Accomplishments across the road. It is the haunt of the sons and daughters of the guildsmen, and the owner, Fastalio Gunbratti (an expatriate of Ferromaine), has tried to recreate the atmosphere of plush eating-rooms such as one finds in the ports around the Coradian Sea.

(26) tavern: The Silver Net
Another haunt of sailors and fishermen. A bit seedy, but very popular with those who like that sort of thing. A "locals' pub" which does not welcome strangers.

(27) potters
Leaving aside the market traders, here are two major potters in the town. Ifran the Grey specializes in fine quality tableware, while Shimbek Wisphair (on New Row) concentrates upon specialist ceramics. The naval base draws most of its supplies from these two. Local clay is plentiful, and there are many tile-kilns situated along the river valley.

(28) stonemason
Drusin Rocksmith is the only true stonemason for miles, and gets a lot of business. He has close links with the lord, Erek Longsword, who has provided many commissions in the past - including the refurbishment of his local stronghold (two miles north of Brymstone, see map) and the renovation of the Minster.

(29) tavern: The Old City Arms
Another popular market tavern, the landlord is a keen musician and this is often the scene of impromptu musical gatherings.

(30) ships' chandlers
The two chandlers in the town are Kaltrak of Glissom and Borvul Shortbeard. They sell goods to trading vessels and also supply building materials and hardware. Despite the constant bickering that goes on between these two, they are in fact old friends in their own way, and jointly own the ropewalk beyond the walls. Characters who visit one of these places to buy candles will probably be disappointed. Borvul does in fact supply candles, but only by the crate. You will also have to listen to some nonsensical claptrap about cerumancy, Borvul's sideline-cum hobby and something that many ship-owners plan their schedules by.

(31) carpenters/wheelwrights
Within the walls there are three carpenters not associated with the Shipbuilders' Guild. They provide fittings and furniture for domestic use. Rospian the Red, the carpenter in Lord's Walk, acts also as a wheelwright and wood-turner. Fachor Birnath, in the New Cut, provides furniture of the very highest quality and there is a long waiting-list for his work. His style has the heavy practicality demanded by Elleslandic and Mercanian tastes, but often elaborately decorated with carvings of beasts, old deities and abstract designs. Show him a sketch of some bizarre demon from Marazid or Cosh Goyope and he will likely drag you down to the Wotan's Eye pub for a drink.

(32) music shop
Katani Goldentongue is a handsome woman who sells and repairs various musical instruments, dealing mostly with merchants and naval officers. She also stocks sheet music for part singing or consort playing. Lord Erek keeps his own consort of musicians - mostly at his wife's behest - and (for all the animosity that exists) most guilders try to emulate him. There are occasional musical events held at the theatre, formerly under the patronage of Erek or Alyne but increasing financed now by merchants who are more interested in the status of the occasion than in the quality of the musicianship.

(33) bookshops
The two bookshops deal principally in manuscripts by there are also some printed books (see 36). Literacy within the town stands at about 20% so there is a reasonable market. These are not walk-in-and-browse shops, of course; unless you have an appointment you will simply find a locked door.

(34) slaughterhouse
Virtually all the meat consumed within the walls passes through the slaughterhouse, along with most of that supplied to trading ships. Meat can be purchased direct or through an intermediary (usually a market trader). Hides are sent to the tannery, which is situated outside the town walls near the shipyards, and there the raw hides are processed for use by saddlers and other leather workers.

(35) the House of Pleasant Accomplishments
A large "floating" community of traders and sailors ensures that this establishment thrives. It is more than a brothel - not just sex is for sale within, but rather all the pleasurable adjuncts of civilization: conversation, music, wine and food, an appreciation of the fine arts, and simple companionship.

(36) printer
Kodo, erstwhile member of Bisley Abbey, has been operating as the town's printer for some years. This is not a movable-type press, of course: that technology will not come for centuries yet! Kodo makes his living from woodblock prints of sea charts, maps, and pornographic or religious icons. He still puts the skills he learned in the scriptorium at Bisley to good use, copying manuscripts as a sideline. He charges highly for his work (partly at the insistence of his former colleagues, who are not best pleased at the competition): between 100 and 300 silvers for copying a manuscript, and anything up to 1000 silvers for a map, depending on its rarity.

(37) jeweller-goldsmiths
There are two such professionals in the town: Iandor Longtooth on the New Cut, and Pangus Deepdraught on Bridge Street near the gate. Their work sometimes goes to the local market, but is more often intended for trade. Gold is mined about twenty miles west of the town.

(38) clothier/dressmaker/tailors
The larger of the town's two rag trade suppliers is on Strand Street, and deals in high quality garments - silk brocades, velvet, and furs. Few can afford such luxurious goods, which are usually shipped to the continent. The other supplier, Tracmanius Gloo, has two outlets - in the New Cut and the Crossway - and deals in more workaday garments. Characters are likely to go to him for their fustian robes, cloth hats and woollen breeks. Clothes may also be obtained from sempstresses, of whom there is an abundance in the town's poorer quarters.

(39) bootmakers
Strong boots and shoes are important to all walks of society, so it is no surprise to find three high quality cobblers in Brymstone. They get leather from the tannery beyond the walls. The shop most favoured by the wealthier merchants and gentry is that situated on the Backs, close to the Post House. Cobblers work to order only; there is no such thing as an "off the peg" boot.

(40) fine glass dealer
A specialist importer, dealing exclusively with the gentry and the Citadel. Glassware, exceptionally hard to come by, is as prized as silver.

(41) antiquary
There is a particular interest in antiques among the well-born naval officers, so although most citizens have little use for such things this shop continues to prosper. Magnus of Chorazin sells all manner of things: battered bronze spearheads, glassware and pottery from the days of the legions, small stone idols and pendants depicting forgotten gods, belt buckles and rings, even ancient furniture. Many adventurers snap up his wares eagerly, spending whole afternnons in the dusty interior of the shop, hoping they will one day be lucky enough to purchase a magic item. (But it is unlikely that Magnus - an accomplished mage despite his unprepossessing appearance - would allow a choice article to slip through his fingers.) He also buys any old trinkets that characters may salvage from ruins or burial-mound, of course.

(42) vintner
Although the owner, Sefrassit of Lagunne, would prefer to restrict his clientele to the merchants and gentry, this shop is patronized by all classes. He has a particular distaste for travellers (including adventurers) and will treat them to a strong dose of sarcastic Chaubrettian humour. He stocks fine imported wines and some locally-distilled spirits and liquors. He will deal in bulk as well as by the bottle, supplying Lord Erek's cellar on the one hand and a rough tipple for a carousing sailor on the other.

(43) furrier
Krafthal Axelugger employs his own trappers to hunt in the foothils of the Pagan Mountains. Many furs go to the southern trade route, where demand is high, but the local market (given the harsh winters!) is no less profitable. Furs are not cheap; a typical cloak will sell for 600 silvers or more.

(44) "coffee" house
The drink sold in these three establishments is not, of course, coffee, though that is the nearest cultural equivalent. In fact it is an infusion of berries and herbs from Asmuly, which produces a sharp-flavoured stimulating drink called betch. The "coffee" shops are known by the names of their proprietors - Oslaf's, Weoxtan's and Big Ursula's - and flourish as meeting places for the poorer sort of merchant out to make deals, for rustics wanting a glimpse of "high society", for young bravoes, and for all kinds of faintly disreputable types (adventurers included). The most fashionable of the three is Big Ursula's, in Flying Horse Lane, but Ursula's flirtatious behaviour is not for the faint-hearted!

(45) perfumier & spice merchant
A luxury import house, dealing in spices, essences, perfumed oils and so on.

(46) shipping agents
There are six shipping agents. They act as brokers, hiring merchant ships or freight space to traders who do not own their own vessels. Such agents usually have connections with trading companies, so that ships are kept in continual use either by clients or by the owning company.

(47) surgeons
There are two surgeons who deal with any ailment from 'flu to broken bones. Most of the time their medecines are worthless, but they are fully competent in setting fractures and even manage a few simple operations. This is just as well, as there are some ailments - such as appendicitis and gallstones - that cannot be cured any other way. Their services are expensive and usually painful: anaesthetics range from a slug on the jaw to (if you can afford the full fee) a bottle of whiskey.

(48) horse hirers
Apart from the Post House, two agencies hire horses. These are agents for the large livery stables situated by Cowgate. Horses can be hired, bought outright, or stabled for short periods.

(49) game & poultry dealer
Other than the slaughterhouse, this is the only additional source of fresh meat in the town.

(50) timberyard
The source of seasoned wood used in carpentry and small-scale woodwork in the town. The timber is local, coming from the extensive forests around Brymstone.

(51) bowyer/fletcher
Quite a specialised craft, this, but on a small scale. The bowyer, One-eyed Archos, does not make short bows (they are beneath his notice) and can be fussy about customers. He will occasionally refuse to make a bow for one he considers unworthy of the distinction. He is a freeman (middle to upper-middle class, in modern terms) of Erek's demesne who has moved to the town. He is consequently courteous, quietly proud, and thinks that Erek can do no wrong and that most merchants are scum. If you are a merchant, he will not be so rude as to say this to your face, but you will surely be left in no doubt of it! Archos is a former Master Bowman (before the loss of his eye), and is thus worth cultivating as a friend. He gives free archery instruction to a few devoted pupils twice a week.

(52) waggon parks
Large waggons are not allowed on the town streets during the day, so there are two large parks where carts wishing to collect from or deliver to the docks can be marshalled. The parks are also convenient customs inspection points for incoming carts. A number of semi-permanent dwellings - flimsy shacks and tents - have mushroomed up around the parks, where one will find the motley crew of doxies and pedlars who cater to the waggon drivers' needs.

(53) the Guildhall
Meeting place of the guildsmen, of course, and another of the town's administrative centres. Many records are kept in this building, and the civic treasury lies below it.

(54) architect
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a bluff demeanour, Bosel of Erincester is a business associate of Drusin the stonemason, above whose workshops he has his rooms and office.

(55) saddler
Pacto the Cornumbrian will make saddles, leather bags, purses, halters, bridles and many other items.

(56) fishmongers
It comes as no surprise to find three thriving fishmongeries in a seaport such as Brymstone. Fish is considerably cheaper than meat, of course, and for the poorer townsfolk it is the most substantial item of their diet.

(57) apothecary
Lugdor the Stammerer produces an astounding array of brightly coloured and noxious smelling potions. The astounding thing is that they are almost all useless, and yet that people flock to buy them. The answer to this may lie in the fact that the vast majority of people could never dream of being cured of diseases by magic (even if player-characters expect it), so faith - or superstition - is really all they have. (Players should naturally not be told that Lugdor's brews are worthless. They may or may not discover this for themselves, and there is no recourse in law anyway; Lugdor displays a placard disclaiming responsibility for his potions' effects.)

Brymstone is copyright © Robert Dale 1985

Brymstone

Brymstone is a coastal town in north-east Ellesland, close to Thuland's border with Albion. Created originally by Robert Dale as the base for an ongoing campaign, it was suitable for a medium-sized party of characters around 5th rank and was intended to appear in DW Book 7 - except, of course, there was no Book 7. (What is it about those pesky half-dozens?)

A partial version of Brymstone ran in a short-lived fantasy gaming magazine that called itself Red Giant in order to show how it really wasn't overawed by White Dwarf at all. Red Giant appeared in 1990 but lasted only two issues. The RG publishers (one of whom was Gary Chalk, the illustrator of the Lone Wolf books) had no products to sell, unlike their rivals Games Workshop, and of course such a magazine on its own was not going to be self-sustaining. A pity, as it ran some fine articles before gravitational collapse reduced it to neutron dust.

RG's demise left the Brymstone campaign incomplete. And so the material, like the Ophis campaign pack, remains limbo-locked. It was nine-tenths ready for publication, but that last 10% leaves it largely unusable, even in blog form. All the same, I'll try and find some of the material that can work as a standalone. And for a much better (full-colour) map, pop over to Lee Barklam's site The Cobwebbed Forest.