The War in the Willows

Geldof’s gaze ran down the list, his eyes lingering on the six names. His chapter of the Order of Purifiers, the best of the best. Each had taken the oath of ‘Lateo’ – “I remain hidden” – a vow to stay vigilant, to root out darkness, no matter the cost.

Geldof’s claw tapped the parchment. Cott, Crowe, Fingers, Briquette… each a skilled hunter, sworn to purify the land. And Roberts, his right-hand rat.

“The time is ripe,” Geldof murmured. “The villages are fractious. Witches and their ilk think they can hide. We’ll show them.”

Roberts leaned in, a low chuckle rumbling. “Lateo, boss.”

Geldof grinned, “Lateo indeed.”

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The coach rattled to a stop outside The Three Feather Inn, casting long shadows in the flickering torchlight. Six black rats disembarked, each dressed identically in black capotain hats, their faces shadowed beneath the brims. Black capes billowed behind them like dark wings as they gathered on the cobblestones.

Each rat carried a long, weathered suitcase, adorned with intricate locks and rusted iron straps. The air around them seemed to thicken, as if the night itself grew more oppressive.

The inn’s door creaked open, spilling warm light onto the rats. The wary innkeeper eyed the group. “Can I… help you gentlemen?”

Geldof stepped forward, his voice low. “Rooms. Dinners. We have… business.”

The innkeeper nodded hastily. “Aye, sir. Right away.”

Geldof’s gaze pinned the innkeeper to the spot. “The room overlooking the noticeboard in the market square. We’ll take it. Under no circumstances are we to be disturbed.”

The innkeeper swallowed, eyes darting wildly around the rats. “A-aye, sir… the… the big room on the second floor… I’ll… I’ll get the key.”

Geldof’s smile was a thin, cold line. “Good.”

The innkeeper practically fled, leaving the rats to gather their suitcases.

____________________

The tavern fell silent, mugs frozen mid-air, as the sound erupted from upstairs again:

“Kaboom!”

Animals exchanged nervous glances. A squirrel at the bar whispered, “What’s goin’ on?”

The barman shrugged, eyes darting to the staircase. “Dunno, mate. Been goin’ on all night since those…”

 “Kaboom!”

“…Town Rats arrived”, he continued.

Another shot rang out: “Kaboom!” A split second later, a metallic “Ding!” echoed from the market square bell.

The patrons exchanged worried glances, trying to blend into their drinks. A rabbit in the corner muttered, “Don’t want no trouble with them rats…”

The barman nodded hastily. “Aye, just… just keep it down, luvs. Don’t want to… you know.”

The animals nodded, huddling into their drinks, hoping to avoid notice.

____________________

Morning sunlight crept into the market square, revealing the damage. The notice board was riddled with strange, round holes, and the town bell sported a neat hole in its centre. The local militia, a motley crew of animals, gathered around, scratching their heads.

A burly Badger, the militia leader, sniffed at the notice board. “What in the…? Looks like some kind of grub’s got a taste for wood.”

A mouse pointed a shaking paw at the holes. “But… but it’s like they’re… aimed?”

The animals exchanged confused glances. “Grub don’t make holes like that,” someone said.

The animals nodded, muttering among themselves. “Best leave it be, then.”

The Three Feather Inn remained ominously quiet.

____________________

Geldof glared out the window, his reflection scowling back at him from the glass. “Mondays. Cursed day.”

The other rats exchanged wary glances. Roberts, his second, cleared his throat. “Boss, we’ve got the layout of the square. And Briquette found a local with some info on—”

Geldof cut him off with a chop of his hand. “Mondays, Roberts. Don’t like ’em. Means the week’s startin’ and there’s work to do.”

The rats nodded, accustomed to Geldof’s Monday ritual. Cott scribbled notes in the corner, eyeing Geldof warily.

Geldof turned, his gaze causing Cott to freeze mid-scribble. “Alright, let’s get this miserable Monday over with.”

______________________________

What’s all this about? Am I abandoning the Misfits?

Absolutely not, I love the Misfits and hope to continue their stories throughout this campaign and hopefully beyond; however, I am loving this game and its storytelling, and I just had the urge to create a new warband that I could use in the future.  I figured I could start writing them into the story to flesh them out a bit as I go.   Now, any resemblance to a mid-70s, early-80s Irish Rock/New Wave band are purely incidental.

This new Warband is going to be based around a group of 6 Black Rat Witch Hunters.  I have no idea how their story will unfold, but I will do my best, when I come to writing them up, to keep them very different to the Misfits.

I hope with this little introduction to them, you can see that they will be a little more sinister and uncaring than my lovely Misfits.