The War in the Willows

Morrigan tossed and turned on his bunk. The Caliver’s weight was a constant ache in his mind. He’d done it for the Misfits, but what if he’d just signed their death warrants?

He heard a faint rustle, footsteps padding out of the Den. Philippe.

Morrigan barely registered it, too caught up in his own worries. Who cared where Philippe was going? He had bigger problems – like getting rid of the bloody Caliver before Geldof’s crew tracked it back to them.

He flinched as a floorboard creaked outside, his heart racing. Just the wind.

The Caliver. Get rid of it. That’s all that mattered.             

_

Morrigan’s anxiety simmered as he lay there, the darkness slowly giving way to a restless dawn. Philippe’s absence gnawed at him. He’d been gone for hours.

“Bugger it,” Morrigan muttered, throwing off his blankets.

He tipclawed over to Neville’s bunk, hesitating for a moment before shaking his shoulder. “Nev, wake up.”

Neville blinked up at him, sleepy. “What’s wrong?”

“Philippe’s gone,” Morrigan said, low-voiced. “Been gone for hours. I saw him slip out in the night.”

Neville sat up, instantly alert. “Did he say anything to you?”

Morrigan shook his head. “Nah. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

The others were stirring now, drawn in by the tension.

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Philippe’s MIA,” Morrigan said.

The Misfits exchanged worried glances. Philippe wasn’t the type to vanish without a word.

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For this scenario, we were playing Lost and Alone.   One character from each warband has, for one reason or another, been taken, possibly by the Mist Ghasts.

In this case, Phillipe has entered into a mysterious trance and wandered off into the forest, no doubt the work of the Necromoucer.  The Misfits have to rescue him.

Once again, I will be facing off against the Stillwater Irregulars, and that cursed Brown Rat Ghast that seems to have a bit of a grudge match with Maverick going on.

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The Misfits crept through the forest, Maverick leading the way, tracking Philippe’s faint trail. The trees grew twisted and older, heavy with an eerie silence.

Suddenly, Maverick held up a fist, dropping them into a crouch. Ahead, Philippe stood frozen, staring at a massive stone, one of the mysterious ones that’d been popping up.

Around the stone, four dead tree stumps twisted upwards, a green mist seeping from their hollow centres. On the other side of the stone, Brains, the Irregulars’ main magic user, stood equally still, eyes glazed.

The Misfits exchanged uneasy glances. What was this?

Morrigan’s voice was barely audible. “What’s going on? Trances?”

Neville frowned, eyes fixed on Philippe. “We need to snap him out of it.”

Morrigan took to the skies, wings beating fiercely as he swooped up to Philippe. Maverick followed close behind, eyes fixed on the strange scene.

Philippe didn’t flinch, his gaze locked on the stone monolith, his expression blank.

Maverick came up beside Morrigan, scanning the area. “What the…?”

The gnarled tree stumps began to seep a thick, grey mist – Mist Ghasts.  The mist swirled around the stone, tendrils creeping towards the Maverick and Morrigan.

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed. “This can’t be good.”

Maverick’s jaw tightened. “Get Philippe out of here. Now.”

From the forest shadows, Ghastly Stillwater Irregulars stumbled towards the stone.  They lurched forward, disorganised, like puppets with cut strings.

Morrigan’s gaze flicked to Brains, still motionless, staring at the stone. “Is he controlling them… or is he next?”

Maverick’s voice was grim. “Doesn’t look like he’s in charge. Get Philippe out – I’ll keep them busy.”

Neville dashed forward, a blue ray coming from his staff, channelling a burst of healing magic, directing it at the closest stump. 

The stump began to glow softly – the green mist reacted, and with a sickening crack, the green tree stump imploded. Thomas blinked. “Did… did that just work?”

–

The Ghasts kept coming from the remaining stumps, surging back, shambling forth from the refilling their ranks, Irregulars, mixed with the Stump Ghasts. 

Bramble dropped into a crouch, arrows flying from her bow in deadly volleys. Ghasts dropped, heads snapped back, but more kept coming.

Maximiliano spun into the Dance of Death, his flamberge a blur of steel. The blade carved through Ghasts with eerie ease, limbs flying as he twirled, moving with lethal elegance.

Maverick and Thomas closed in, blade and mace hacking and pounding through the press.

The Misfits fought in sync, but the Ghasts kept coming, relentless.

The Irregulars Ghast Brown Rat, massive and terrifying, stalked through the fray, eyes fixed on Maverick. Bramble’s voice cut through the chaos. “Mav, run! Now!”

Maverick ignored her, transfixed by the stone monolith. He needed answers.

The rat charged, its mace swinging in a deadly arc. Maverick met it head-on, sword clashing with the mace. The impact sent him staggering, but he held his ground.

Neville’s healing magic surged, bolstering Maverick. He grunted through the pain; eyes locked on the rat.

With a roar, Maverick swung his sword in a mighty arc, smashing the rat’s mace aside.

The Ghast Brown Rat surged back, mace swinging wildly. Maverick parried, the clash sending sparks flying. Neville’s healing magic kept him on his feet, but the rat’s relentless assault pushed him back.

Thomas sprinted to help, but a fresh wave of Ghasts erupted from a nearby stump, swarming him. He spun, mace bashing, but they dragged him down.

Maverick’s focus narrowed—the rat.

With a Herculean swing, he smashed the rat’s defences, sending it crashing to the dirt. No time to finish it – the stone.

Maverick dropped to one knee beside the monolith, hands tracing strange symbols etched into the rock. The rat struggled to rise, Ghasts closing in.

“We need out!” Bramble shouted.

Maverick’s eyes scanned the symbols.

The rat lunged, jaws snapping…

Maverick’s sword struck true, dispersing the Ghast Brown Rat into a cloud of putrid mist. Bramble’s arrows thickened the air, picking off the remaining Ghasts swarming Thomas. He stumbled free, breathing hard.

As the battle faded, the Misfits surveyed the carnage. Brains was gone, vanished.

Morrigan knelt beside Philippe, shaking him awake. Philippe blinked, dazed. “What… what happened?”

“You were in a trance,” Morrigan said, frowning.

Philippe shook his head, confused. “I don’t remember anything.”

Neville worked quickly, healing the last of the gnarled tree stumps. The green mist was gone, the stone monolith inert.

The Misfits exchanged grim looks. What just happened?

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What really happened?

Damn, those Ghast were tough.  Basically, needing a roll of 10 or more to take them out.  Not that easy, and a lot of fate points were burnt through on the Lucky skill and re-rolls.  Neville was once again an absolute lifesaver, keeping Maverick in the fight against that cursed Brown Rat.

Bramble is becoming an absolute beast with her bow, something William and Rose have to aspire to.

This game was a resounding win as far as I am concerned.  Not only did Morrigan rescue Phillipe, but Neville also single-handedly took out all the Ghast Spawning points, Maximillian and the rest of the gang, destroying all the Stillwater Irregulars objective markers and, more importantly, Maverick, taking care of the Brown Rat once more and investigating the strange stone that keeps appearing every time the Stillwater Irregulars appear. (More on that soon)