The War in the Willows

The Misfits lounged around the Den’s big table, laughter and arguments mingling with the smoke and ale fumes. Morrigan leaned back, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“I’m telling you, guys, the Witch Hunter General’s got nothing on me. I could outsmart him blindfolded, with one claw tied.”

Maverick chuckled, taking a swig of ale. “Oh yeah? How’s that work, then?”

Morrigan waved a dismissive hand. “He’s predictable. Thinks in straight lines. Me? I’m a bloody work of art. I weave, I dodge, I confuse.”

Thomas frowned, tapping the table. “Focus, guys. Necromouser. Remember him?”

Morrigan snorted. “The Necromouser’s probably cuddling a stuffed rabbit by now.  He’s old news.”

Bramble spoke up, “Guys, I’ve got somethin’ that might shift our focus. Caravan went missing in the Forest. Was headed to Oakwood, never made it.”

The group perked up. “Missing caravan? What was it carryin’?” Maximiliano asked.

Bramble’s gaze slid to Max. “Rumour says it had a treasure chest. Worth checkin’, if you ask me.”

Thomas nodded, his face serious, “We should check for survivors.”

Maximiliano grinned. “And ensure any pennies are rescued.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “Could be bandits, could be worse.”

Maverick stood up. “Either way, we need to know. Gear up.”

____________________

The Misfits plunged into the Forest’s twilight depths, Maverick leading the way. He’d picked up the caravan’s trail and was following it, his senses on high alert. The trees seemed to close in around them, casting dark, eerie shadows on the ground.

Phillipe kept pace with Maverick, his eyes scanning the underbrush for any sign of danger. Neville followed close behind, his hands fidgeting and twirling pieces of thyme leaves, ready to draw on his magic at a moment’s notice.

The other Misfits trailed behind, their footsteps light on the forest floor. Morrigan muttered under his breath, annoyed at having to trudge through the dense foliage. Thomas kept his gaze fixed on the back of Philippe’s head, his mind focused on finding the Necromouser. Bramble darted ahead, vanishing into the shadows, her agility allowing her to navigate the forest with ease.

As they walked, the trees grew taller and the underbrush thicker, making it harder to navigate. Maverick pushed through a wall of tangled vines, and suddenly the trees started to thin out, and a broken path lay across the floor.

In the centre of the path, the wreckage of a wagon lay scattered, the wooden frame broken and charred. A few crates lay overturned; their contents spilt across the ground.

Bramble and Maximiliano vanished into the shadows, leaving the others to cautiously approach the wreckage.

Morrigan muttered a quip about “the young ones needing a nap”, but Thomas’s sharp gaze lingered on the spot where Bramble and Maximiliano had disappeared.

Maverick began sifting through the debris, and Morrigan sauntered over to investigate a particularly intact crate.

The wait was short—a low birdcall – Bramble’s signal – cut through the Forest’s noises. Maverick’s head snapped up.

“They’ve found something.”

Morrigan took off like a shot, following Bramble’s birdcall into the trees. Neville stayed focused on the wreckage, while Maverick dropped to his knees beside a half-buried chest.

“Bingo,” he muttered, heaving the chest up. It was heavy – looked like the good stuff.

“Thomas! Got it!” he called, lugging the chest over.

Thomas turned, eyes widening at the chest’s size. “Get it back –”

Maverick didn’t wait, slinging the chest onto Thomas’s back. “Go! Get it to the Den. Now, with haste.”

Neville’s eyes flicked between them, then he murmured a quick spell. A soft blue glow wrapped Thomas.

Thomas took off, suddenly bolting like a startled rabbit. “What – why am I –?” He didn’t finish, focused on putting distance between himself and the Forest.

Neville watched him vanish into the trees, a small smile on his face. Maverick stood, brushing dirt off. “Guess he’s in a hurry.”

Bramble and Maximiliano froze; eyes locked on the approaching horde. Fungus-farmed mushroom men lumbered forward, their cap-like growths twisted into grotesque grins. Squirrels with glowing red eyes twitched their tails, flanking the group.

Maximiliano’s hand tightened on his sword “Looks like we’ve got old friends.”

Bramble’s gaze darted to the side. “Morrigan’s here.”

Morrigan landed with a thud, squawking loudly. Bramble’s hand clamped over his beak. “Shh!”

Morrigan’s eyes gleamed. “Looks like party time.”

–

Morrigan took to the skies, soaring into the trees with a swift beat of his wings. He perched on a branch high above, scanning the area.

“Ahoy! You’ve got a big’un heading for you, guys!”

Below, a colossal mushroom man lumbered towards Maverick, Neville, and Phillipe. Its cap was a mass of tangled fungal growths, its “face” a twisted snout.

Neville’s eyes flicked to Maximiliano. “Haste!”

Maverick became a blur. He blocked the shroom man’s path, great sword swinging up to meet the creature’s club. The impact sent splinters flying as steel met wood.

Phillipe drew a deep breath; eyes locked on the squirrels closing in.

Far off in the forest, Bramble nocked an arrow, picking off a squirrel with a mere twitch of her finger.

The fight was on.

Maximiliano’s gaze flicked to Bramble. “Bramble, keep back! Cover us!”

Bramble nodded, retreating into the shadows, bow at the ready.

Maximiliano hurtled back towards the pathway, sword flashing as he joined Maverick.

The air was thick with the stench of damp earth and decaying fungus as the mushroom men pressed forward.

Phillipe burst through the rocks, his sword arcing down in a powerful strike. “Pour l’honneur!” he bellowed, cleaving a mushroom man in two.

A squirrel perched on a tree hurled a fireball. Maverick saw it coming – too late. Flames engulfed him, crackling with eerie blue-green sparks.

Phillipe’s war cry turned to rage. “Merde!” He hacked down at another shroom man.

Morrigan let out a piercing squawk – the signal to retreat. “Fall back! Fall back!”

Maverick stumbled, flames licking at his clothes.  Phillipe grabbed his arm, hauling him away from the fray. Bramble covered their backs, firing arrows in the general direction of the shroom men.

The Misfits fled into the trees. Morrigan flew ahead, leading the way.

The creatures gave chase, but the Misfits’ agility and Morrigan’s aerial scouting kept them ahead.

Finally, they burst into a clearing – and kept going, catching up with Thomas, who had slowed down to his normal pace.

Panting, they stopped near a stream.

Phillipe dropped Maverick, checking his burns. “Merde, Max! T’es fou?”

Maverick groaned, patting himself down. “We… got the chest… right?”

Thomas grinned, a large chest still strapped to his back. “Got it.”

Morrigan landed, preening. “We may have lost a few rounds, but we won the treasure.”

Neville chuckled, clapping Maximiliano on the back. “And we got out alive.”

______________________________

What really happened?

I managed to get extremely lucky and find the treasure chest on my first search attempt.  I don’t know why I decided to hand it off to Thomas, who is undoubtedly my slowest party member and also one of the best in melee.  Anyway, I did, and as a result, he had to leave the table via my own deployment edge.  Once again, Neville came through with his haste spell, not only propelling Thomas off the table but also flinging Maverick into a position to block the huge Shroom men from getting through to my squishy magic user.

Bramble managed to take out the opposing warband’s second in one shot, who, in return fire-balled my leader, Maverick, taking him out of action.   Luckily, he managed to survive the post-game phase without any ill effects, but I will cover all that later.

Ultimately, I decided to make tracks and escape as I had got what I came for, pockets full of loot, and I could see no reason to hang around any longer than I needed to.  I don’t know if it’s technically a win or a loss, but with loot aplenty and no casualties, I am pretty happy with the result.

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.”

____________________

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 pinning them. “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.

W.H.G. Geldof

The Witch Hunter General, scratched behind his ear with a black, pointed claw as he stared down at the remains of the courier. The squirrel’s lifeless body slumped in the iron maiden, eyes frozen in terror.

“Hmmph. Useless creature,” Geldof muttered, his voice like gravel. “Said he didn’t know where the Caliver went. Clearly, he wasn’t trying hard enough.”

Roberts, another black rat, leaned against the wall, twirling a dagger. “Accidents happen, boss. I mean, who doesn’t stumble into an iron maiden?  Terrible thing.”

Geldof shot Roberts a cold glance. “Find out who took the Caliver. I want it back. Those villages are already crawling with… traitors. I won’t be made a fool of.”

Roberts nodded, sheathing the dagger. “On it, boss. I’ll sniff out whoever took it.”

Geldof sneered, looking out the window at the bustling town below. “Those village pests think they’re so clever, but I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.”

Back at the Den

Maverick, now recovered, leaned back against the den’s wall, a relieved grin on his face as the group finished their chaotic tale. “Sounds like you lot had a blast without me. As long as you’re all okay, that’s all that matters.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Alright, here’s the plan. I trust you all to do your thing. Why don’t we split up, see what each of us can dig up on our own? Local scouting missions, see if we can find any more threads to pull.”

Bramble raised an eyebrow. “Solo missions? You sure, Mav?”

Maverick shrugged. “Why not? You’ve all got your strengths. Morrigan, see if you can sniff out any more of those stones. Thomas, keep an eye out for cultists. Max and Neville, do your usual ‘stirring stuff up’ thing, but carefully. Phillipe, see if you can get any of the locals to talk. And I’ll… I’ll do some digging of my own.”

The group nodded, a plan forming. Time to get scouting.

____________________

Morrigan’s Story

Morrigan sauntered into the dimly lit Gunsmiths in North Piddle, his leathers creaking as he moved. The gruff bulldog craftsman looked up, eyeing him with a no-nonsense gaze.

“Ah, ’bout time you showed up, courier. I’ve got a package for you.”

Morrigan played along, nodding curtly. The Gunsmith handed him a long, intricately carved metal tube with a wooden stock, a tag reading ‘W.H.G. Geldof’, hung from a small piece of string tied to it.

“Sign here,” the bulldog growled, thrusting a parchment at Morrigan.

Morrigan scribbled a hasty signature, grabbed the Caliver, and nodded. “Right, got it.”

The craftsman grunted, returning to his work. Morrigan took that as his cue, backing out of the Gunsmiths with a straight face. As soon as the door swung shut, he grinned, examining the strange object. “W.H.G. Geldof, eh?  What’s this thing do?”

____________________

Phillipe’s Story

Phillipe pushed open the door to the Plough Tavern, greeted by the warm glow of fire and murmurs of locals. He ambled up to the bar, ordering a round of drinks as he struck up a conversation.

Before long, Phillipe was spinning tales of the Misfits’ exploits – a bit… embellished. He spoke of Maverick’s daring raids and Morrigan’s aerial stunts, of Thomas’s fearsome mace-wilds and Max’s fiery antics.

The tavern owner, a jovial Labrador, listened with a grin, nodding along. As Phillipe finished a particularly dramatic tale, he declared, “Bloody hell, mate! You’ve got a gift! You and your… Misfits, yeah? You bring ’em in, you lot eat and stay here for free. Just keep tellin’ stories to keep the punters happy.”

Phillipe beamed, bowing slightly. “Zee deal, she is made! Merci, monsieur!”

The locals cheered, clapping Phillipe on the back. He grinned, thinking, time to get the gang.

____________________

Neville’s Story

Neville walked into the school, greeted by the familiar sight of his old teacher, Professor Pembly, the beaver. The beaver’s normally tidy fur was still patchy in spots, regrowing after ‘the incident’.

“Neville, thank goodness you’re back,” the Professor said, his voice strained. “We’ve had a break-in. Some of our books are gone, and I’m at a loss.”

Neville’s gut twisted with guilt – he knew exactly which books were missing. He pulled out the Learn Lightning Bolt book and handed it over.

The beaver’s eyes widened. “Neville! Where did you find this?”

Neville shifted uncomfortably. “The cultists up by the northern fields must’ve been the ones who broke in. We, uh, took care of them, though.”

The beaver sighed, taking the book back. “I see. Well, I can’t exactly give you a reward in pennies – I need to replace those books. But… I’ll send the woodworking class to the Den. They can do some repairs or make some stuff for you guys.”

Neville nodded, relieved. “Thanks, sir. That’d be awesome.”

The beaver nodded curtly, still looking stressed. “Alright. Now, go on. And Neville?  I do hope you are keeping out of trouble.” 

____________________

Thomas’s Story

Thomas marched out of the Den, mace slung over his shoulder and headed to the local village market.

A burly blacksmith eyed him. “You looking for work mate? Got logs need splitting. Pay’s a few coppers.”

Thomas nodded crisply. “Log splitting, Protocol: safety checks, proper gear, methodical chopping. Do logs. Require paperwork.” He muttered to himself.

The blacksmith chuckled. “Paperwork? Just split ’em, mate.”

Thomas frowned. “Regulations must be followed, or society will descend into anarchy.”

The blacksmith sighed, handing Thomas a clipboard. “Fine. Split ’em. Tick the boxes.”

Thomas nodded, swinging into work. Logs split, he collected his pay, checked the amount thrice, and signed the docket.

As he walked off, the blacksmith shook his head, “Hard worker that one, but very strange.”

____________________

Bramble’s Story

Bramble slipped out of the Den, determined to scuffle up some work. She hit the streets, sniffing out odd jobs and gigs to bring in some much-needed cash.

After a bit of scouting, she landed a few tasks – helping a local market stall owner with inventory, doing some pest control for a nearby bakery, and even scoring a small gig helping a pup with their homework.

As she worked, Bramble mentally tallied up the pennies she’d earn. Enough for some decent grub, maybe even some new gear for the gang.

Exhausted, she headed back to the Den.

____________________

Maximilliano’s Story

Maximiliano climbed out the window, mirror in one hand and a fine ring mail shirt draped over his shoulder, thinking he’d pulled off the heist.

A curious female squirrel and her friends caught him in the act.

The squirrel raised an eyebrow, tail twitching. “Midnight shopping?”

Max flashed his most charming smile. “¡Hola, mi amor! Acquiring essentials. For some poor orphans.”

The squirrel giggled. “Essentials, huh? Like that mirror and armour, you ‘found’?”

Max laughed, low and smooth.

The squirrel smiled slyly. “Alright, we’ll let you go if you promise to find things at our houses too.”

Max’s grin turned wicked. “¡Eso es un trato!”

The squirrel nodded, friends giggling behind her. “I’ll leave the window unlocked, you… bring the charm.”

Max winked, vanishing into the night.

_

Max sauntered into the Den, a sly grin spreading across his face as he led a procession of female animals, each carrying a plant or gardening tool. Maverick’s eyes widened in shock as they began setting up an herb garden in the corner.

Maverick spluttered, “Max, what the… what’s going on?”

Max winked, chuckling low. “Don’t ask, Mav.”

______________________________

And what did all that mean?

I decided that rather than have a few groups go out scouting, I would send out lots of individual scouting parties.  I had lots of Fate points remaining and figured it was worth the risk.  As it turned out, I rolled well for all my Wanderings.

As a result, not only did I end up with a decent number of pennies, but I also got a fair chunk of labour points, free upkeep for my warband and a Caliver!

Still no funky magic items or artifacts but at least I now had the coin to buy some much-needed equipment.

______________________________

Finally, Money to Spend and the Story Continues

Max sat with Bramble, a sparkle in his eye.

“Ah, mi corazón,” he purred, handing her the mirror. “This, mi amor, is so you can see the beauty that I look upon. The fire in your soul, the spark in your ojos… you are a treasure, Bramble.”

Bramble’s cheeks flushed.

Next, Max presented the armour, his voice dropping low. “And this, mi vida… is to keep you safe, porque sin ti, no hay vida.”

Just as Max leaned in, the Den door burst open, and Morrigan strutted in, a Caliver slung over his shoulder, a smirk plastered on his face.

“As if you guys weren’t just discussing how brilliant I am,” he drawled. “I mean, it’s obvious I’d be the one to score the real prize here – a W.H.G. Geldof from Ollie’s own hands. He practically gifted it to me. I’m so persuasive.”

Max groaned, rolling his eyes. Bramble giggled, the moment lost.

_

Neville and Thomas walked into the Den, drawn by Morrigan’s ear-piercing squawks. Morrigan was holding court, the Caliver propped proudly against his shoulder.

“…and then, I just looked at Ollie, and I’m like, ‘You know what, mate? I’m worth it.’ And he gave me this,” Morrigan was saying, gesturing dramatically with the weapon.

Neville’s eyes landed on the gun. “What’s that?”

Morrigan puffed out his chest. “Ah, this? It’s a… a W.H.G. Geldof, obviously.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “A W.H.G. Geldof?”

Morrigan nodded, smirk firmly in place. “Yeah. Top-of-the-line.  I got it from Ollie.”

Neville looked unconvinced. “Uh, Morrigan… I think that’s a gun.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Pff, details. W.H.G. Geldof is the technical term, innit?”

Thomas chuckled, a sly glint in his eye. “Morrigan, W.H.G stands for Witch Hunter General. As in, the guy who hunts witches. Not a gun model, exactly.”

Morrigan’s smirk faltered for a split second before he recovered. “Ah, ah, yeah… I knew that. I was, uh, being… metaphorical. This is a… a… ceremonial Witch Hunter General gun. Yeah.”

Neville snorted. “Ceremonial, you don’t even know what it is!”

Thomas leaned in, a grin spreading. “That musket belongs to the Witch Hunter General Geldof, Morrigan. You might’ve, ah, ‘acquired’ it from him.”

Morrigan’s face went white, but he quickly masked it with a forced laugh. “Hah! Oh, yeah, I knew that. I was just… testing you guys. Yeah, totally meant to take it. It’s, uh, part of the plan.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Morrigan, you’re shaking in your boots.”

Morrigan tried to play it cool, puffing out his chest. “I’m not scared of the Witch Hunter General. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Neville snorted. “You’re totally freaking out, Morrigan.”

Thomas shook his head. “This is exactly why we need rules and regulations. If you’d bothered to check before swiping stuff, you wouldn’t be in this mess. Now we have to deal with the Witch Hunter General coming after us.”

Morrigan tried to interrupt, but Thomas cut him off. “Save it, Morrigan. You need to return that gun and fast. Before things get messy.”

Morrigan swallowed hard, trying to maintain a shred of dignity.  “Over my dead body, it’s mine now.”

Thomas shook his head, “It could well be over your dead body.”

Cult Raid

Bramble nodded, decisive. “Right, no point waiting. We’ll head to the northern fields, see if we can get a lead on these Cultists. No sense going back to the den now Mav’s resting.”

The group set off, arriving at the small settlement as the sun dipped low. The place was quiet – too quiet.

Thomas frowned, hand on his mace, and approached a cottage. Suddenly, a screaming cultist burst out, eyes wild. Thomas swung his club in a vicious arc, connecting with the cultist’s skull with a sickening crunch.

But the cultist didn’t flinch. It kept coming, arms outstretched.

Maximiliano charged in, sword flashing. “¡Cuidado!” He struck the cultist with a powerful blow, but it barely registered. The cultist kept standing.

Phillipe followed, charging into the fray… and tripped over his own feet, landing hard on his arse. “Merde!”

The cultist finally collapsed, dispatched by Thomas’s mace. Phillipe stood up, dusting himself off, and tried to get some sense out of the group.

“Zut, did anyone get anything from-“

A torch sailed through the air, landing on the thatched roof of a nearby house, setting it ablaze. Flames crackled to life.

Maximiliano yelled, “¡Fuego! Guess we’re doing this.”

Neville laughed, torching another building. “Burn baby burn!”

Thomas grunted, eyeing the chaos. “Find more cultists. Thump ’em.”

Morrigan emerged from a house, jingling coins in his pocket. “Found some pennies. Now what?”

Phillipe threw up his hands. “Mon dieu, ze plan, it is… evolving…”

Bramble shouted, “Contain the fire, don’t burn the whole settlement! We need info!”

PANDEMIC CHAOS!

Morrigan took to the skies, crowing wildly. The cultists, already unhinged, lost it completely as Morrigan dive-bombed them, banking wildly. Bramble frantically took them down with precision arrows, shouting, “MORRIGAN, FOCUS!”

Meanwhile, Max and Neville were having a blast, torching everything flammable. “¡Más fuego!” Max yelled, igniting a hay bale.

Phillipe, oblivious, knocked politely on a burning door. “Excusez-moi, is anyone… uh… home?”

Thomas thundered through the chaos, mace swinging. “WHERE’S THE NEXT ONE?!”

Bramble facepalmed, reloading her bow. “This is… we need… dammit…” 

Through the smoke and chaos, the group spotted the weird mushroom creatures, led by squirrel sorcerers, taking down cultists left and right. Barry the Bastard, massive and menacing, lumbered into view with The Templars Khaotica – a  bunch of armour-clad psychopaths.

Bramble yelled, “Time to GTFO! Now!”

Neville laughed maniacally, still torching stuff. “WOOOO!”

Morrigan and Phillipe grabbed Thomas, who was still swinging his mace, growling, “One more… just ONE more cultist…”

They dragged him back towards the forest. “Thomas, it’s time to go! Other mercenaries arrived – and they’re weirder than us!”

The group melted into the trees, watching the chaos behind them. Barry and the squirrels were handling things.

As they vanished into the forest, Neville chuckled, “Best. Day. Ever.”

Bramble shook her head. “Mav’s gonna kill us.”

______________________________

Well, that didn’t go entirely to plan.

It turns out that the cultists were surprisingly resilient to being whacked.

With this being a 3-player game, there just was not the time to spend dallying around, especially with Kodas Templars bearing down on me.  That gang is terrifying.  The gang of shrooms also set about efficiently gaining intel at an alarming rate.

I did manage to get some coins and a small amount of intelligence on the Necromouser, but more important, was to get in and out as quickly as possible before the other two, vastly superior gangs got hold of me.

Once again, nowhere near a win for the Misfits, but we all survived.

Bramble’s brow furrowed as she scanned the ledgers, her finger tracing the columns of numbers. Thomas’s handwriting was neat, but the numbers weren’t looking good.

Seven pennies. That was all they had left. Not even enough to feed them, let alone get the other supplies they needed.

She glanced at Maverick, sleeping soundly on the bed. He needed rest, not worries about money.

Neville’s herb bag was almost empty, and without it, their healing options were zilch. They needed coin, and fast.

Bramble tapped the pennies on the desk. Maybe… just maybe… Max would have an idea. Not bending the rules, exactly. More like… creatively interpreting them.

She smiled wryly.  Yeah, that was a plan. Wake the crew and see what Max has got.

_

Maximiliano grinned, eyes sparkling. “Ah, sí! We liberate ze wealthy animals of ze local towns from ze burden of so many pennies! ¡Es un acto de caridad!”

Neville nodded solemnly. “That’s true, it must be really tiring carrying all that weight around.”

Thomas looked gobsmacked, stuttering, “W-what? No, Max, no. We can’t just… that’s… that’s…”

Morrigan sighed, “For the love of gods, can we move on? This is dull.”

Phillipe intervened, “Pardon, mais perhaps we could take on a job? Zere are plenty advertised at ze market square for those handy with a sword. Mercenary work, non?”

Bramble nodded, “Now that’s a plan. Pays coin, keeps us busy.”

Maximiliano chuckled. “Ah, Phillipe, siempre el sensato. Okay, ze job, eet ees a plan.”

Thomas looked relieved. “J-jobs. Yes. Good.”

____________________

As the group approached the market square, the atmosphere hit them like a cold breeze. It was quieter than usual, the usual bustle replaced by hushed conversations and nervous glances.

Sanders stood by the notice board, arms crossed, while Kentucky added another poster to the growing collection. The group’s eyes landed on the latest addition:

Bramble raised an eyebrow. “Northern fields. That’s where the mole was, where the Ghasts appeared.”

Thomas nodded grimly. “And they’re offering a respectable and honest amount of compensation, after taxes and other deductions.”

Maximiliano spoke up, a sly glace in his eye. “Ah, maybe we no just kill ze Cultists, sí? Maybe we interrogate, see if zey know anything about ze Necromouser?”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Hmm. Worth considering.”

Phillipe nodded. “Oui, could give us leverage.”

Kentucky frowned. “Just be careful.”

Sanders added, “If you’re gonna do it, be alert. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

The group exchanged a look. This was gonna be messy.

____________________

Maverick’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up with a jolt.

The den was empty, but his mind was racing. The stone, the rat, the Stillwater Irregulars… it was all clicking into place.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, brain ticking over.

First, the stone appears, and they get a tip about the mole.

Then, he remembered – the mole incident, the direction the Ghasts came from…

There was a stone near there.

Same as the one that appeared initially in North Piddle. Mav’s gut told him they were onto something.

Irregulars were up to something, and it wasn’t just petty thug stuff. This was bigger.

He staggered to his feet, grabbing at his armour. He needed to get dressed, find the others…

But as he tugged on his leathers, exhaustion hit like a wave. Mav’s vision swam, and he collapsed back onto the bed, breathing hard. “Bugger… Bramble’s gonna kill me…” he muttered, passing out.

Training and Den Upgrade

Morrigan swooped down, his black wings beating fiercely as he landed outside the Den. His scowl deepened as he spotted Thomas, drill sergeant-style, barking orders at himself.

“Left, right, left, right… about… TURN! Halt! Check one, two.”

Morrigan stormed over. “Thomas. What. Is. The. Meaning. Of. This?” He shoved the Ombudsman’s letter into Thomas’s chest.

Thomas caught mid-“left, right”, stopped. His eyes widened as he saw the letter. “Ah. Morrigan. Just… just practising drill discipline.”

Thomas’s eyes widened as Morrigan turned his back, stormed off, and drew his bow. “Morrigan, don’t—”

Twang.

An arrow thunked into the ground a few feet from Thomas, who jumped back, eyes fixed on the vibrating shaft.

Thomas glared at the arrow, then at Morrigan.  “Morrigan. You. Are. A. Nincompoop.”

Twang.

Another arrow landed with a soft thud, this one mere inches from Thomas’s boot. He yelled, jumping back like he’d stepped on a hot coal.

Morrigan called out sweetly, “Fancy footwork, Thomas?”

Thomas glared deathly at Morrigan. “YOU. ARE. GOING. TO. RUN. OUT. OF. ARROWS.”

Inside the Den, Maximiliano watched Thomas jumping around through a window, unaware of what was actually happening outside.  A grin spread across his face. “¡Está bailando! He’s dancing the Flamenco!”

He nudged Neville. “We should get him some castanets. Thomas would be fantastic with castanets.”

Neville looked confused but shrugged. “Sure, Max. Castanets it is.”

Twang, twang, twang.

Arrows rained down, each landing closer than the last. Thomas yelled, dodging and leaping like a madman.

Bramble, noticing an arrow fly past the window, burst out of the Den, eyes scanning wildly. “HE’S NOT DANCING! SOMEONE’S SHOOTING AT HIM!”

Her gaze locked on Morrigan, still firing arrows with a wicked grin.

Her face darkened. “MORRIGAN, STOP IT! NOW!”

Thomas, lying sprawled on the ground, wheezed a thanks as Bramble stormed over, shielding him.

Morrigan lowered his bow, looking sheepish. “Just… having a bit of fun.”

Bramble glared. “Fun? You could’ve hit him!”

Bramble stood tall, hands on hips, glaring at Morrigan and Thomas. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. One of you’s gonna end up dead.”

She jerked a thumb at Maverick, lying on a bed just inside the open Den door, Neville tending to him. “Mav’s out for a bit. Meanwhile, I’m in charge.”

She turned to Morrigan. “You wanna shoot stuff? Build an archery range. Maybe Twinkle Toes here can help.” She gestured at Thomas, still catching his breath.

Thomas bristled. “Twinkle Toes?”

Morrigan smirked. “An archery range. Sounds like a plan.”

Bramble’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. It’s settled. Now sort it out.”

____________________

Wandering into the Wilds

Max and Neville slipped out of the Den, trying not to draw attention to themselves as Bramble continued to vent at Morrigan and Thomas.

As they hit the trees, Neville nudged Max. “Gonna do more crime? Break some more rules?”

Max flashed a charming grin. “Ah, Neville, amigo, ve are not breaking ze rules, ve are… ‘bending’ them, sí? Reshaping them, like a master craftsman, to be something más… amicable.”

Neville’s eyes widened, totally buying it. “Ooh, like… rule origami!”

Max laughed, clapping Neville on the back. “¡Exacto! Ze origami of rules, eet ees a beautiful thing, no? Ve are not rule-breakers, ve are rule-renovators, eh?”

Neville beamed. “I’m gonna renovate some rules, then!”

Max winked. “¡Eso es el espíritu! Let’s go find some bendy rules, amigo.”

____________________

As they approached the temple of light, a trio of female Rabbits in flowing white robes greeted them, their noses twitching and eyes bright.

One rabbit, seemingly the leader, stepped forward, her gaze locking onto Max. “Ah, a weary traveller. You are wounded, señor. Come, let us tend to you.”

Neville opened his mouth to clarify, but Max shot him a look, a sly grin spreading across his face.

“Ah, gracias, mi conejas encantadoras. I am but a poor, wounded soul, in need of your gentle care.” He winced dramatically, limping forward.

The rabbits cooed, ushering Max onto a nearby bench, fussing over him with twigs and potions. Neville trailed behind, trying to interject.

“Uh, no, really, he’s fine, I—”

Max winked at him, enjoying the attention. “Sí, Neville, I am but a frail flower, in need of their tender loving care.”

The lead rabbit, besotted, began stroking Max’s hair. “Rest, señor. We shall make you whole again.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “Max, you’re not even hurt…”

Max just smiled, basking in the attention. “Gracias, mis amigas. You are too kind.”

____________________

As dusk fell, the rabbits presented Max and Neville with bundles of fragrant herbs and whispered invitations to return soon.

With a contented sigh, Max stood, stretching like a cat. “Gracias, mis conejas. You’ve worked your magic. We’re refreshed, renewed, and ready for… rule-renovation.”

Neville, still grinning, nodded emphatically. “Yeah, and I’m gonna float away!”

The two friends ambled off into the night, feeling wonderfully relaxed, as the Rabbits watched them go.

____________________

Reflection

Phillipe slumped against a tree, looking dejected. “I… I don’t know, Bramble. I felt like a complete fool out there. My sword work was abysmal.”

Bramble strode over, her expression softening. “Phil, your sword work might’ve been off, but your courage wasn’t. You charged in without hesitating, that’s bravery, no doubt about it.”

Phillipe looked up, a hint of doubt still lingering. “Really? I just felt… slow.”

Bramble clapped him on the back. “Slow? You were fierce! – You’re not the only one with off days. Point is, you didn’t back down. That’s what counts.”

Phillipe’s shoulders straightened slightly. “You think so?”

Bramble nodded. “I do. And Mav said you’d be back to your fancy sword-fighting self in no time. So, chin up, yeah?”

A small smile crept onto Phillipe’s face. “Thanks, Bramble. Just needed a bit of a boost.”

Bramble grinned. “Now, where’s that French accent we all love, Phil? ‘Ze sword, eet ees in ze wrong place!’ or something like that?”

Phillipe chuckled, a shrug lifting his shoulders. “Ah, ze accent, eet ees hiding, Bramble. Maybe ze embarrassment, eet ees hiding eet too?”

Bramble laughed. “Well, bring it back. We miss it. And maybe practice some sword-fighting quips in French – Morrigan won’t know what’s hit him.”

Phillipe grinned, a hint of the swagger returning. “Ooh la la, ze Morrigan, he ees doomed, no?”

Bramble smiled, “Now let’s go find the others – before Max bends more rules with those Rabbits.”

______________________________

And what does that all mean exactly?

Maverick was the only person who suffered any effects from an injury roll and has to sit out the next game while he is laid up. There is no long-term damage so he will be back in action soon.  In the meantime, Bramble will step up to lead the Misfits.

Morrigan and Thomas both got to roll on the advancement table after doing a bit of training.  Morrigan got to improve his Ranged statistic, whilst Thomas got to improve his Nimbleness.  That in itself is funny, considering he is a snail.

For Den upgrades, I went with an Archery Range.  Something that would have helped generate more income would probably have been a wiser investment, but my ragtag group are managing to scrape by…just.

Maximilliano led Neville as they wandered once more into the wilds and came across the Temple of Light.  As a result, Max can now ignore his next roll on the Major Injuries Table.

I didn’t end up with much in the way of remaining pennies after paying upkeep, and my coffers currently stand at a measly 7 pennies.  Neville has proved himself time and time again, managing to get perfect rolls just when I needed them.  I would like to get him some more ingredients because I have a feeling his lucky dice rolls will eventually run out.

Thanks to Maverick resting, I will be going into my next battle with quite a low rating, which has the benefit of giving me more fate points to distribute.  Those will definitely come in handy now that I have several models with the Lucky skill.

I am aware that lots of the other players in the campaign have managed to stumble across magic items and all sorts of fancy things. I, in turn, am struggling to find the pennies to even equip all my gang with swords.  But we will get there.  I have faith in this motley crew.

I am having an absolute blast with this campaign, and the stories just seem to write themselves.

Neville’s gaze drifted out the window, his eyes fixed on the thick fog that shrouded the forest. “Ugh, why can’t I just zap the Necromouser with lightning? Life would be so much easier,” he muttered to himself.

In the library corner, Morrigan was busy tormenting Thomas. “Thomas, Thomas, Thomas… you’re doing it all wrong. These books need to be organised by colour, not alphabet. Alphabetical is so… boring.”

Thomas’s antennae twitched frantically as he struggled to keep up with Morrigan’s demands. “B-but Morrigan, alphabetical is the standard way to-“

Morrigan cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Standard way is for suckers, Thomas. Colour-coded is where it’s at.”

Thomas’s nervous twitch turned into a full-blown spasm, his eyes darting wildly between the books. Morrigan chuckled, clearly enjoying the snail’s distress.

Just as Morrigan was about to give Thomas another instruction, Neville’s jaw dropped open in shock. “Guys… the fog… It’s gone!”

The group turned to stare out the window, where the fog had indeed vanished, revealing an eerily clear forest.

Morrigan’s grin faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “Well, well, well…”

Thomas let out a sigh of relief, glad for the distraction from Morrigan’s colour-coded chaos. “What do you think happened to the fog?” he asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

____________________

The Mole Hunt

The group’s eyes locked onto the messenger, a wiry little weasel with an urgent look in his eye. “Mole’s got info on the Necromouser,” he panted. “Says it’s crucial. You gotta talk to him, pronto.”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the Mole?”

The weasel swallowed. “Hiding out in the ploughed fields just north of Snodsbury. Says it’s too risky to move.”

Maverick nodded, already moving. “We’ll take care of it. Everybody, gear up.”

Maximiliano cracked his knuckles. “Time for a thrashing?”

The group’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “If necessary,” Maverick growled.

____________________

The Side Quest

Thomas stepped forward, his expression serious, and handed Morrigan a sealed envelope. “Morrigan, no matter what happens, it’s vital this letter gets delivered.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “From you? What’s in it, then?”

Thomas’s face remained stern. “Just… just make sure it gets to the address written on it. It’s critical.”

Morrigan snorted, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You think I’m the best choice? Interesting.”

Morrigan glanced at the envelope, then tucked it away with a flourish. “Don’t worry, Thomas. I’ll get it delivered. After all, someone’s got to save the day.”

______________________________

For this next game, we were playing the Mole Hunt, and for one of my side quests, I rolled up Deliver the Message.  The main mission was to locate the mole, rough him up a bit, and get the information from him.   The side quest was for one of my characters to be chosen to carry a message off the table edge via the opponent’s deployment zone.

______________________________

The Battle

The group’s eyes scanned the fields, the only sound the rustle of dry earth beneath their feet. Bramble’s gaze snapped upwards, her eyes locking onto a sleek crow swooping low over the ground.

“Cawliver!” she called out, a mix of surprise and curiosity on her face.

As she recalled their awkward meeting with the crow when he was on his way to join the Stillwater Irregulars, the air seemed to grow thick. The trees surrounding the field began to writhe and twist, and the air became suddenly colder.

Cawliver cawed, a low, raspy sound, and the trees seemed to shudder. The shadows coalesced into ghastly forms – the Stillwater Irregulars, glowing with an eerie green mist.

Maverick’s eyes narrowed. “The Irregulars… are Undead?”

Bramble’s eyes widened. “Cawliver’s gone… dark.”

The Undead lurched forward, their mist swirling, eyes fixed on the group. Maverick’s grin was feral and hungry. “Looks like we’ve got old friends.” As he saw the huge shape of a Brown Rat entwined with green whisps.

Bramble’s arrow thunked into Cawliver’s shoulder, the crow letting out a pained squawk as he stumbled mid-air. The Ghasts surged forward, undead eyes fixed on the group.

Max, Thomas, Philippe, and Maverick fanned out, weapons at the ready. Morrigan took to the air, landing at the far left of the line with a flourish.

Neville’s grin grew wider as he unleashed a lightning bolt at the towering undead Giant Brown Rat. “Eat this!”

The rat, eyes glowing green, whipped out a magic mirror with surprising speed. “Reflectio!” it squeaked.

The lightning struck the mirror – which shattered with a crash. The bolt fizzled into nothingness, sparing Neville.

The rat chuckled, a low, evil sound. “Pathetic.”

The Undead closed in, the group’s battle cry echoing across the field.

Maverick led the charge, Max and Philippe following close behind.

They crashed into the Ghast horde, steel clashing with undead determination.

Philippe swung his sword with wild abandon, more conductor than warrior, “C’est un massacre!” he declared, continuing to swing his sword in an ineffectual manner.

 Thomas lumbered forward, his mace arched through the air, crunching into a Ghast with a meaty thump, splattering undead bits everywhere.

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed, annoyance flickering across his face. “How is he…? Ugh, Thomas is actually good at this,” muttering under his breath. “Doesn’t matter, my mission’s the priority. Delivering this letter trumps Thomas’s smash-fest any day.”

He took to the air once more. “I’ll still be the hero when this is done. Thomas can be the bruiser.” A Ghast looked at Morrigan, who held up a dismissive hand. “Shoo. I’ve got bigger things to do.”

Maverick stumbled under the Giant Rat’s fury, its claws and teeth tearing at his armour. The undead horde surged around him, their blows raining down like a hail of hammers. He gritted his teeth, muscles screaming as he fought to stay upright.

Thomas, eyes fixed on Maverick, ploughed through the undead with grim determination. His mace swung in slow, crushing arcs, clearing a path through the Ghasts. “Maverick… hold… on!” he grunted, each word punctuated by a meaty thump.

Morrigan watched, a mix of concern and calculation on his face. “Maverick’s taking a beating… Thomas is almost there.”

____________________

The Giant Rat squeaked triumphantly, landing a solid blow that sent Maverick to one knee. Thomas’s mace crushed a Ghast, splattering it into goo. “Almost… there…”

Maverick collapsed, his massive sword slipping from his grasp as he hit the dirt. Blood poured from his wounds, his chest heaving with exhaustion.

The Giant Rat raised a claw, ready to finish him off – but Neville’s eyes flashed. “Levioso… FIXIO!” he shouted, channelling all his willpower into the spell.

The air around Maverick shimmered. Energy burst forth, lifting him off the ground. Wounds knitted shut, his heart steadied, and fury surged back into his veins.

Maverick roared, alive with renewed power.

Bramble’s arrows thunked into the Ghast’s face, one after another, with deadly precision. Just as the Misfits started to push forward, a massive BOOM shook the ground, echoing across the fields.

The Ghasts stumbled, their green glow faltering as the blast sent them reeling. The Stillwater Irregulars wretched and wailed, their undead legs buckling.

The Musfits seized the moment, pressing their advantage. The Ghasts fell back, disorganised.

Bramble’s eyes narrowed, scanning the field. “They got to the Mole first,” she said, her voice tight with realisation.

In the distance, Morrigan’s dark form swooped away, vanishing into the trees.

____________________

Side Quest Complete

Morrigan stood before the unassuming door, the address on the envelope matching the worn sign: “Ombudsman”. He puffed out his chest, smoothing his attire.

He rapped on the door, a confident knock. The wait felt like an eternity.

_

The door swung open, revealing a stern elderly tortoise peering over half-framed glasses. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice dry as old parchment.

Morrigan’s bravado faltered for a moment – what was an Ombudsman? – but he recovered. “Delivery,” he said, offering the envelope.

_

The ombudsman unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the contents. A tut escaped his lips, disappointment etched on his face. He looked up at Morrigan, his gaze solemn.

The tortoise handed the letter back to Morrigan, his expression unyielding. “It shall all be recorded in the official archives,” he intoned, as if that was the end of the matter.

The door creaked shut, leaving Morrigan standing there, looking stunned.

“…Reward?” he mumbled weakly to himself, feeling a bit silly.

_

Morrigan’s eyes widened as he scanned the letter, his face growing hotter with each line. 

Morrigan’s eyes landed on the final insults. “Nincompoop? Baffoon?” He spluttered, outrage rising.

“Thomas wrote this? I’ll show him organisation.” He stuffed the letter into his cloak, muttering darkly about snack accountability.

______________________________

And that means?

Morrigan got the task of delivering an important message.  I figured he had the best chance of completing it, which he did.

Maverick took an absolute pounding, getting down to one hit point remaining.  Luckily, Neville came to the rescue in time, managing to get two successive cure spells off and restoring him to almost full health.

Thomas was a beast in combat, blows bouncing off his hard shell.

The game technically ended in a draw, with the Irregulars finding the mole but not escaping with the information; they took a few casualties for their efforts, though, whilst the Mavericks managed to get through without anyone going out of action once again.

Next up, I will go through the post-game phase.