TOPIC: R5 2026 : Quietdale - Blades of the Moon

SESSION ONE: YOU’LL DO NICELY

Our story does not begin in a tavern.
There is no roaring fire. No mysterious stranger brooding in the corner. No conveniently abandoned noticeboard promising twenty gold pieces to clear rats from somebody’s cellar.
It begins underground.
It begins in the dark.
And none of them know why they are there.
Six people wake alone in six stone cells.
Their equipment hangs nearby, nicely laid out and ready for them. Nobody remembers being brought here. Nobody knows where here is. There are no guards. No voices. No explanation.
Just cold stone.
Iron.
And the deeply unpleasant knowledge that somebody went to considerable effort to put them there.
That is fucking scary.

The six prisoners are:
Eldric, played by Ellie, an archer whose instinct for compassion will prove considerably more reliable than his ability to avoid shooting his companions.
Amadeus Strongbrew, played by Mike, a dwarf blessed with extraordinary strength, absolute confidence, and the firm belief that most obstacles can be resolved by hitting them with sufficient enthusiasm.
Metro Gnome, played by Laura, a deft-handed rogue with an eye for mechanisms, secrets, and apparently proving herself superior to every other rogue unfortunate enough to enter the same postcode.
Zarxius, played by Morgan, a sorcerer quickly discovering that magic solves an impressive number of problems, provided nobody becomes too precious about collateral damage.
Dun, played by Ted, a dwarven priest of war with a tactical mind, an uncanny understanding of stonework, and an increasingly straightforward interpretation of the word enemy.
And Galek, played by Dan, a hulking warrior with a recurring habit of placing himself directly between danger and everybody else, whether the danger has asked him to or not.
They do not wait long for answers.

Mostly because Amadeus tears his way out.
Gripping the bars of his cell, he pulls until iron bends beneath his hands.
The first prisoner steps free.
Metro follows shortly afterwards, albeit through the considerably more civilised method of picking the lock.
Zarxius examines his own cell.
There is a lock.
He has fire.
After several repeated blasts of magical flame, there is substantially less lock.
Problem solved.

Galek, Eldric and Dun have less success.
Strength fails. Lockpicks refuse to cooperate. Various increasingly optimistic attempts accomplish very little.
Eventually, Dun does something revolutionary.
He asks for help.
Metro obliges.
Eventually.
Trying to manipulate the locks from the opposite side proves less intuitive than expected, and her first attempt succeeds only in locking the prisoners in more securely.
An impressive achievement.
Undeterred, she corrects her mistake and frees Dun and Eldric.
Galek receives somewhat less delicate assistance.
Amadeus approaches the bars.
“Stand back, fellows!”
He grips them.
A moment later, Galek is free.
Together at last, the six retrieve their equipment and enter the chamber beyond.

Above the cells is a designation.
COHORT VI
Nobody knows what it means.
An army?
A unit?
Some organisation?

Whatever the answer, there is something uncomfortable about that number.
Numbers imply classification.
And classification implies there were others.
Metro unlocks the metal door ahead.

The next chamber contains goblins.
Six of them.
Seven, if you count the corpse lying against the far wall.
But these aren't snarling raiders waiting eagerly for blood.
They are terrified.
Thin.
Starving.
Their weapons are scraps of timber and chunks of stone scavenged from the dungeon itself. Their bodies are wasted. Their movements weak.
Whatever nightmare the six prisoners have stumbled into, these creatures appear to have been trapped inside it for considerably longer.
Nobody attacks.

Eldric reaches into his pack.
He removes a ration and scatters food towards the goblins.
They recoil.
To Eldric, it is kindness.
To starving creatures imprisoned by people they do not understand, it might just as easily be poison.
Galek tries another approach.
He moves forward carefully, hands raised, attempting to show that he means no harm.
The goblins don't believe him.
Maybe they don't understand.
Maybe they are simply too frightened to take the chance.
Cornered, starving and faced with six heavily armed strangers, they attack.

Metro moves first.
She rushes towards the nearest goblin and swings her shortsword, deliberately turning the blade at the last moment and striking with the flat.
The blow lands hard.
Not enough to kill.
Enough to terrify.
The wounded goblin immediately breaks away and retreats into the corner.
Two more attack Galek.
Neither lands a meaningful blow.
Eldric raises his bow.
Draws.
Fires.
And shoots Metro in the back.
Not quite the heroic intervention he had presumably envisioned.

Amadeus storms forward next, wielding what can only generously be described as a weapon.
Two battered beer tankards.
Connected by a chain.
Nunchucks.
Because apparently civilisation peaked and nobody told us.
He swings.

The first goblin is knocked unconscious so violently that its body flies backwards into the creature behind it.

Zarxius takes a different approach.
Acid.
The spell strikes.
There is no dramatic sword wound.
No clean fall.
The goblin simply dissolves.
Flesh melts.
Bone follows.
And Zarxius stares at the remains, surprised not so much that the creature is dead...

...but by just how powerful he apparently is.

Amadeus soon discovers a similar problem.
He grabs one badly wounded goblin, attempting to restrain it.
The creature is barely standing.
Starved.
Fragile.
Almost dead already.
Amadeus squeezes.
There is a crack.
The goblin goes limp.
He hadn't meant to kill it.
He simply hadn't understood how easy killing it would be.
Mercy, it turns out, requires knowing your own strength.

Dun has no such problem deciding what constitutes an appropriate target.
He surveys the fight.
Identifies the weakest opponent.
And calls upon the tolling of death.

Eldric, who only moments earlier had tried feeding these creatures, now puts an arrow into the kidney of an injured goblin.
Something changes once a frightened creature becomes an enemy.
One survivor finally breaks.
It drops its makeshift weapon.
Turns its back.
Runs.
It reaches the opposite door and begins clawing desperately at the stone.
It wants out.
Nothing more.
Galek catches it with a shield bash, but fails to bring it down.

Metro watches.
As far as she is concerned, the fight is effectively over.
She turns away.

Dun disagrees.
His handaxe leaves his grip.
The goblin dies against the door it had been trying to escape through.

Metro walks towards the corpse already lying in the far corner.
It has been dead for some time.
There are bite marks across the flesh.
Not wounds from whatever killed it.
Marks left afterwards.
The goblins had been trapped here long enough...
starving long enough...
that eventually they had begun eating their dead.

Metro searches the corpse.
She finds a note.
The handwriting is crude, but unmistakably readable.
Scry Smart! Scry help friends!
Below it, written later in a much shakier hand:
Scry Hungry. Scry Scared.
The dead goblin had a name.
Scry could write.
Scry had been trying to help the others survive.

Eldric searches the remaining bodies and earns himself the princely sum of two copper pieces.
Adventure.
Riches.
Early retirement is surely imminent.
Eventually, the door opens.
And they leave.

Several goblins remain unconscious behind them.
None of the six stop to consider what will happen to them.
Not until the next corridor.
The passage is long.
Narrow.
Five feet wide.
Galek takes point.
He makes it approximately two steps.
Something moves.
A block of wood swings from the wall and catches him squarely in the face.
Three points of damage.
A cheap lesson.
The corridor is trapped.

Behind him, Eldric turns towards the previous room, joking about finding something that could perhaps be attached to a stick and used as a makeshift mine detector.
A goblin, perhaps.
Instead, he spots movement.
Something pale and many-legged has crawled into the chamber behind them.
A carrion crawler.
It lowers itself over one of the unconscious goblins.

Dan stares at the model.
Morgan doesn't.
“It's a carrion crawler. You don't want to fight it.”

Suddenly the traps ahead become slightly less important.
Galek moves cautiously.
One tile at a time.
Behind him, the crawler finishes feeding.
Another unconscious goblin disappears.

Dun looks back.
“Right. We need to move. Now.”
Galek moves faster.

Apparently deciding the lesson delivered directly to his face was more of a suggestion.
His boot catches a tripwire.
A concealed crossbow fires.
The bolt buries itself in his arm.
They continue.

The next chamber looks simpler.
A portcullis blocks the far side.
Beside the entrance is a ratchet.
And written plainly where nobody can miss it:
SOMEONE HAS TO STAY BEHIND
Nobody volunteers.
Nobody discusses volunteers.
Nobody even seriously entertains the possibility.
Metro tests the ratchet.
Turn it, and the portcullis rises.

Release it...
...and the gate crashes straight back down.

So Galek and Amadeus decide they will simply hold it open.
They move beneath the gate.
Grip the metal.
Push.
And something pushes back.
Not merely weight.
Force.
Whatever mechanism controls the portcullis actively resists them.
Galek strains.
Amadeus plants his feet.
The gate presses down.
And Amadeus refuses to move.
For several seconds, raw strength beats the mechanism.
But even he cannot hold it forever.
Zarxius considers the problem.
Once again there is metal.

Once again Zarxius has acid.
Some people learn from experience.
Zarxius believes experience should mind its own fucking business.
He casts.
The acid bites into the portcullis.
It works.
Unfortunately, it also eats through chains connecting the gate to the ratchet.
The entire room shudders.
Stone moves somewhere overhead.
Zarxius responds with an eye-roll.
Apparently the collapsing architecture is being inconvenient.

Metro begins searching desperately for something to jam into the mechanism.
She finds a piece of wood.
For one glorious moment, it appears useful.
Then it snaps.

Dun turns his attention towards the stonework.
The others watch as he inspects the masonry with such enthusiasm that the process rapidly becomes known as:
“Licking the wall.”
But it works.
He identifies a fractured block of stone.

Strong enough.
Heavy enough.
They wedge it into the mechanism.
The ratchet holds.
Everyone runs.

Behind them, Zarxius' acid finishes eating through the machinery.
The ceiling comes down.
Huge slabs of stone smash into the room with enough force to kill anyone still inside.
The route behind them disappears beneath tonnes of rubble.
There will be no going back.
Only forward.

Eventually they enter another empty chamber.
Above the opposite wall is a new designation.
COHORT VII
Nothing happens.
For the first time since waking, they have time.

They rest.
Bind wounds.
Catch their breath.
And prepare.
Because after everything they've seen, none of them believe that sign is merely decorative.

Galek positions himself directly in front of where he expects the next doorway to appear.
Because apparently being hit in the face by one dungeon wasn't enough for the evening.
Dun positions himself beside the expected entrance, preparing to turn it into a fatal funnel.

Eldric moves to the back of the room, giving himself space to use his bow.
Amadeus and Zarxius spread themselves across the centre.
They are ready.
They have predicted the battlefield.
Unfortunately, the battlefield has not read their strategy.

There is no door.
The entire wall moves.
Stone grinds against stone.
The partition retracts.
The chamber suddenly doubles in size.
And six more people are standing on the other side.

Another party.
Another cohort.
The sellsword amongst them counts the newcomers.
Six.
The cutpurse protests.
Confusion spreads.
Fear.
Anger.
Then somebody says what everyone in the room is thinking.

“I'm not dying in this fucking hole.”

Weapons come free.

Metro moves first.
She disappears into the shifting bodies.
Then reappears beside the opposing rogue.
His name is Pip.
Her shortsword drives into his stomach.
Deep.
She twists the blade.
Blood sprays across her hands.
Across her clothes.
Across the floor.
A voice screams.

“NO, PIP!”

An arrow flies towards Metro.
Another fighter charges Galek.

The rest hesitate.
Because whatever they expected when that wall opened...
...it apparently wasn't this.

Dun does not hesitate.
He moves towards the opposing dwarf and drives his mace into the sellsword's face.
A second blow nearly follows, stopped only by the dwarf desperately intercepting it.
Amadeus raises his hands.
He tries diplomacy.
The universe responds with a natural one.

Negotiations have apparently concluded.
So Amadeus switches to his other diplomatic technique.
He approaches the dwarf.
“Your block was good...”
He draws back his fist.
“...but block THIS!”

One uppercut.
The dwarf hits the floor.
Non-lethally.
Technically.

Galek chooses differently.
The sellsword falls.
He doesn't get back up.

Eldric tries to persuade the others to stop fighting.
It fails.
His bow comes up.
The arrow strikes the hedge mage in the kidney.

Cohort VII begins retreating.
Whatever determination they entered with is already breaking.
Pip has lost the will to fight.
Their cleric tries desperately to heal him.
The mage steps backwards.
Metro watches the other rogue.

Bloodied.
Terrified.
Barely standing.

And decides that now is the ideal time to establish professional dominance.

She walks up to Pip.
And pickpockets him.
In plain sight.
A pouch.
Inside it:
Ball bearings.
Caltrops.

Victory, presumably.

The fight continues.
But increasingly it becomes difficult to call it a fight.
Cohort VII retreats into the corner.
Cohort VI repeatedly demands that they stop.

Offers are made.
Threats are made.
Attempts at persuasion come again and again.
But every demand to surrender arrives alongside another mace.
Another arrow.
Another blade.
Eventually, the words mean nothing.
The hedge mage dies against the wall, an arrow driving through them and pinning the body in place.
The cleric falls.
One by one...
Cohort VII disappears.
Until only Pip remains.

Everyone else he entered the room with is dead.
He is bleeding.
Exhausted.
Alone.
He looks at the six people surrounding him.
He knows what comes next.
And he decides they will not have it.

Pip raises his knife to his own throat.

There are seconds to react.
“I shoot his hand!” Eldric shouts.
“I grab him!” Amadeus yells.

Eldric fires first.
The shot is perfect.
The arrow destroys Pip's hand before the blade reaches his throat.
But Pip was already barely alive.
He collapses.
The room goes quiet.

Six bodies lie on the floor.

Zarxius laughs.
Dun immediately begins searching the corpses.
Their bodies are still warm.

Ted. Mate.

Amongst their belongings is Pip's knife.
A striking dagger with a ruby inlaid into its handle.
And then they find the note.
Its instructions are simple.

Six individuals await beyond the final gate.
Kill them and you will be released.
All six must die.

Cohort VII knew what was waiting for them.
Cohort VI had received no such message.
And yet six bodies still lie on the floor.

The final doors open.
Beyond them...
stairs.
There is nowhere else to go.

Six strangers woke inside six cages.
They didn't know where they were.
They didn't know why they had been imprisoned.
They didn't know who had built this place.
They tried kindness.
They killed.
They showed mercy.
They killed.
They protected one another.
They refused to leave anybody behind.
They survived traps.
They survived monsters.
They survived another group of people who were every bit as frightened as they were.
And eventually they reach the stairs.

Then a voice speaks from somewhere beyond the darkness.

Calm.

Satisfied.

Certain.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You'll do nicely.”

And everything goes dark.

End of Session One.

Incredible! Such unyielding literary perfection! This elegant prose, forged by the fires of rigorous discipline!