Dogs on the Isle Session #3 Report: New Dogs, New Tricks
It is the 3rd of Late Winter. It has been 10 days since the shipwreck.
Playing in this session: Katts as Odela. Mistuh as Ali Ibn Qasim. Cellar as Flynn Sturlasson. Feir as Sgàthach.
Last session was rough. It has been 3 days in-fiction since the disastrous attack on the lair of the Man-Faced Hound resulted in four of the Dogs dying, whether by monstrous tooth & nail or by drowning in the high tide. Those three days were spent licking wounds, re-assessing plans, and practicing Ruis as to facilitate better communication.
This time around, the Dogs that remained knew they would need a better plan. Straight combat was folly, clearly; the beast's supernatural defenses absorbed too much damage to make it feasible. With the ship's leaders now fallen, a new crop of warriors would take up their arms and avenge them; Odela, the Once-Nun from the Marches. Ali Ibn Qasim, a foreigner from the deserts in the south and student of alchemy. Sgàthach, a Brython warrior-woman. They would join Flynn Sturlasson in facing down the Man-Faced Hound with a new strategy.
The first order of business was firewood. So long as Argentum remained in its cave, they would be fighting in the dark, in its territory. To draw it out, they devised a plan to use smoke. The better chunk of a day was spent along the southern roads from Dorbagh, felling trees to haul to the beaches, leaves as well.
The next matter to attend to was timing. The beast had waited them out last time and allowed the tide to wash in and wash them out. Had they been prepared for that, Sigusthir might have lived. Flynn, with his crude Ruis taught by his peers, asked the fishermen of the city about the tides. "High tide is at noon," they told him. Noon and midnight, or just past. The party would be ready this time, and attack at daybreak when the beast was vulnerable.
Lastly, they had to amend their arms. This new batch of warriors put aside bows and axes, and favored nets and clubs. They would target the monster not by its hide, but by its lungs. They would beat it with clubs, cast a net over its body, and drag the horrid thing to the sea to drown. To aid in this, Odela hired two men from Dorbagh's warrior-caste. Brothers, Colm and Sean, were paid two days of silver to cast the net over the monster and drag it with them. The duo accepted, and joined the troupe.
The night before the attack, the Dogs made camp at the cliffside to prepare themselves. As the sun set, they saw a group traveling. Twenty or so men and women led by an elder with soil staining his mouth. The group was peaceful, albeit uncomfortable with Odela's speaking of Latin. Before further communication could be attempted, however, chaos broke out as arrows spat from the eastern treeline. The travelers scattered, dropping for cover as the elder reached into his pocket and muttered in some unknown language.
The Dogs intervened, preparing arrows of their own. After a tense moment, a group of these attackers emerged from the shadows. Peasants armed with bows and spears, a hungry look in their eyes. Bandits, no doubt about it. The leader called out that there was no need for bloodshed here. They only wanted the elder. He is a druid, they said, a magic-user. They had heard that the Lord of Blulach was averse to these pagans, and might smile on those who bring one to him. If the peasants handed over their Druid, they might be allowed to live. Otherwise, the man would be dragged over bodies.
The Dogs convened quietly. This wasn't their fight, but they were involved now. They called out and asked the bandits if there were more of them than the five they saw. The leader scoffed. "Are there more of you?" The non-answer kept the Dogs uneasy.
When it became clear that the Druid would not go peacefully, and the bandits would not back off, a decision was made. Sgàthach, with arrow poised, answered their ultimatum with the thrum of her bowstring. The next words from the bandit's mouth were lost in a gurgle of blood as he fell limp.
The conflict exploded from there. Odela and the mercenary brothers charged from one side, Sgàthach from the other. Flynn remained rooted and fired into the enemies.
The battle was intense, but shortlived. Sgàthach threw a dagger through the leg of a bandit, and soon struck his head in with her club. She suffered only a small flesh wound for her troubles.
The Druid did not flee. He pulled from his pocket something dried and wrapped in gauze, inhaled it deeply, and blew it out in a large billow of dust towards the trees. The attackers coughed and wheezed before, one by one, falling over in deep, drugged sleep. The Dogs heard more fall from behind the trees.
The highwaymen had not signed up for this. Seeing sorcery on display, they began to fall back. Sgàthach attempted to pick them off in the forest, but in the darkness she lost them soon. Better for it; judging by the tracks, there had been many more of them.
The Druid thanked the party, introducing himself as Meallán. He could not give them his magic as they were outsiders, but told them of a druidic gathering site to the east that he journeyed to. If they were to come upon this place, he promised to vouch for their character.
The random encounter concluded, the party turned in for the evening and prepared for Argentum.
The next morning, the Dogs laid their trap. They prepared the logs in the mouth of Argentum's caves. The wind was on their side, ocean breeze from their back pushing air into the wet cave that stunk of rot. The cave where their fallen comrades lie. A fire was set, and thick smoke was blown into the cave. The wait began. The six fighters stood ready with heavy clubs and nets to disorient and restrain the monster.
Within the cave, they heard snarling threats, promises of revenge, offers of treasure, all cut with a deep, guttural cough that no human throat could muster. Their plan was working; the Man-Faced Hound was losing its breath. It could remain in waiting until it verged on suffocating, or face the intruders in their trap. The beast, cunning as ever, took a calculated risk.
The blazing bonfire's glow spread across the tight, disfigured face Argentum had stolen as it bounded at the attackers. Its tail was ready, spite-iron whipping through the air at the nearest Dog. Had they been unawares, Flynn may have found himself punctured and wounded by it.
But this time, the beast had less surprises to offer. Flynn, who had survived one bout with Argentum already, had retreated back with weapon in hand, letting Odela and Sgàthach enter the fray. They brought down heavy clubs the moment the monster's bulky shape was in sight, and their blows struck true. Their goal was not to wound the monster; Flynn had warned them that it was not so simple. They struck its head, muddling its senses and stunning the beast as their plan was put in motion.
The plan did not go off flawlessly; Sgáthach was first to cast a net across Argentum, but fell short as the monster thrashed the thatch to tatters. Sean and Colm, their hired skirmishers, had not been prepared to see such a creature. When the Man-Faced Hound made itself visible to them, the two lost their nerve, dropped their heavy net, and began scrambling backwards in terror.
It was Ali, the Moorish alchemist, who bound Man-Faced Argentum. He sprinted forth, casting woven net across the beast as Odela beat it over the skull. The monster was netted. Now came the final push.
Odela, Sgáthach, Flynn, and Ali (and the brothers, Colm and Sean, once their courage was found) grabbed the monster by its haunches and dragged it to the sea. The monster howled the entire way to its grave. "My teeth to your neck!" It screamed, tail whipping hateful spikes through the breeze.
It was not teeth that Argentum used, however. That tail, long and cruel, drove its iron quill through Colm's chest; an echo of Ruadhán before him. A choked gasp of blood, and the elder brother fell dead. Sean released the monster to tend to his brother as the Dogs finished their dirty work.
The monster would take no more lives. The Dogs buried its stolen face under the waves, letting sea water do what their weapons had not. It was a long process, with whipping tail and straining muscles, grit teeth and gasps for air. But after a long pause, the Man-Faced Hound went limp. The tail slumped down. Unnatural strength evaporated.
The Dogs dragged the monster to the beach, and laid it out. Argentum was dead, its human face pale and bloated. Where one pack had been slaughtered, another found triumph. Sgáthach, drunk on her triumph, made a Boast to her allies. "I will drink this monster's blood!" Invigorated by her promise, she slashed the monster's throat and drank of it, imbibing its hate with its red ichor.
Within the cave, behind the half-eaten corpses of their kinsmen, the Dogs found some spoils. A few hundred silver, a tattered book, fine clothes soiled by sea water. A strange, smooth stone was found, kept for some odd air of importance.
A fine hoard, but a lacking blood-price for the dead men that stunk up the cave.
Victory in hand, the Dogs made their way back to Dorbagh, dragging the remains of Argentum in a net behind Valdamarr's mule. Dragging it through the city got many screams and stares from the townsfolk. It also got them an audience with Lord Donnagh, who wished to see what they had brought him.
The young lord had not truly expected the monster to be real, he told them. He had thought it was merely a bear or cat of some sort. To see such an unnatural thing had lurked so near unnerved him. As thanks for their deed, Donnagh gave the Hound-Slayers silver- 50sp per HD the monster had in life, or 300 silver total.
Before this business could be done and the remains burned, however, the party asked that they bring the Faceless man to court to reclaim his stolen face. Warily, Donnagh obliged. The outlanders returned to that dank hovel and told the hermit what had become of his dog. With sack overhead, the Faceless man rushed with them to the hillfort. Once brought to Argentum's body, the man began furiously kicking it until he could no longer. He removed the sack from his head, eliciting screams from the lord's court.
Ali, scholar of the humors and the body, volunteered to help the man reclaim his face through surgery as Odela and Flynn explained the man's predicament to Donnagh. Laying him across a table in the very hall, Ali got to work stitching face to flesh.
The face was not as it should have been; bloated and waterlogged from drowning, the features twisted and in early decay. Ali is a man of his time, but he is aware that dead flesh and living do not mesh well. Regardless, he tried, sewing deftly until the gaping hole was covered.
The Faceless Man sat up, unable to emote or speak still. He seemed confused, alarmed, horrified to find that it had not succeeded. Shock gave way to anger, and anger soon collapsed into despair. He told the Dogs where their reward was buried; he cared not what they did with it anymore. The Corpse-Faced Man slunk out of the hillfort, but did not return home.
The Dogs came back to his shack, and checked the spot where their treasure was buried... only to find a long-abandoned hole in the ground. The Faceless Man's bounty had been stolen, likely months ago, and he had no idea. Donnagh burned the dog's body in the yard that night; people all across Dorbagh heard what sounded like a pained howl in the crackling smoke.
This session was an exciting one, and satisfying; I love it when a well-made plan works well. Would I have liked more Boasts? Sure. But on the heels of a Boast-fueled bloodbath, I can't blame them for being a little more cautious.
Until next time!