Moira the Fishwife

Area 2-8 – Moira the Fishwife

This is where Ratvik imprisoned the young fishwife, and where—his advances spurned—he burned her alive. But Moira’s passion and fiery curses have proven stronger than Ratvik’s evil or madness; none of the charnel house’s dead can pass until Moira has been appeased.

Despite her fury, the spirit can still be reasoned with, and astute PCs are sure to come up with creative solutions. She can be convinced to end her curse if presented with evidence of Ratvik’s destruction (his golden crown is ideal) or by word of her descendents (demonstrating that her sacrifice was not in vain). She can also be dismissed with a DC 28 turn check (judges are well within their rights to ask players to roleplay the exorcism). Finally, a very persuasive PC (personality check, DC 20; again, well roleplayed) can convince her that she has tortured herself enough, and that it is simply time to move on.

However, if the PCs are callous or cruel, they reap the hellish fruits of her torment. A hot wind bellows from somewhere within the darkness, and PCs glimpse the gates of death just before Moira’s form erupts into a roaring banshee. Once her

ire is roused, Moira’s sole aim is to immolate the PCs, condemning them to her fiery fate.

The banshee leads off combat with a shrieking gout of flame that extends 20 feet down the hall (3d10 fire damage; Reflex save, DC 10 for half damage). In subsequent rounds she can use her searing touch against melee combatants or randomly trigger the furnaces in the hall (see area 2-7a through d for descriptions of this ranged attack).

Whether by guile or blade, PCs winning over Moira see the flames of darkness shrink and finally die, revealing a crackling bed of embers leading down a misty passage to a towering basalt gate. Emblazoned with a single skull, clerics and wizards immediately recognize this as the gate to the Realms of the Dead. The gate is bound by a slim silver chain that is impervious to any force, save the Argent Falx.

With the chain severed, the PCs may step through the grim portal and be instantly transported to Death’s realm.

Moira: Init +5; Atk Searing touch +3 melee (1d10); AC 10; HD 7d8; hp 40; MV fly 40’; Act 2d20 (can be two touches or touch + oven flame); SP un-dead traits, gout of flame 1/day (see above); SV Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +6; AL C.

The Realms of the Dead

If the PCs came to free a key personality (or resurrect one of their own), he is standing silently behind the throne, bound in silver shackles. Additionally, if any PCs have died in the course of the adventure, they, too, stand behind the throne, also bound in silvery chains.

There is no encounter map of the Realms of the Dead, as there is no place for the PCs to go. No matter which way they turn or how far they flee, the PCs inevitably return to Death’s throne. Even divine aid or the blessings of a patron is of no use here. The PCs have entered Death’s kingdom, where even gods fear to tread.

Eris, the god’s demoness concubine and vicereine, stands to approach the PCs, asking them their business. Even if the PCs do not answer truthfully, she smiles knowingly behind her veil. Eris shares that while her master will not willingly part with his wards, he will gamble the souls of the dead—so long as the PCs are willing the stake one of their lives for every soul they wish to rescue.

At a single gesture from Death the Witch of Saulim steps forward, placing her deck of tarot cards atop a pedestal of skulls that appears from the mists. The vicereine proposes the simple game of Death’s Trump, a game familiar to any warrior, gambler, or thief.

Before dealing, Eris offers the PCs a chance to leave without their prize. An archway of skulls appears behind the PCs—the portal back to Punjar. If the PCs soldier on, she smiles devilishly and deals.

The rules are simple. Eris cuts the deck, leaving four cards face down. The PCs choose two cards, leaving two for Eris. The cards are turned over, one by one. Death trumps any single card, and a pair beats a single Death. If the PCs lose the hand, they can double down for the chance at another deal, provided they have more lives to wager. The judge is encouraged to use the handouts for play, having the players make their PCs’ picks.

Played fairly—with only the four original cards and no possible pairs—the PCs have only a 50% chance of winning any given hand. However, armed with the card given to them by the Witch of Saulim, the PCs can cheat, turning the odds in their favor.

Cheating requires a DC 15 pick pockets check. A failed check indicates the sharp was unable to find a window to hand-muck the deal, but wasn’t caught cheating (save for a natural 1; see below). On a successful check, the PCs were able to swap their own card into their hand, permitting a pair of lesser cards, or the draw of Death (provided the PCs chose Death in the first encounter). If the PCs sub in a second Death card, they can still tie if Eris also manages to draw the Death card, requiring another ante and deal.

A natural 1 on the pick pockets check means the thief was indeed caught trying to cheat Death. Death gives a roar and erupts from his throne. The PCs have one and only one round to flee through the portal. If the PCs dally, even to whisk away their allies, Death strikes them down with his greatsword (au-

tomatic hit against 1d5 targets; Fortitude save, DC 20 or instant death; on success, a mere 4d20+10 damage).

If the PCs win the souls of the dead, whether by luck or by sharping, Death snarls, the Witch of Saulim grins smugly, and Eris sprouts horns and bat’s wings. The slain character steps forward, permitting the PCs to use the Argent Falx, separating the silvery chains. Prudent PCs will likely take this opportunity to exit via Eris’ portal, but those daring to wager again play against Death himself:

The god strides forward, and the pedestal, cards, and PCs grow to match his gigantic proportions. Death cuts four cards and permits the PCs to draw first. However, cheating before the god of Death is no easy matter, and rogues must succeed on a DC 20 pick pocket check to safely hand-muck the Death card. Death’s wager is a single resurrection: the next time the PC dies he will return to life but will thereafter owe Death one year and one day of service. For their part, the PCs must again wager their souls.

Conclusion

Fleeing through Eris’ portal sends the PCs tumbling into the streets of Punjar. Read or paraphrase the following:

The ABBOT OF THE WOODS

A level 1-3 DCC RPG adventure By Harley Stroh • Cartography: Doug Kovacs • Illustrations: Stefan Poag

Introduction

The Abbot’s Hoard is a tale known to all would-be treasure hunters: rebuking the decadent cities of man, a high priest led his followers into the wilderness to seek a life free of vice and sin. They bore with them a treasure train of priceless relics: holy fonts chased with silver and gold; gem-encrusted croziers; liturgical books bound in plates of platinum and sewn with golden wire; censers of carved gold; and five sacred reliquaries, proof against the dooms that stalk every mortal man.

The tales all end there. The Abbot and his congregation vanished, never to be seen nor heard from again. And to this day, no treasure hunter has been cunning or courageous enough to return with the secrets of the Abbot of the Woods.

The adventure is designed for 5 to 8 players with 1st to 3rd-level characters. 1st-level PCs should be sure to travel with a retinue of hirelings. In playtests the hirelings served as a ready pool of potential 0-level PCs; as adventurers were slain by the horrors lurking within the abbey, courageous (or desperate) new PCs arose to take their place.

Background

The lure of the abbey is primarily one of looting and plunder: when the Abbot and his followers vanished into the wilderness, they carried with them a godhoard of silver and gold. Every boastful drunkard and winestained mercenary can recount at least one fanciful tale of the treasure’s fate, but no one has produced so much as a single silver candlestick. It stands to reason that the hoard remains undiscovered – or unclaimed.

Learned souls whisper of another, less terrestrial treasure hidden amidst the ruins. Alchemists, scholars of the occult, and their ilk, all affirm the belief that the Abbot had secured a means of immortality. Theories hold that he led his people into the wilds so that he could complete the esoteric rite far away from the prying eyes of the Overlord, confirming upon himself the mantle of godhood.

If the PCs consider themselves better than base reavers, consider seeding your campaign with hints at the Abbot’s hidden purpose. Wizards will certainly have cause to discover the Abbot’s key to eternal life, just as clerics and witch-hunters will have reason to stamp out the Abbot’s heresy. Thieves and mercenary-minded warriors can expect the secrets to command a high price in the thronging Souk, for who among us doesn’t want to live forever?

It is a question, perhaps, that only the Abbot can answer.

The Abbot's Secret

For all its cosmological import, the story behind the abbey is tragically common. Approaching the end of his mortal coil, the Abbot turned his attentions to the question of eternal life. Scouring ancient texts of forbidden lore, he discovered what he believed he sought: a rite that would stave off each of the Five Dooms of Mankind.

But great magic requires great sacrifice. The Abbott led his people into the wilds, where he oversaw the construction of a chapel suited specifically to his purpose. Then, in the rock and stone beneath the abbey, the Abbot directed the construction of five reliquaries, each placed according to sacred ancient principles.

Finally, the Abbot commanded his people to complete the fell rite. His body was quartered; his four limbs and head were placed within the reliquaries and his torso – yet living – was set within the heart of the subterranean complex. His limbs and his head were each placed as an offering to a single doom. Captured by the individual offerings, none of the Five Dooms were able to reach the torso to claim the Abbot’s life.

In this way, the Abbot was able to secure immortality…after a fashion. He lives within the stones and mortar of the abbey. Undying, yet trapped without sight, sound, or sensation of touch, the Abbot’s soul has long since succumbed to insanity. Left alone, it will persist to the end of the universe, deathless and forever mad.

Of course, all this might change with the arrival of reavers bent on plunder. By removing parts of the Abbot’s body from its reliquaries, the PCs free the Abbot to both act and die. In a fit of frenzied madness, driven by the approach of death’s yawning gate, the Abbot will attempt to secure his life by reclaiming his relics, no matter who or what stands in his way.

For the judge’s reference, the reliquaries and their dooms are listed below. Frustrated at their inability to claim the Abbot’s life, each of the dooms has coalesced into a physical manifestation. These spirits are neither living nor dead, but rather the spirit realm made material.

• Madness – Area 2-1: A maelstrom of rotten wood and debris.

• Violence – Area 2-2: An enormous man-ape, with a protruding belly filled with the fruit of its sins.

• Disease – Area 2-3: A carpet of rats covered in weeping boils and surrounded by a miasma of rot.

• Hunger – Area 2-4: A mob of ghostly, hollow-eyed urchins.

• Age – 2-5: A withered crone, with leathern skin that hangs loosely from her old bones.

Animals are terrified of the spirits, doing everything possible to escape. Similarly, characters with 5 Intelligence or less are profoundly uneasy, suffering a -1d to all actions when in their presence.

The Abbey of the Woods

The remains of the ruined abbey squat atop a low, rocky scar in the heart of the forest. Dark woods press in from every side, and coniferous pines loom over the dense undergrowth of ferns, moss, and rotting deadwood. The air is preternaturally quiet and heavy with foreboding, as if even animals and insects eschew the forlorn ruins.

The abbey roof collapsed long ago. The few remaining rafters span the walls like a shattered ribcage. The abbey’s moss-covered stone walls are mostly intact, rising 16’ to 20’ in height. The stones composing the walls are carved in the semblance of horrified, screaming faces. Stacked atop one another, they form a wall of wailing, weeping souls caught in eternal torment. All the stones are covered in a fine, wet moss.

Adventurers readily note that eyes and mouths of the stones can be used as handholds, making the wall an easy climb (DC 7 Climb or Agility checks). On a fumbled check (any natural 1), a stone atop the wall rolls free beneath the climber’s weight, crushing the unlucky soul (DC 10 Ref save or 1d10 damage). Characters inspecting the stones note that, in the place of mortar, the stones are growing connective tissue akin to tendons or muscle.

Climbing the walls invariably places weight on the wet moss; crushing or wringing out the moss releases not water, but blood, which dribbles down the tormented stone faces and soaks the climbers.

The abbey floor is overrun with a thick carpet of moss, punctuated by thin, scraggly grasses. As on the walls, blood pools wherever the moss is crushed or compressed. If tested by whatever terrible means the PCs conceive, the blood is revealed to be human. (Specifically, the undying blood of the Abbot’s devotees.)

The tunnels beneath the abbey were all carved by hand, displaying nothing in the way of craftsmanship or skill. Cut through solid stone and earth, the tunnels are shored up by wooden beams only where necessary. The walls of the tunnels are slick with what appears to be common slime. However, upon closer investigation, the slime is revealed to be congealed blood.

Player Start

The tree’s barren limbs arch 20’ out in every direction; in order to inspect or remove the heads, PCs must climb out onto one of the long limbs. At the first hint of the PCs’ curiosity, dozens of vultures flock to the tree, darkening the sky and croaking at the climbers with violent intent.

Characters removing skulls from the tree draws the ire of the vultures. Would-be thieves are attacked by 1d7+3 vultures each; the avians present little threat to armored characters, and are quickly driven away by showy magic, fire, or physical attacks. However, characters in the tree must make DC 7

Ref saves or slip from their perch, taking 2d6 damage in the resulting fall.

The skin of each skull is black with grease and polished by the elements. The forehead of each goat skull has been branded with a crude approximation of a pentagram.

Broken open, each skull spills out a pair of crooked fingers, two toes, and a congealed mass of dried muscle (readily identified by clerics, surgeons and barbers as heart tissue). Clerics, wizards, and their ilk recognize the primitive offerings as akin to an immortality ritual.

The skull rattles belong to the abbey’s adherents, who gave up their own flesh in imitation of their master. Their sacrifices were not entirely in vain: the un-dying blood of the devotees now saturates the moss in and around the abbey.

Areas of the Map