Devilry Afoot: The Shrine of St Curtis

Recently Curt treated me to another online game, along with his mate Doug (also in Canada)- this time it was Devilry Afoot. I bought the rules a year ago but haven't had the chance to play so was excited to try them. 

As ever, Curt cooked up a wonderful scenario embedded in the real history of the 30 years war.

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The Siege of Magdeburg (1631) by Peeter Meulener

Magdeburg, 1631. A Devil's playground of death, destruction and misery at the hands of the rampaging Catholic League. Many were the sins of Man, with 4 in 5 inhabitants killed; 20,000 dead of the 25,000 population. A census the following year in 1632 listed a mere 450 inhabitants. Much of the city was still rubble by at least 1720. Vestra maxima culpa.

The Task

"Your party has been in refuge during the siege, with their friend Otto von Guericke, who opened his home to them when the Imperialists began their siege of the city.

Otto von Guericke. German scientist, inventor, mathematician

(physics of the vacuum, atmospheric pressure, electrostatic repulsion)

This is a historical, though perhaps apocryphal, account of an event that occurred during the city’s sack. As the Catholic Imperial troops breached the Protestant city’s defences, frightened children formed a desperate procession and marched across the marketplace singing hymns for mercy. Many were put to the sword while others were thrown directly into the flames by soldiers.

Your friend Guerike’s son, Jakob, lost several friends in the ‘march’ and is literally being haunted by them.

The mission is to escort the spirits of the dead to a nearby church ruin, whose holy icon, it is reported, has not been desecrated. There they will consecrate it and hope that the spirits can find peace. Nonetheless, nearby is a small encampment of soldiers, and rumours of revenants in the area abound…"

The Characters

Johann von Falkenburg  - a noble’s ne’er-do-well son

Jörg - faithful servant of Johann

Friar Chück - Lutheran Friar accompanied by his loyal dog 

The second son of a minor Protestant noble house, Johann von Falkenburg was dispatched to Leipzig University to study law and restore the family's reputation after an indiscretion with a village girl threatened to become a scandal. Blessed with a generous allowance and more charm than discipline, he proved an enthusiastic student of fencing, duelling and taverns, but a notably indifferent scholar, despite the earnest efforts of his friend, Otto von Guericke.

As the years passed, his allowance dwindled in proportion to his academic progress. Bitter at the prospect of inheriting little beyond his name, Johann drifted into ever poorer company, driven by an increasing need to prove that he was second to no man. Debts mounted, tempers shortened, and rumours of further romantic indiscretions followed wherever he went.

Concerned but never wholly disappointed in his younger son, the Baron von Falkenburg sent Johann's boyhood companion and the family's steadfast gamekeeper, Jörg, to watch over him. More servant than retainer, more elder brother than servant, Jörg has spent years quietly steering his young master away from disaster; sometimes successfully.

Now, with Magdeburg reduced to a smoking ruin, Johann finds himself sheltering in the home of Otto von Guericke alongside Jörg and their companion, Friar Chück (played by Doug), formerly of the Franciscan Order before embracing the Lutheran confession. Though the monastery that had once been his home was long since dissolved, the title 'Friar' had remained with him. His fervent faith is matched only by his fascination with the stars, which he insists reveal the order and majesty of God's creation. He is zealous in his quotation of scripture, surprisingly quick on his feet and accompanied by his beloved dog of inquisitive disposition (and indeterminate breed).

As they escort the restless spirits of murdered children through the ashes of a city abandoned to slaughter, Johann's skill with a rapier may prove of less value than the courage to confront the man he has become. God willing, perhaps together they can negotiate the evils of this tormented city and release the tormented from their purgatory.

The Tale...

"Observe Mars, my sons. Even now it burns crimson in its ascent through the eastern skies. Men imagine they make war; I suspect the heavens merely permit it," Friar Chück observed, his eyes lingering upon the stars as he leaned upon his halberd. A curious weapon for a cleric, but none had yet ventured to mention it.

"Perhaps another time, Reverend," Johann von Falkenburg replied with a thin smile, his gloved hand on the hilt of his rapier. "We have darker business afoot this night, devilry lurks in every shadow."

The Prioress drew Jakob a little closer, the boy's grip tight. "The priory lies along this road, beyond the next corner," she said softly. "We first pass the churchyard, then the Shrine of Saint Curtis. I first came as an aspirant, and lived nearby as a novice before taking my vows. The shrine escaped desecration and if we make the proper benedictions upon its consecrated ground, these poor souls may finally find rest."

No one spoke for several moments.

The path to the priory, with the characters entering from the top

Johann settled his rapier in its baldrick, his thumb brushing the silvered guard where the Falkenburg family motto caught the pale moonlight. Beside him, Jörg shifted the weight of his heavy blunderbuss onto his shoulder. Its flared muzzle looked comical by daylight; here amid the dark ruins, it promised dreadful finality.

Magdeburg burned behind them. The glow upon the horizon turned the low clouds the colour of fresh blood, great pillars of smoke climbing into the night sky. Yet no bells rang, no voices cried out. Only the distant crackle and the occasional collapse of some unseen roof.

And behind the little company, the spectral children followed. Hand in hand. Silent with their innocent faces contorted in pain.

"Go to the shrine directly, Sister” the Friar bowed his farewell to the nun as she ran back to safety. “We shall clear the path before you. May the Lord watch over you both," bowing this time to his fighting companions and started down the road, hound at his heels. They were swift and silent in the gloom.

Johann followed with measured steps, Jörg lumbering after them beneath the weight of his blunderbuss.

As they rounded the corner, the scene before them emerged from the gloom. A campfire with three men about it. Armed men. Hard-looking men. The sort that war breeds in abundance: deserters, cutthroats, and worse. A gibbet swung nearby, a shadowy figure hanging motionless within.

The heavy tread of Jörg hurrying to close the distance carried farther than anyone would have wished.

The outlaws reacted instinctively. One snatched up a matchlock and brought it smoothly to his shoulder. A flash split the darkness and half a heartbeat later Jörg's broad-brimmed hat spun into the night, torn clean from his head but leaving him miraculously unharmed.

"A curse upon it!" he spat at the wasted shot.

Another brigand drew a sword and leapt before Jörg could bring the weighty blunderbuss to bear. The blade slashed across his shoulder, drawing a crimson arc through the night. Pivoting on his leading foot, the outlaw reversed the cut in a vicious backhand meant to finish the wounded man.

Steel rang as the stroke met the iron banded shaft of Friar Chück's halberd. The cleric stood firm, his expression stern and unyielding as he caught the blow and forced the sword aside with surprising strength.

The second outlaw rushed in, his discharged matchlock gripped by the barrel and wielded like a great cudgel. He raised it high to smash the friar from his feet, but the blow never fell. The outlaw's eyes widened in astonishment as the polished point of an expensive rapier burst through his chest. For a heartbeat he simply stood there, staring down at the slender blade protruding from his blood-soaked doublet, scarcely believing what had happened. Then slid to the ground dead.

Across the narrow trail, Friar Chück wasted not a moment. With a practised twist of his wrists, he turned aside the first outlaw's blade and drove his halberd's long spear-point clean through him. The outlaw gasped, staggered a pace, and found himself pinned upon the cleric's polearm.

"Go to Satan" Chück hissed, his voice low and utterly devoid of anger, "and writhe in the fires of damnation." With a savage wrench he tore the blade free, letting the body collapse at his feet.

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Four score paces from the fight, two solitary figures paced forward. 

"Be brave, Jakob. We must reach the church quickly," the Prioress whispered as she guided the boy between the ancient yews, keeping the trees between themselves and the distant clash of steel. The weathered headstones of the churchyard loomed ahead, pale in the moonlight. Behind them drifted the spectral procession, the ghostly children gliding silently amongst the trunks, neither hastening nor falling behind.

The smell of spent gunpowder and blood hung upon the night air now, overwhelming even the acrid smoke that still rolled from burning Magdeburg. It was the scent of violent death. An odour that summoned the servants of Darkness. From the deepest shadows, where moonlight dared not trespass, a pair of crimson eyes opened.

They watched the Prioress and the boy with a hunger older than memory, and utterly beyond the ken of mankind.

Then the thing began to move.

Not with a charge, nor even a prowl, but with dreadful patience, as though time itself held no dominion over it. Its outline seemed almost human beneath tattered rags, yet every step carried it from one pool of darkness to the next with unnatural silence, light as falling ash.

Jakob saw it first and stopped walking. "Schwester..."

The Prioress turned and for the briefest instant her composure faltered. A tremor passed through her hand, not enough for Jakob to notice, but enough for her to feel. Then, drawing the boy behind her, she raised one trembling hand and traced the Sign of the Cross before her.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." The creature halted. Its burning gaze remained fixed upon them. It recoiled not from the woman herself, but from the ancient words that clothed her in an authority it hated. The Prioress straightened, her fear mastered by faith.

Her voice gathered strength with every word. "'The Lord is my light and my salvation; of whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?'"

For a long moment neither moved. Then the creature drew back a single pace. Then another. Its eyes narrowed, not in pain, but in wary calculation. Without a rustle it retreated amongst the leaning headstones, the darkness enveloping it like a funeral shroud. The Prioress did not lower her hand until even those terrible eyes had slipped from sight.

"Come Jakob," she whispered, though her voice betrayed the effort it cost her to remain calm. "Faith has stayed its hand, but not its hunger." Together they hurried towards the ruined church, acutely aware that amongst the graves something still paced them in silence.

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For several long moments, the three men remained silent as they peered into the darkness beyond the campfire, straining to catch the slightest movement. Smoke drifted lazily between the trees, and every shifting shadow seemed to promise another assailant.

"That's two down, but there were three," Johann said quietly. "Where is the last?" Only silence answered him, and he glanced back along the road towards the churchyard.

"The Sister." His decision was made before the words had fully left his lips. "I'll see them safely to the shrine."

Friar Chück gave a curt nod. "Go. God goes with you."

Johann flicked the blood from his rapier’s blade and set off at a run, disappearing into the darkness.

Jörg winced as he hefted the great blunderbuss once more, blood soaking steadily through his torn sleeve of his wounded shoulder. With a practised motion he thumbed back the dog and searched the darkness beyond the fire.

A figure detached itself from the night. The last outlaw had been lurking there all along.  He stalked forward with measured steps, matchlock levelled, his face little more than a pale smear beneath a battered hat. Jörg fired.

The blunderbuss bellowed like a culverin's roar as it belched flame and a storm of lead tore branches from the yews and sent splinters flying into the night. And when the smoke parted, the outlaw stood unharmed.

"A pox upon it!" Jörg cursed, fumbling for powder and ball, his scarred hands working by long habit even as he cursed.

The outlaw answered in kind and his matchlock flashed. The ball hissed through the smoke with an angry whine, clipping bark from an ancient yew before vanishing into the darkness. Neither man had found his mark.

"Keep him off me!" Jörg barked to the Friar, who strode forward with his halberd held low.

"Gladly"

The outlaw cast aside his empty matchlock and drew a short hanger, circling the priest warily. Steel rang as the outlaw hacked wildly at the halberd's shaft, seeking an opening. Chück yielded not an inch and turned each cut with economical precision, before the brigand lunged.

The friar slipped the point with a deft twist and answered with a sweeping upstroke that forced the man back another pace. From behind came the unmistakable click of a cocked firearm.

"Stand clear, Reverend", and Friar Chück stepped aside without hesitation.

The outlaw had only enough time to turn his head before the blunderbuss erupted again. The blast struck him squarely in the chest. Buff coat, ribs, flesh, neck and head all vanished in a crimson cloud, the force hurling him backwards to crumple lifeless beside the dying campfire.

Jörg lowered the smoking weapon and nodded once, content as though it were but a day’s sport in the woods. "I've always preferred to let them come a little closer."

Friar Chück glanced at the ruin of the unrepentant sinner. "A sentiment," he replied dryly, "I shall remember."

Jörg stooped with a weary grunt, muttering "Let's see what manner of wolves we've slain.” He methodically stripped the slain of powder and purse, his wounded shoulder bleeding steadily.

Friar Chück, meanwhile, cast his gaze towards the lonely campfire.  "A prudent man assumes there is always one more," he said quietly.

Halberd held at the ready, he advanced towards the camp, his hound ranging ahead with nose low to the ground. The beast paused now and again, sniffing suspiciously.

The camp proved a miserable affair; three bedrolls scattered about the fire, a blackened cooking pot and small keg of ale. The fire crackled and somewhere an owl called, but nothing answered. His hound gave a low growl nonetheless. Then came a sound that did not belong to the night. A low, muffled groan. Friar Chück turned towards the gibbet as the figure within stirred.

The occupant was bruised and bloodied; his once-fine buff coat torn and stained with mud and blood, yet enough remained to reveal the sash and gorget of an Imperial Army captain. Friar Chück lifted a water flask to the prisoner's mouth, who drank greedily before coughing violently.

"My thanks," he rasped. "I had thought... God Himself had forgotten this place. I am Captain Matthias Reichenau, Imperial Army." His nodded at the three corpses beside the fire. "They were once of my company."

He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing.  "When Magdeburg fell, discipline died with it. There was plunder enough to satisfy any soldier, yet these men wanted more. They butchered women, children... old men who could scarcely stand. I tried to control them, and they answered with mutiny. Now they answer to God".

At length the captain spoke again. "If you release me to return to the Army, I shall see you rewarded. I still possess credit enough for that." He swallowed painfully. "More than enough to purchase your goodwill."

Friar Chück regarded him for several moments, searching his face as though weighing not merely the man, but his soul. "Silver is a poor reason to perform Charity, but the coin shall ease suffering in Magdeberg. Widows shall eat and orphans shall shall find succour."

The Imperial officer smiled without bitterness. "I can think of no worthier purpose."

Friar Chück raised his halberd, hooked the cage's rusted fastening with its beak, and gave a powerful wrench. The old iron groaned, the lock yielded and with a crash of rusted metal, the prisoner's cage swung open.

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As steel rang elsewhere in the night, the Prioress felt the darkness tighten about her, but she finally caught sight of the shrine.

Though battered by shot and blackened with soot, the little stone and wood sanctuary yet stood. Its weathered crucifix remained untouched above the archway, a beacon of hope. She quickened her pace.

"Only a little farther, Jakob," she whispered, "only a little farther."

The creature kept pace, remaining within the churchyard. She could not always see its form amongst the headstones but its burning gaze never left them. They drifted silently through the darkness, always abreast of the Prioress and the boy, never drawing nearer, never falling behind, as though some unseen boundary confined its hunt.

Behind her came the sharp crack of musketry. Then another. The sounds echoed across the shattered city but she did not look back. Whether the reports marked victory or death for Johann and his companions, she neither knew nor could afford to know.

Ahead lay the shrine. Behind came the dead.

The spectral children followed in solemn procession, gliding over broken graves and fallen masonry with quiet purpose. To the Prioress they came in perfect silence, but Jakob heard them all. Their pale faces were frozen in screams no other living ear could hear, their empty mouths crying futilely for mothers, for mercy. Jakob clapped hands over his ears, whimpering, though the terrible chorus only grew louder.

The rites of consecration could brook no delay. The Prioress reached the worn stone steps of the shrine, drew a steadying breath, and made the Sign of the Cross.

"Lord," she murmured, "grant that we are not too late."

The sudden sound of running footsteps shattered the stillness. The Prioress started and turned in alarm, one hand shielding Jakob as a figure burst from the darkness. She feared the worst but the moonlight caught polished steel and the familiar outline of a gentleman's hat and cloak. "Johann!" she gasped.

He slowed only long enough to take in the scene with a sweeping glance.

Jakob said nothing, merely lifted one trembling hand to point at the crimson eyes and Johann gave a nod. Without a word his blade whispered from its scabbard and he stepped forward until he stood between the shrine and the graves. Between the living and whatever watched them from the darkness.

His stance was that of a practiced duellist, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, the slender point of the rapier unwavering despite the apprehension knotted in his chest.

"If it would trespass, it must first reckon with my steel" he said quietly, never taking his eyes from the darkness

The Prioress regarded him, then inclined her head. "May God reward your courage, Herr von Falkenburg."

From within the folds of her habit she withdrew a small, well-worn Bible, its leather binding stained from use. Kneeling before the weathered shrine, she opened it with reverent hands and began to read in a low, unwavering voice.

"Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini..."  Our help is in the name of the Lord...

The Latin rose softly into the night, each measured phrase seeming to settle upon the ancient stones like falling dew. Behind her, the spectral children approached the shrine in perfect silence. Before her, Johann stood alone with naked steel. And beyond the headstones, the crimson eyes watched without blinking.

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Hunger. The fresh blood upon the night air was rich now, warm and intoxicating, drowning even the smoke of the ruined city. Life stood before it; defiant, radiant, hateful in its warmth. The living had no place amongst the dominion of the dead.

Beneath the earth, something stirred. Then another. Things that remembered the taste of blood. Ancient appetites, their hunger unbearable. 

The living had trespassed too long amongst the dead. With a sound somewhere between a hiss and a growl, the creature abandoned all patience and burst from the shadows, racing towards the shrine with impossible speed.

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The crimson eyes vanished and for the briefest instant, Johann thought the creature had withdrawn. Then the darkness itself exploded towards him.

It crossed the churchyard in a blur, clearing fallen headstones with impossible grace, jaws gaping impossibly wide with yellow fangs glistening beneath the moon.

Johann had fought duels. He had crossed blades with students, officers and noblemen, each contest governed by measure, timing and reason. He had also fought less gentlemanly duels outside taverns that were barely more than a brawl. This was neither.

Instinct alone saved him. He threw himself aside as claws swept past, the creature striking stone with terrible force before wheeling back. Johann stumbled, rapier rising by reflex, the polished point wavering as the fiend circled.

Behind him, the Prioress’s voice carried steady scripture, each line a bulwark against the encroaching dark. Each phrase binding the shrine against the night.

The revenant lunged. Johann’s blade found its chest, then its throat, then its eye.

The creature screamed. Not in pain, but in fury. Black blood poured, yet it fought on. Fear remained in Johann, but habit proved the stronger master and his fencing masters’ lessons returned. He pressed forward, abandoning elegance for survival, hacking until sinew parted.

At last the fiend lay stilled. Johann stood over the corpse, scarce believing it unmoving, tasting iron in his mouth as he realised he had held his breath.

And behind him, the Prioress had never faltered, her voice continued to rise and fall with unwavering resolve. "Libera animas fidelium defunctorum..."

The spectral children had gathered before the shrine, their pale faces turned toward the ancient crucifix. Waiting.

The silence lasted but a heartbeat, before another shriek split the night. From deep within the churchyard, another savage, inhuman cry seemed to rise from the earth itself as more hate filled eyes burst from the graveyard.

It struck Johann with terrible speed, claws screeching against his guard, jaws snapping inches from his face. He twisted free, lungs burning, cloak shredded, his rapier flashing in desperate parries.

The creature pressed hard, each swipe tearing cloth and flesh, yet Johann yielded only a pace, turning its rush aside and driving his point into shoulder and chest. Still it fought, putrid gore spilling without end.

Behind him, the Prioress’s voice rose in scripture, calm and unwavering: “Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini…” Her words bound the shrine like a wall of faith.

Then Johann heard another voice. Deeper. Male. Strong with conviction. Friar Chück.

His latin joined the Prioress's like a second bell answering the first, each phrase strengthening the next until they rolled across the ruined churchyard with solemn authority.

Strengthened by their prayer, Johann no longer sought victory, but to deny passage. Every heartbeat bought another line of consecration, every parry another breath of grace. And so the duel continued beneath the blood-red light of Mars.

At last, as the rites reached their climax, Johann met the revenant head‑on. His blade struck with fierce resolve, and the fiend fell stilled upon the shrine steps.

As the blade struck true, the prayers behind him rose like a bulwark of faith, coming to a crescendo, and Friar Chük exclaimed "The Holy Rites are complete!"

"Come, my children!" The prioress said, gesturing with her hands as she pulled Jokob away from the Shrine. "End your suffering! Ever-lasting happiness awaits you!"

The ghostly children stirred as one. Slowly, almost timidly at first, they turned toward the shrine. The ancient crucifix no longer reflected the moonlight but shone with a gentle radiance of its own.

The creature hurled itself forward one final time, driven now by blind hunger rather than cunning. Johann did not retreat. Stepping inside its reach, he put every remaining ounce of strength behind a sweeping cut. The keen edge sheared through rotten flesh and brittle vertebrae alike. The head tumbled free, rolling between the ancient gravestones before coming to rest face upward, its crimson eyes fading at last into darkness.

Johan was left panting, his clothes rent and his energy all but spent. Then, on the far side of the ruined church, another pair of baleful eyes opened. And then another.

Knowing he did not have the stamina to defeat these new foes, Johann nonetheless raised his rapier and prepared to fight. 

The Prioress's booming voice close behind surprised him. "In the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord, begone spawn of Satan!" Her tone was strong and confident, buoyed by the success of reconsecrating the shrine, and the thing immediately fled back into the churchyard.

Johann turned to thank her but what he saw stole the words from his lips. The spectral children were walking into the Shrine and dissipating. Their faces were no longer silently screaming but smiling and serene. Some were holding hands, some were skipping. All were moving to the Shrine, and soon they were all gone.

As the last child faded into the shrine, the Prioress bowed her head and pressed the worn Bible to her chest. A quiet sigh escaped as she whispered “Lord grant I proved not unworthy”

Jakob lowered his hands from his ears. For the first time since the city had fallen, he heard only silence.

"God be praised' Johann said, softly and reverently.

The crucifix glow had faded, leaving only moonlight upon weathered stone. Even the ashen pall from burning Magdeburg seemed held at bay for a single, blessed moment. Johann lowered his bloodied rapier and removed his hat. Around the little shrine, for the first time since the city had fallen, there was peace.

"Observe, my friends," Chück said quietly, his eyes once again upon the brightening eastern sky. "Mars's hour wanes and now Venus has risen. Thus does the Lord declare that Mercy shall always outshine Wrath."

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A really gripping and immersive gaming experience, thanks again Curt and Doug!

To round out this tail:

Jakob, freed now from the haunting, went home to his grateful father while the Prioress returned to Madgeburg to help tend the injured and the suffering.

Johann recovered a slightly used but serviceable Buff coat from the outlaws and a obtained purse full of shillings. He gained 6 Exp XP to give him a +1 to shooting skill, so some of that money is going toward the acquisition of a wheellock or snaphaunce pistol.

Jörg recovered fully from his shoulder wound, and took the sword that made it in payment (companions don't skill up in this game so he gets no XP).

Friar Chük similarly walked away with a purse filled with shillings but Doug will have to provide additional details.

And finally, Captain Matthias Reichenau was last seen departing the priory to return to the Imperial Army, but I suspect we have not seen the last of him...

Thanks for a fabulous game DM Curt and follow player Doug!