Editing Britbongsteros (section)

===Devil's Bargain===
So we have a ghost that quite wants to go home and *something* occupying its body.

I need to explain a couple lore checks first before I go on.

Our new friend introduces him/her/itself (or some other Tumblr bullshit) as Brahan Seer, who the bard apparently knows as a famous soothsayer, it also adds that we can call it Black Donald (Which Google will tell you is a name for the devil).

We will just call him Donny.

:>Is it Satan? 
We don't think so, Christian mythology is fairly lacking (purposeful choice) when it comes to appearing in Britbongsteros, however the names are helpful in identifying whatever is in that corpse as something we want to chat to before setting it on fire.
:>What does Donny want? 
Donny wants us to collect something for him. From the local necromancer. The one we are going to be visiting (shooting), that being our good friend Frank.
:>What is it?
Something which anons who have read the later stories may recognize, but Donny describes it as a glowing blue box. As many as we can carry. If we do that, he will relinquish the body and the ghost can go back to where it belongs.

We agree. For now. For people who were living normal lives until yesterday, things are getting weird.

We head back upstairs and let the rest of the party know, they agree. So we have literally made a deal with (possibly) the devil.

Our next step is to have a good look at where we are going next. Down into Battledykes.

We wait for sun up.

There are still plenty undead about, but they don't seem quite as effective in the day. We also rather need to see what we are doing. Observation shows that there are small units of skeletons patrolling the countryside, there's also a copse of trees leading almost all the way to where we want to go. We cut down into the woods.

The early morning mist gives us plenty of cover, and from up ahead we can hear hammering.

From a distance we could see the beginnings of a Roman camp, which logic indicated would likely be where we would find Baz. It also occurs to us we still don't have much of a plan... Of course not having a plan never really bothered us later and it didn't bother us at this stage either. We did however take some explosives along for the trip, which we are glad of now.

The Navvie lights the fuse and slings them at the wall. They land at the bottom of it, sizzling, a skeleton looks over the top of the wall. It half turns, before shattering as a spume of earth and flame shoots into the sky. The wall is down and we are running toward the breach.

We need to find, engage and kill Frank as quickly as possible, otherwise the skeletons will soon overwhelm us.

The bard launched into a song at this stage. For the life of me I cannot remember what the fuck it was. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7kJRGPgvRQ KORPIKLAANI - Vodka (OFFICIAL VIDEO)] this'll do.

The skeletons are not fast to respond, but they do slowly begin to. As we make it through the breach they are beginning to form up. We can also see a pedestal with Frank on it, aAlong with some chaps in robes.
:>Alchemists 
These chaps turn up later as well, but they're responsible for a lot of the more magical/weird technology of Britbongsteros. They react plenty fast.

Angus shoots pillar of flame across the formation of skeletons. It turns out large groups of skeletons with wooden shields do not like flamethrowers. Angus gets this mad, mad, glint in his eye.
:>Oh fuck yes. It werfs flammen.

The alchemists appear to have brought jezzails. They're not wonderful shots, but they fire extremely large boolets. The dent that appears in my breastplate and takes me off my feet is sore as fuck. I'm fine, but not terribly happy about it. The Navvie is very much in his element, he has picked up an alchemist and is using him as a human shield. It works absurdly well. The wizard and I make for Frank.

Frank has obtained a new jawbone from somewhere. He does not seem terribly pleased. Baz is tied up on the pedestal with alchemist looking gubbins humming into life around him, we can see some of those cubes around him. He does not look terribly well... In fact Baz looks rather pale.

Whatever Frank is up to, we need to do something. Soon. We don't know what the machines will do, what Frank is up to, or indeed what will happen if the ritual/process is complete. The Navvie takes a very direct approach to all things.
:"I still have some explosives left right?"
Yesohshitno

He tosses the other satchel at Baz
:DM: "Muh adventure muh BBEG my-"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

A very important DM lesson was learnt that day: Do not trust us morons.

The smoking crater contains one Baz and not much else. The skeletons around us are uncoordinated and bumping into things.

Everything went better than expected? Ish...

Of course, Frank was not the only necromancer around. Of course other necromancers would sense his demise. Of course Frank might have a master. Of course the DM was pissed.

Meanwhile we merrily root about for glowy blue boxes. We find some thinking that should do, and prepare to leave.

When several hundred skeletons turn to look at you in unison, you start to realise there might be a problem.

We have done something that was possibly a bit dumb. We have smashed our way into the center of a small fortress outnumbered, outgunned, alone. Worse still than that, we have angered the DM. The DM pauses for a long, long moment. He looks at us. Each of us. A cold, hard stare.
:>Let's do this.

The skeletons start to form up. Perfect serried roman ranks. We begin to back out of the camp. There's plenty of them between us and that hole in the wall too.
:>Arse

[[Image:Britbong_Roman_Camp.gif|thumb|200px]] This is a fairly typical castrum, or roman fort (I really like Romans).

The red things are skeletons.

Purple is us.

Blue is the hole.

Brown is what we just blew up.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xTeSK7vKdo I'll give you a clue what happened next.]

Well we did blow Frank to bits fairly well. Baz somehow seems to have survived?
:>ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL

That's not our Baz. There's what looks like a femur sticking out of his chest. We assume it belonged to Frank. There's a darkness spreading across Baz's chest. He stands up.

The only thing we really recognize about Baz now is that his eyes have this sad, pained look about them, the rest of him in the simplest of terms looks evil. But why use words when if you type "Dire Elk" into google. That's close enough.

We're outnumbered 100 to one and they have what looks a bit like god on their side. A couple of days ago, we were normal people, this is well out of our experience. We look at each other. Silently we agree. There is only one option.
:>Leg it.

Skeletons are not that fast. Not-Baz doesn't seem minded to pursue us. Instead we make for the hole in the wall. We get through without too much trouble, legging it into the countryside. We stop running, out of breath and more than a little terrified, at the farmhouse.

There doesn't seem to be much in the way of pursuit. We stop in by, chuck the cube thing at Donny, who is vomited out of the corpse. He gives us a wink and an "I'll see you later wink" as the ghost is lain to rest.

We decide we're going to have to go back to Dundee and explain ourselves.

We make it back to Dundee mostly without incident, except accidentally beating up a swan. We make our way to HMS Victory which is still docked in the harbour. Dan Defoe (the inquisitor to our acolytes) is ecstatic to see us, or at least he was, until we opened our mouths.

We explain what happened (making ourselves out to be desperate heroes, tossed upon the vicissitudes of fate). He buys absolutely fucking none of it.
:"So you stopped the ritual. Frank is no longer going to have the power of a God. Excellent. EXCEPT NOW FRANK IS A FUCKING GOD."
He pelvic thrusts and draws his pistol to enunciate his point.
:"At least we have some professionals arriving shortly. They can take care of this, and you useless bastards can take them right back to Frank. The Special Bastard Squadron (SBS) should be here soon. Get out of my sight for a couple of hours."

We are not going to be told twice. We scarper. As we get out on deck, there is what looks to be a man sat on a crate. He is wearing a red tam o' shanter and an egregiously jaunty suit. He gives us all a big wink, a very familiar wink.

We didn't mention Donny in our debriefing (seemed like a bad idea), but we think he's probably not up to anything good.
:"Hallo lads, so you got chewed out a bit I hear. What if I told you there's a way that you can all avoid being shot at dawn as soon as you get back?"
Ok we might be interested in this....
:"What if I told you the alchemists in this city have been doing things they shouldn't? Including nailing me to a floor? And I want you all to be my instruments of revenge. You'll get some brownie points and you will be saving lives, whaddya say boys?"
Tentatively we agree.
:>The DM grins.

:"I want you to blow up an orphanage."
:"Wut?"
"There's no kiddywinks in there, the alchemists use it as a laboratory and machine shop. I have a sneaking suspicion, by which I mean I'm absolutely fucking certain, that the stench of my *he spits over the side, it sizzles* wife is involved. Their experiments require fresh bodies and young, pure souls, and I am sure you'll find an excuse to wreck the place once you see what's going on..."
Interestingly, the DM hands a sheaf of notes to Cruella.
:>Who the fuck is....
She turns up later. It's my Mrs. She was generally floating about in the background and ending up playing with us.

We mull this over, it's a fairly obvious side quest and you never know, it might be fun.

We examine the building from afar. It doesn't seem too intimidating. A large sandstone block, with lots of windows and an enormous yard out the back which it appears is being used as a motorpool. Out the front are tidy and well manicured grounds. The whole thing is surrounded by a wall about five feet high with railings up to a total of 9ft.

Even after the undead attack, it seems entirely untouched. Suspiciously so.

There is also a free clinic being run to one side of it for war wounded, and it sure is busy.

We are not entirely sure what the threat level of this place is. We also know we really ought not to trust Donny. Whatever Donny really is, he doesn't seem like the sort to tell us the truth.

We are a bit pressed for time, but we think we have a few hours. Enough time to canvas the local population and try to gain any intelligence we can on the place. What we discover from various bars and street urchins is the following:
*There are about 50 alchemists in there
*The more severe cases in the free clinic are taken into the basement
*A lot more crates go into the place than come out

What the building gives us is a fairly sizable population, and a whole lot of collateral damage if we blow anything up (civilians in the free clinic and basement), we also don't actually know if we should blow anything up yet.

Fortunately the free clinic also gives us an in.
:>None of us are injured.
We consider this issue. We need an injured person to take to the free clinic. They'd have to be a non-combatant, someone who isn't exactly worried about being low on HP. Maybe someone who isn't even all that useful anyway...
:Bard: "Why are you all looking at me?"
We sort of... err... cartoon violence ball [we club him over the head and rough him up a bit (lot) but not too badly].

The free clinic is glad to take the bard and his "family" in, though the tricky part is convincing them that Angus' flamethrower is entirely kosher. We explain to the extremely beleaguered medics that it's "welding equipment" and in we go (lucky roll).

The clinic is much as you'd expect something like that to be in a recent warzone. There are silent, terribly injured people, screaming slightly less injured people, there's a woman in labour somewhere, and a great number of harrowed, saddened faces. As most clinics in this situation do, there is a process of triage.

There is a woman with dark hair and a very tight bust who (somewhat obvious clue) has a very piercing voice ordering people around, including selecting people almost at random to go to the basement. As we are arguing with the medics about the flamethrower, the bard is selected and carried off.
:Bard's PC: "...guys. Seriously."
No one seems inclined to throw us out quite yet. We have a small council of war.
:"Thoughts?"
:Navvie: "Hey we got rid of him! We're up already. Let's take our winnings and go."
:Wizard: "I agree with the oaf."
:Angus: "Pub?"
:Me: "Pub."
:Bards PC: looks kinda distressed "...guys? C'mon..."

We feel a bit bad for the bard and decide we should probably make an effort to rescue him. It is kind of our fault after all...

There's a couple of large doors into the main building and we assume that's where he was taken. As no one seems to be paying attention to us we decide extremely stealthily, very covertly to... Walk through the doors.

Again, there seems to be very little actually stopping us, there's no guards around, the hallways are clear, we find some stairs and head downwards, carefully peeking round corners and doorways and we find what seems like a place of intensive care. There are whirring machines and glowy things, but as far as we can tell (which is not much) they don't seem to be doing any harm, no one has that ghostly/deathly pale look of one having his soul sucked out.

There are a number of attendants and similar folk, but they are all bent over machine or patients. The bard is still unconscious, and we decide to leave him where he is for now while we try to work out what we should be doing.

(Yes we are all quite feckless)

More sneaking reveals workshops and some rather cool looking machines, there's a ramp out to the motorpool, but there's a shortage of sacrificial pits or demonic altars and general eeeeeevil. We metaphorically scratch our heads.

Is it possible that Donny is wrong? Or just some sort of supernatural liar? It makes perfect sense that he might be. Perhaps he has an ulterior motive? We have just blindly walked into demonic politics. Pretty blindly too I might add.

There are footsteps coming down the hall. We duck into a storeroom. As it's about head height for me, I peek through the keyhole. It's that lady again. Notably her eyes glow red.

Cruella acts the following out with the DM.
:"Did we get what we needed from the bodies?"
:"Yes Mistress, the organs were harvested as you demanded."
:"Excellent..."
:>Oooh we're onto something here...
:"And you're shipping them quickly? They can't be left to lie around."
:"Yes Mistress."
:"Good boy."
:>Well...
We decide to follow her, see if we can find out just how evil this is...

We sneak along as stealthily as we can in the direction she went. We Metal Gear Solid behind some crates. There's a number of makeshift cots set up with very pale people, looking near death on them. They are attended to by what look like monks. One of the patients expires. He's taken away and we hear the whirr of a rotary saw.
:>Those bastards...
A new patient is brought in. A marine, must've been pulled from the rubble of the Kirk. Barely alive. The woman bends over him. Facing in our direction over the body. She slaps the bloodied and bruised young man into wakefulness.
:"You're dying."
He whimpers for his mother.
:"But you can still serve. Me."
:>Oh yes, this is it, we cock hammers, we light pilot lights, 
:"Sign here, consent to donating your organs to help others."
She looks right at us, and winks.

There's an earth shattering boom from the harbour that blows in the windows.

She vanishes, we run from the room, out into the motor pool, where we can see the harbour, just in time to see the HMS Victory and the transport ship next to her (which must've contained the Special Bastard Squadron) break into pieces as the Victory's magazine goes up.
:>Motherfucker.
Cruella & DM drink their drinks in synchronicity as they smile big shit eating grins.

We punch the nearest alchemist and pinch a pick-up style truck. Stopping to pick up the bard (who is still a bit pissed with us) we make for the harbour confirming when we get there that the Victory, the SBS, and an awful lot of other folk have been blown to bits.

Donny and his "wife" wave to us as they leave the harbour. Donny winks, she blows us a kiss.
:>FFS

Well shit. What next? It seems then that Donny is in league with the necromancers? If so, why was he nailed to the floor? If he wasn't, why blow up the Victory and the SBS? He must have an ulterior motive. It's also taken out Dan Defoe and our quest giver.
:>Anyone have any bright ideas?

We can't go back and take on Baz ourselves. We could track down Donny though...

We don't really know where Donny has gone though. He left the harbour on a small steam pinnace heading northwards. There's all number of places he could have gone. He's not exactly moving fast though, and we do have a truck... Ooooooh a though occurs...

We follow the coast road.
:>Can any of you drive?
Err...

It's decided the wizard is now our designated driver on the reasoning that as the semi (referred to as "The Jalopy" amongst friends) is made of metal, and therefore somehow his responsibility.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvaEJzoaYZk Steve Earle - Copperhead Road ]

With the bard in the flatbed we tear off up the coast road with a plume of dust behind us. We get out of the city heading North North East (anon can follow along on a map here if so wishes as we are taking the A930). We just about manage to keep Donny in sight as we head towards Broughty Ferry, and then between Monifieth and Carnoustie we lose him, the road missing out on the peninsula there.

A variety of driving related tests later (the rest of us are providing perception based buffs and the bard as usual acts as an adventure appropriate mix-tape).

We break for a moment as the DM goes glassy eyed of Steve Earle which leads into Lynyrd Skynryd's Simple Man. We wave lighters in the air and sing along.

As we barrel through Carnoustie the music changes.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qogVHlmFcx0 Waylon Jennings - Dukes Of Hazzard "Good Ol' Boys" Theme Song]

Oh fuck.

We're at the positively mind blowing speed of 45MPH as we hit the main drag through town (a cobbled single track), there's civilians everywhere. We swerve to avoid. Into and through stalls, bits and pieces of merchandise landing in the cab with us, we are joined by a chicken for a couple hundred meters. We skid, narrowly avoiding taking out a nun who is gesticulating rudely. The skid turns into a complete loss of control.

The rear end comes out in front, we spin, narrowly avoiding a ditch. Up ahead, the local church has let out after a service. There's nowhere to go...
:>Why didn't you brake?
Hahahahah fuck that.

Making a split second decision. The wizard aims straight at the crowd, and the... oh... the ramp shaped embankment leading up to a statue...

The wizard floors it, the statue isn't terribly impressive, more of a sort of wooden figure/marker post. We take the thing out as we get air (I hate to think what've happened if we crit failed any of the above).

We sail over the heads of the crowd. Thumping down on non-existent suspension, we tear onwards.

Getting out of Carnoustie as fast as we went in, Angus shouts for the Wizard to slow down. The wizard takes his eyes right off the road to stare him down.
:"[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-GGEJRz6So I'm making time]."
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

We can still see that steam pinnace ahead. We're catching up.

Around East Haven we hit a fairly sizable pothole. Enough to set us into a spin and burst a tire. We flip and land slightly askew, but otherwise unharmed in a chicken coop. Out to sea we can see smoke from the Pinnace as she gets up a full head of steam.
:>Spare tire?
Nope.
:>Other traffic to flag down?
Fuck no.
:>Plan?
Hell yes.

Between the wizard and Angus's bag of tricks we manage to patch the wheel together with staples and pure orky gumption. It won't be perfect but it'll do. The Navvie helps by acting as a jack with one hand and drinking a beer with the other. The decision is made that the Wizard is no longer allowed to drive. Angus you're up.

Angus gets behind the wheel. He lights a cigar.
:"What colour is the truck DM?"
:"Uuuh... why?"
:"Just asking."
:"Roll for it?" [meaning "fuck if I know and I'll make it up based on how the number somehow makes me think of a colour"]
:"12! It's red."
It was red.

You're basically looking at a Ford Model T in red. With an Orc behind the wheel.

Something that may be relevant at this stage.
:OOC:
:"What happens if I fire a flamethrower straight forward from a speeding vehicle, do we all get toasted?"
:[there is now an argument about this for the better part of half an hour.]
We eventually manage to convince him that if he's going to do it, he needs to drop the speed a lot first.

If any scientific anons can provide me with some form of proof or equation to allow me to definitively settle an argument five years old, I will love you forever.
:Anon says: The thing people forget (and vidya help enforce in people's minds) is that a flamethrower is indeed that - a flame THROWER.
:Even in WWI the range in the trenches was about 14-18, and contemporary flamethrowers incinerate things at 50–80 meters.
:45mph is 20.25 m/s, so assuming a WWI flamethrower (ei: not a particularly cool one) you'll be passing through any flame you throw in under a second - you needed to drop the speed a little, but not a massive amount, unless what you're about to drive through is flammable, will catch impressively AND is directly in your path to slow you. 

We head onwards to Arbroath, turns out Angus is surprisingly not bad at driving. We make good time. That little pinnace is starting to get bigger on the horizon. Arbroath however is an issue.

The town seems to have been hit by the undead and there's still plenty of them about. The skeletons have been and gone, but there's plenty of feral corpses (ZAMBIES!) going about. If we stop, we'll get swarmed. We decide the best option is to floor it.

For those who don't know it, it's a small market town & port, it's also where the Declaration of Arbroath was signed (declaring Scottish independence in 1320). Looking at it from the direction we're going, we're at the bottom of a big Y and we want to take the right fork of that Y. We also are going to lose sight of (what must've - now I think about it, have been a very fast steam pinnace - though they have a much less twisty route than us). The first thing we notice is the place is very, very quiet.

We're well into town by the time we start to realize something is properly wrong. We've noticed that there seems to have been signs of fighting in some places, but generally it's as though everyone just up and left.

It's when we hit the crux of the Y at the center of town (near the abbey), and what we later surmise is the poisoned town well, that we realize something is properly amiss.

What's that you might ask?

The zombified horde of townsfolk. Too thick a crowd to drive through, but we're moving too fast to stop at this stage.

We've talked about zombies in Britbongsteros before. You die, you don't necessarily go feral immediately, you have memories, you know you were alive, you know you're dead, and as the brain dies off (unless necromantic influence) you go feral and start eating faces.

We can see some townsfolk are still mimicking life, there's a town crier waving at the crowd a proclamation his missing jaw and dead lungs won't let him read, a mother cradling half a child, but most of our attention focuses on the horde of feral townsfolk that seethe towards the noise of the engine. We're going far too fast to stop.

We plow into the crowd. Zombies reaching over the hood and trying to grab at us as they go under the wheels. Helpfully the tightly packed mass of bodies (who I might add have signs of having vomited black bile on themselves - again indicative to us of generally being poisoned) act as a sort of big cushion, and we are able to slow our momentum and shunt into reverse.

Angus swears and tries to back up as the rest of the party do our best House of the Dead. We start to back up the way we've come. The dead under the wheels are slowing us, slower, slower, stall...

ABANDON CAR.

What we have is significant horde of ex-humanity out for our warm tasty brains. Clearly an issue. However... The Navvie's PC, unusually for once, moans.
:"Zombies are boring."
This angers the DM.

We break into a house, reasoning we can at least get out the back door and put a funnel on the horde.
:>There's no backdoor.
The zombified old chap at the kitchen table looks disgruntled but otherwise harmless as we charge past him, he breaks into his boiled egg as we smash down the back wall of his kitchen.

Arbroath is one main street and lots and lots of rows of twisty turny side streets, we decide to go a few doors up, and bash through the front door.

Zombies are starting to follow us through the old man's house. The old man himself is in the early stages of zombie and abandons lunch and starts hobbling. Angus aims the flamethrower back at him.
:"Dude!"
:"What?"
:"We can't just immolate the old bastard he's..."
:Navvie: "He's a zombie..."
The old man is not moving fast. The zombies aren't planning on eating him, but as he's shoved into the mass of them, his frail bones breaking, ribs cracking as he's carried along by the crowd we can see his arms waving pathetically for help. He might be dead but his body remembers pain and his brain is not quite dead enough to have forgotten what to do with it. Over the general moaning we can hear mumbling desperate pleas.
:Navvie: "He's... sort of a... oh shit. Angus... just burn it..."
The flames torch the old man and the front of the horde.

We smash down the front door of another house figuring each house slows the horde until we can cut back on ourselves and smash back the other way to our transport.

These are small fishing village type houses. Tight, windy, the Navvie has to bend almost in half to fit. The next one we bash in the door of we manage to work out the story of what went on from the scene inside, or we think so.

Young couple. One of the kids seems to have got sick first or maybe the mother. There's a trail of black bile leasing from the crib by the stove. There are half a dozen bodies all leading to the back door, looks like dad was a drunk and didn't get poisoned like the rest. Each of the bodies has its head stoved in. Against the back door is a corpse with an empty whiskey bottle and a bloody hammer. Looks like the family all went feral at the same time and judging by the state of dad, chewed him up a good bit before he stabbed himself in the throat. The Navvie clubs his head as he starts to get up.

We get through the backdoor, zombies a little further behind us now, we decide one more house then double back.

We hammer through the front door. The place reeks of shit and ordure. It's not healthy. There's a shape that runs from us. Too fast to be dead. Survivor. Poor bastard has been locked in here by himself watching the town go crazy and eat itself. We follow him (as we must because that's the direction we want to go). Tied to a chair at the table is a corpse that's well and truly feral. She must've have been a pretty lass in life. Her dress is in what a Victorian novel would have called "Disarray" (for the foreign anons - what's heavily implied here is "necrophilia"). The guy is struggling at the back door. He looks over his shoulder at us. More afraid of us than the horde so it seems. He mumbles
:"I could never have her, until she crawled to my door and..."
The Navvie (who is in front) smashes him in the face with one massive meaty fist. We leave him for the horde.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-UzaZjSNd8 The Day That Never Comes - Metallica]

We hammer out the back door, the horde is far enough behind us that we run up the street. Choosing a house at random, we stove the door in. We don't know how smart these things are but the Wizard does his best to bolt the door back together. Whatever madness is in this house we're gonna have to wait in here for a little while for the horde to thin out and pass back through onto the street now behind us.

The place seems normal. Everything in good order. Seems deserted. We try to make it safe, staying away from the doors and windows, we reason the best thing to do is get upstairs, there we can observe the horde below without as much risk of them seeing us.

We climb the stairs, all seems very peaceful, we can barely hear the horde down the street. The Navvie is still in the lead. He very gently taps on the bedroom door. No noises from within. He taps again to be sure.
:"Hello?"
It's a child's voice.

DM pops a beer and gets that grin again.

The Navvie looks round the door. What the party see is that big, big man, fall to his knees. The little boy, three maybe four years old is missing half his face. Bite marks all over it. You can see the skull through the dead tissue. The little boy says
:"You're not my daddy."
He totters to the Navvie anyway, little legs doing their best, one broken and twisted backward. The Navvie, even on his knees, the kid only comes to his belt buckle. Dry old blood smears his shirt.

The Navvie looks at us, big, brown eyes, not knowing what to do. That kid is gonna turn feral, soon. Great big hands reach down, patting, soothing, shushing, caring. They reach for his neck to snap it.
:"I'm Thomas..."
The Navvie's player wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

He nods.
:"I'm Burt and..."
He snaps his neck.
:DM: "Are zombies still boring you, cunt?"

The wizard puts the body under the bed, thinks better of it, and tucks him into the bed.

We look out the window, the horde is moving as planned, slowly but it's working. We wait.

They seem to have settled back into "holding" mode again, shuffling about aimlessly. We gather at the front door of the house.
:"On the count of 3 boys"
:1...
:2...
:3...
The hammer blow takes out the front door, and we pelt across the street. The Navvie shoulder barges down the door. There's ferals in here and we're forced to make noise as one grabs Angus and gets him on the ground, I shoot it in the face. The chase is back on again.

Out the front door, into the next building. This building faces out onto the main street and looks like a shop. The glass window lets what zombies still remain on the main street get a good look at us. Deciding the door is pointless, we go for the direct option, out and straight through the plate glass window together. There's enough zombies that we can deal with them easily enough. Making for the truck, the wizard cranks the starting handle as the rest of us pile in.

The engine doesn't take. Angus thumps the dash. The wizard swears. I knife the zombie under the rear axle just to be sure. The Navvie pushes the truck forward, trying to give us a running start. We join him as zombies shuffle toward us. The engine catches and off we go. On the horizon we can see the pillar of steam turning in, in towards Auchmithie bay.

All in all, this probably took about 15 minutes in game time, we were fortunate that (the DM had) the boat slow down and turn into a natural harbour just up the coast (literally five minutes drive from the town).

We follow the road to the steam, it's now a straight pillar that is slowly petering out. Signifying the boat has come to a stop and the boilers are being allowed to run down.

We don't want to just drive up to Donny's front door. So we stop at the small hamlet just round the coast from the large stately home overlooking the bay. The village is deserted again. It's a short walk from the village to Donny so we park the truck on the main (and only) road out of sight of the house which is about 500 yards across windswept fields from the village.

With the engine off, we hear a sound over the wind. Digging. Knowing we'll regret it, we follow it. There are half a dozen alchemists with repeating rifles (Martini Henry's) standing in a line. They clearly aren't digging. They are looking into a pit.

We wait in the cover of a stable (Angus soothingly petting the cart horse) and watch. One of the alchemists kicks a ladder back down into the pit. Slowly the fifty odd villagers ascend the ladder. The alchemists line them up along the side of the pit, facing into it. I murmur "Babi Yar" under my breath, knowing what's coming.

The rest of the party seem to have caught on, so that when I work out the alchemists are too far away for accurate pistol shooting and start moving forwards, the rest of the party follows.

The alchemists have managed to get the first batch of locals kneeling on the edge of the pit. They raise their rifles on the command of their leader. I manage to drop him with the first shot. The wizard sends a steel shaft through the skull of another, and between us, we wipe the party out quickly. We are fortunate in that it's likely the sound of shots were expected.

The locals as we approach don't seem entirely all there. Their eyes are a pale white. Milky. Without pupils. Talking, waving a hand in front of their faces, it does nothing. There's no one home. They don't respond to external stimuli at all until the bard says to one woman
:"Say something... please?"
She says "something"

We establish through some trial and error that they respond to simple commands. Beyond that they might as well be automatons. Some further analysis and very limited interrogation reveals they aren't likely to get better from this. Their soul or essence is gone. We might as well be talking to husks.

We can't just leave them. They will at best starve to death. Angus picks up a fallen rifle.
:"We should finish what they started then..."
Each body that falls into the pit is just an empty husk, or at least that's what we tell ourselves as we put down each and every one.

We look on at the stately home. Night is beginning to fall. There's no lights showing and no smoke from the chimneys but this has to be the place. We prepare ourselves and decide to get a bit closer. We have some revenge to take... 

Getting closer to the building, there really does not seem to be anyone home. As it gets darker, the wind gets up combined with the sound of the sea, we're unlikely to hear anything. The moon rises and we have at least enough light to mostly see what we're doing. Peeking in through windows shows nothing but darkness. We decide to do some breaking and entering. 

The door to the kitchens offers very little resistance. Angus puts his fist through the window in the door and we are in. No alarms ring, again it's all very peaceful. We head inwards. 

The kitchens are silent. There's dust on everything, it seems like no one has used these in years. Oddly there is still perfectly preserved food under the dust. Angus experimentally picks up a ham and takes a bite. Apparently it's delicious. 

We can still hear the wind and the sea outside, the only other sound is Angus munching. The party continues creeping through the house.

There's a lot of the usual creepy big house stuff, suits of armour, bookshelves, dust, that sort of thing. This continues as we pass through the kitchen, the dining room (with candles that are incongruously lit), library; in the great hall there's a roaring fire, which would make perfect sense if anyone had disturbed the dust on the floor. We ourselves are leaving little footprints as though walking through snow. 

Instinctively we gather around the fire, enjoying the warmth.
:>Where the fuck is everybody?
The place is plainly and clearly deserted, maybe we got the wrong house? Obviously there's not many others around... There's also the matter of where those alchemists came from... They must've come from somewhere... right?

The DM describes the hall carefully, and how we feel.
:>You all have the unmistakeable feeling of being watched, even in this grand room, the feeling of the air changes imperceptibly.
Of course, this encourages us to start investigating, looking in dark corners, peering through keyholes. The Wizard is convinced there must be a secret passage or bookcase. He's tapping on walls and generally being wizardly. Of course, this being Britbongsteros, there aren't any.

It's about this time, the bard decides to look up.
:"Guys..."
I'm testing books, the wizard is tapping at the walls, Angus is eating a ham, and the Navvie is checking behind pictures.
:"Shut up bard!"
:"Guys!"
We follow his pointing finger, oooh... that's probably not good.

There are at least twenty old bodies nailed to the rafters. We think they might be the previous occupants of the house. They also seem to have been drained dry. In the shadows, there's something else up there too... 

A little music [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MqEnxFYxbw ACDC - Smash N Grab]

We are definitely not alone
:>Coliunn gun chean (or say hello to my little friend)

It's been up in the rafters this whole time, watching, waiting, and now it drops into the center of the room.

Imagine a headless ogre (more a sunken head set between the shoulders rather than above). Then cover the thing in moss, give it glowing ice blue eyes and some other fun aspects we'll come to. That's what drops down and cracks the flagstones. 

The worst part is Coliunn isn't alone either, as he drops, so too do the odd looking bats feeding on the bodies. They're not really bats, they're nondescript in the shadows, but they flap around us, billowing and generating enough force to blow out the fire. The fight is lit by Angus as he sets about torching things, and is really a series of disjointed moments.

The Navvie and Coliunn running at each other, my bullets impacting across Coliunn's chest, the wizard sending flying daggers after whatever those tiny blood sucking bastards are (and they have very sharp teeth indeed!). The bard helps out as only he can ([https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hB3eCv_FOk The Blues Brothers - She Caught the Katy]).

Coliunn isn't just tough, the fucker regenerates too. Even when Angus sets him alight he's still quite capable of punching the Navvie across the room. The wizard does his best to weigh him down, slowly building up lead on his wrists and ankles. It works, but it also adds more force to his blows.

The bard is lucky to avoid being turned into jam as Coliunn turns his attention to me. The bat things are beyond distracting as they swarm us again, biting, clawing, drawing blood. In the darkness Angus plays flame over our enemies back, the Navvie gets up and starts running again. I back away from Coliunn until my shoulders touch rock. Reloading as I go, I aim for those eyes. A lucky critical (blinding one eye) seems to just enrage him but the wizard focuses on one stiletto sized sliver of steel, driving it into the other eye.

He can't see, but he can still hear and he tracks me easily enough. It gives enough time however for the Navvie to strike him from behind, staggering him. Coliunn turns and runs straight from us, into the wall and out into the night. Given the way he knitted back together after being shot, it seems likely we may see him again. The bats follow him through the hole. In the near silence of smouldering furnishings (the room was large and, although furnished, mostly stone; in all fairness the place should have been blazing though), we reload and prepare to go deeper, we can only be in the right place now... 

Alone in the darkness, the wind howling in through the hole where Coliunn reverse Kool-aided, we decide illumination is our first task. Fortunately the Navvie carries a small lantern and there are some candles on the walls which we pinch. We proceed further into the house.

The DM has us rolling perception checks, every time we succeed we get the vague sense of being watched. After the fire fight, we can only assume everyone knows we are here.

We search though more and more rooms, ending up at the bottom of the main staircase. The wizard notices that the rug appears disturbed. Lifting the thing we discover a trap door. The wizard detects no magical fields or alarms so we swing it open. There is a roughly hewn passageway leading off into the darkness. We guess this place has some history of smuggling (explaining the small hidden harbour and this). We descend into the darkness. 

It's not long before the narrow passageway opens into a cavern. We assume this is a tidal cave, or at least it's sealed to the outside by water at high tide. The sound and spray of the sea fills the cave. There is still no one about. It's just then that a shape breaks the water.

A large ray, graceful, lazy, unusually it takes to the air, doing a circuit of the cavern before being snatched out of the air by what can only be described as an enormous Moray eel. If we didn't know better, someone has been making monsters... 

We follow the cavern towards its mouth. We find the steam pinnace (deserted) and cross to the other side of the water via a rope bridge. The water is seething with foam and only black. Given the precision with which the supernaturally fuck huge eel snatched the ray, we are not keen on the this arrangement but nevertheless we cross.

The caverns extend in front of us quite some distance. From what we can see there are three cave mouths to choose from. We dither like the adventurers we are. Looking and listening, but over the sound of the storm and raging sea, there's nothing to be discerned. Angus notices an enormous lobster claw break the water and come hammering down on something. We decide it's time to pick a direction and go for it.

We head up the middle.

The walls of the cave seem wet to the touch. There's seaweed growing on them. We file this information away for later. If we are down here long we may not be coming back this way.

Angus is in front. The DM asks us
:"Do any of you guys have a lantern?"
:"Err... no..."
Angus does have the pilot light on his flamethrower.

For the sake of mood, the DM turns out the light in the kitchen and lights a candle, placing it on the table. The party (and the players) do their best with what little light they have.

There's no noise we can hear from up ahead, and the cavern/tunnel is starting to get narrower, the Navvie has already turned sideways to fit. All we can hear is the sound of the sea crashing behind us, the flickering light of Angus ahead, and inky darkness behind. In the semi darkness of the kitchen, we huddle in closer to the candle flame. The DM is doing something with his hands. Fiddling with something.

He continues to describe the claustrophobic isolation of the tunnel, the way every time we breath out, the walls close in a little further, until when we breath in, a million tons of black igneous rock ensure that breath is shallower than the last.

We push on. Squeezing, straining. A shape is moving in the darkness. It comes up behind the Wizard's Player and says right in his ear.
:"'Allo."
(It's Cruella the player sneaking up behind him)

The Wizard, never the most calm of people at the best of times, jumps out of his skin just about. Cruella (the not-yet) player finds this hilarious and returns to playing with her phone. The poor wizard looks about ready to have a heart attack. The PCs respond in much the same way. Struggling to twist and turn to face the voice. The wizard generally screaming.

Unfortunately Angus can't turn around to set fire to the thing. Nor can any of us do anything to attack it.

It grabs the wizard and... hugs him?

The creature then lets him go. It waves at us and beckons for us to follow it into an adjoining tunnel. Reasoning we have nothing to lose (and it could have just eaten the wizard) we follow (after trying to shout over the noise, we give up and resort to hand signals).

We follow the Shellycoat upward and along into a wider, larger cavern. It's quieter up here.

:>Wut is a shellycoat?
:Some lore checks later (again like most of britbongsteros you can wiki it) reveal it to be a mischievous but mostly harmless water spirit. Apparently. 

Anyway, the Shellycoat beckons us forward. The party takes a moment to assemble and generally stretch themselves back into place.

It seems we are in the Shellycoats lair, judging at least by the crude bedding and pile of empty crab shells. It certainly smells like it is anyway. What the Shellycoat wants to show us is down below. There's a hole in the center of the floor and it looks out into another cavern. There's light down there along with a party of alchemists.

They seem to be fishing. Quite innocently. Off to one side, is a large cauldron bubbling quite happily. One of the alchemists hauls up a crab pot and looks very pleased to have caught a large fairly grumpy looking Paromola cuvieri. After a small fight it goes into the stewpot. All very exciting. The alchemists gather round looking pleased with themselves. A few seconds later they duck backwards as a much larger crab claw reaches out of the pot. It grabs one of them, pulling him in. The others, using sticks, over turn the cauldron toward the water, and the still growing crab slinks into the sea.

It seems we know where the giant stuff is coming from. No Donny though...

Angus helpfully considers the cosmic imperatives of the situation. Man playing God, making sea creatures into God sized problems. With the weight of the universe upon him, his intellect squares it's shoulders like atlas and says:
:"I wonder what'll happen if I stick my dick in it?"

Fortunately the shellycoat appears incapable of speech, however it seems to understand us fine enough. Some pantomime and "me Navvie you fish thing?" establishes that the shellycoat definitely wants rid of the alchemists, and also the alchemists have a lot to do with some chick and some guy called Donny...

Now people making giant monsters for whatever purpose are decidedly not good as far as we are concerned. They also seem to have something to do with Donny. Meaning...

Meaning... Err...

Oh, yes, kill them all.

Further discussion with Shelly enlightens us that there are plenty more alchemists (and others) beyond the gap in the wall behind those who are fishing. It seems then that we want to approach this quietly...

Fortunately, the shellycoat seems to know a way down from here. Back out into the passage we first came through. It wants to come with us. The party discuss. Essentially do we trust this thing? The answer is pretty much God no. Do we want to have it following us? Again probably not. What do we do with it? As far as we can tell it's mischievous yes, but not actually malicious.

We aren't going to kill it. We can't just tie it up, nor can we knee cap it. Some whispering later we decide the best thing to do is....

I and the wizard pantomime it coming along at a distance. It shows us the direction we should be heading with a webbed hand. Seems straightforward enough. Meanwhile the Navvie gets behind it. It enthusiastically supports the coming along idea.

The Navvie thumps it. The intention being to knock it out. His fist, propelled by the one he rolls, hits it just fine at the base of the skull. It falls awkwardly with a sickening egg shell crunch on the floor of the cavern.
:"Oops."
:DM: "I'm sorry, but head trauma is no joke..."
:"So..."
:"Err..."
:"Shit."

We argue a bit over whose dumb idea that was, then discuss what to do. We all feel more than a bit guilty here. Sheepishly we lay it to rest or try to. When the bard and I go to pick it up, one bleary now red eye opens. There is an enormous dent in one side of its skull, and the horrific incongruity of one side of its head being almost flat from the temple to rear of the skull is a glaring sign of our idiocy.

It shivers and spasms, mewling, trembling, evacuating waste and rocking back and forth. There's just enough critter left to know those people it is looking at did this to it. The poor thing whimpers and looks like it wants to scream at the great unfairness of it all.

The best thing we can do is put it out of its misery. The DM senses an opportunity.

It takes an inordinately long time to kill it. Any pretense at gentle combined with the strange biology of the thing, seems to only make it worse. Eventually, and with my short sword sticking out of its sternum, it collapses. Dead.
:"Oh God oh God oh God we are bastards..."

As always, the DM is a cunt.  Though it also made a throwaway character into something that even now causes feels.

For anyone wondering, the one person audience was laughing so hard at us she spilt her wine.

We decide after that somewhat embarrassing fuck up to follow the route suggested. It's a bit more spacious than the last time, the descent is uneventful. The group of alchemists are sat with their backs to us. The sound of the surf is more than enough to ensure our inept approach remains stealthy enough to get behind them. We dispatch the fishing party almost before they realize we are there. It might just be what happened previously, but we feel a bit guilty as we ditch the bodies in the waters. They take a moment to sink and are instead swept into the maw of a salmon the size of a bus.

We ponder why they are making these enormous sea critters. It seems like they're just making them to be difficult, to make the waters of the east coast as dangerous as possible. Even if we don't find Donny it seems we are doing the right thing. We sneak up the tunnel.

:The alchemists of Britbongsteros: who are they? Dutch traders, or at least that's what they starred out as. The Dutch used to trade prolifically with the east coast of Scotland. It's one of the reasons Scots law is different to English law (continental influence) and also why Scotland had five universities before 1900 and the English only had two.
:The alchemists were traders then magic happened. Turns out alchemy actually (in a limited fashion) worked as did science. Their motto when it comes to science is like that of Aperture, "because we can" or "why the fuck not'?
:They were the source of much of the magical tech and weirdness in the early setting. As England and Scotland unified in 1707, more trade with the English occurred. Their plan with the giant sea monsters is twofold. One, the necromancers are paying them to do it (in full soul cubes) and two, if the north sea is full of giant critters and the only vessels that can sail on it are alchemist approved, then...
:1. Limit all trade to alchemists only
:2. ????
:3. MASSIVE PROFITS

:Why Donny?
:1. Because they can
:2. Think of him as a very lazy and badly trained attack dog, but if you point him at something, and don't mind collateral damage, he is a deniable and highly destructive asset.

:Why was Donny nailed to the floor?
:He fucked them off somehow and gave him what was effectively a magical time out.

There is a natural waterfall in here, freshwater falling from a river or stream above and into the tidal pool. The alchemists (we assume) have got a waterwheel set up and are using it to provide various gubbins.

Lounging on a deck chair is Donny, draped over him is Mrs Donny. He waves.

What he does not do is raise the alarm. The alchemists remain oblivious to us as they seem to be making more of whatever was in that cauldron. From where the waterfall is coming we can see daylight. It seems we have been down here longer than we thought. We formulate a plan of attack.

As we mutter. Donny very ostentatiously relaxes while Mrs Donny makes a show of (in her rather small outfit) making him a drink (think Joker & a very pneumatic Harley).

We decide that clearly Donny wants to watch the fun. The difficulty is what happens (if as opposed to) when we win. Will he just pull another disappearing act? We can't have that. We also don't think splitting up is a good idea. By the time we'll have fought our way to Donny he'll have fucked off. We need something to keep him here. We have an idea....

The plan? We do absolutely fuck all. 

Donny drinks his drink. He makes a "go on get stuck in" motion with his hand. The Navvie eats a sandwich. Angus is writing in his little diary, the bard cleans his finger nails. The wizard trims his 'tache and I build a little tower of shotgun shells (pinched a pump action shotgun from the alchemists during our visit to the hospital).

We can see Donny is getting a bit more incensed. The Navvie and I switch to playing rock paper scissors. Angus goes on a mining expedition in his own left nostril. Eating the results. It's about a minute after that that Mrs Donny appears.

Angus has found something chewy. He is treating it much as anon might a toffee.

Mrs. Donny gives a very annoyed stage whisper.
:"Hurry up you lot. He wants to see some violence. (Cruella has been roped in to do the girly voices again) Don't make me do it myself..."
We ignore her further. She is standing right in front of Angus now. He has found a deposit that may require dynamiting but is still attempting manual removal.
:"Come on you useless lazy bastards..."
This time. We don't club her over the head (lesson learnt) but we do grab her and let the wizard bind her with wizardry chains of cold iron. With her nicely hogtied and gagged
:>muh magical...
no fuck off. We have a hold (we think) over Donny.

It's about this time that Coliunn Gunn Chean (our regenerating headless ogre friend from earlier) pops into the cavern via the waterfall.

We decide if we engage in combat and Donny is still missing his Missus as it were, he'll just grab her while we are distracted. I get the job of carrying her as the Navvie needs both hands for his hammer and in can still use a revolver with one. Also I had a feeling that the DM would make someone actually pick up and carry Cruella for a bit and I'd rather it was me. He attempted to enforce this, instead he got a very lady like "get fucked" (I always thought the two had a good rapport which explains my mentioning it I hope).

The alchemists still are not paying any attention to us. Coliunn however seems aware something is up. He sniffs the air. Donny, we notice, is still looking at us, he finishes his whiskey, tosses the glass over his shoulder and stands up.
:>fightan time
As Donny descends from the platform/veranda, we decide that stealth is at an end. The bard is first to act. Piping [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Nt8dJ6rMZI The Police - Walking on the Moon], interestingly, almost immediately, the waters of the pool within the cavern begin to boil. When I say boil, I mean thrash and churn with angry giant sea life.

Coliunn begins to lope towards us and the alchemists go for their weapons. Fortunately Coliunn is distracted as the enormous crab from earlier lumbers ashore. The two engaging each other in delightful violence.

With Coliunn distracted we engage the alchemists as best we can. The issue being Donny, we don't really know what his capabilities are. Angus however, as always, remains extremely useful in these situations as he torches alchemists and their equipment. Donny reaches behind a crate and comes up with an extremely threatening looking cricket bat.

The combat rages throughout the cavern, the alchemists doing their best to support Coliunn and engage us at the same time. Donny we assume is going to be in someway magical or... something... so we focus our attention as best we can on him, leaving Angus to do what he does best (BURN EVERYTHING).

The Wizard chucks some nice sharp metal implements at him. He easily bats these aside. The Navvie builds his momentum up for a charge. The bard as usual is the bard, and I plink shots at him and try to control the squirming and generally distracting Mrs Donny. (also 'dat ass)

Have some ancient metal: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pliwf__k4d0 Heavy Load - Metal Conquest Full Album]

We get in closer. Donny seems to be trying his best to work his way to me and his Mrs (Turns out demons do like some things). I make the decision to put her down to get both hands free to engage him. He's fast, but not fast enough to dodge buckshot. By the time the Navvie has gotten into close combat, and the two duel, he tries to keep the Navvie between he and I, and I won't leave his Mrs. unattended (she'll get free or generally be a nuisance).

As I pause to reload, it seems like Coliunn and crab are evenly matched. Angus is, as usual, merrily burning stuff and seems quite happy. I put Mrs Donny down in front of me, I can keep an eye on her while concentrating on the combat. The Alchemists have got it together enough to start firing on us properly. I end up taking cover next to Mrs. Donny as bullets zing overhead. The wizard gets lucky and sticks a harpoon into Donny's leg.

The Navvie and Donny manage some dialogue while trying to kill one another. The Wizard is peripherally on the edge of the combat (flinging things at Donny and also trying to divert any bullets that might hit the Navvie off course).
:"Why are you boys doing this?"
:"You blew up the boat!"
:"So? What did they owe you? What was that about? They shanghaied you and now you're all free. I did you fuckers a favour!"
:"You tricked us!"
:"Meaning you didn't get blown up!"
:"You... you're up to something! Giant sea-creatures, you're disrupting shipping, working with the necromancers you're some sort of bastard!"
:"Bastard I am. I'm also on your side."
:"What is that about?"
:"I was nailed to a floor when you found me wasn't I?"
:"Yes..."
:"Then how did you think I felt about that?"
Now feelings are something the Navvie is not a great expert on. Generally feelings are something that happen to other people (usually "Ow" or other variations on pain) or the sensation that occurs when you bring a large hammer down on someone's head. Suffice to say, he's not much of an expert on the concept.
:"I don't really care, you're still involved in this somehow."
He swings his hammer again.
:"Do you think I'm involved by choice? Do you think she is?"
:"Why should we care?"
:"You shouldn't care, but you did free me."
I should add this dialogue is going on while there's still fighting, but most of the alchemists are dead by this point. Coliunn and the crab wrestled each other into the water so for the time being its fairly quiet.
:We respond, "We didn't free you. We freed the ghost, you were an accident."
:"The alchemists have my essence and hers stored up ahead. We can't get it ourselves but you could. You could free us. We have some autonomy, but not enough to avoid their orders and directions."
:"So you didn't want to blow up the ship then?"
:"Oh no, that was just for kicks. You try being nailed to a floor for six months, but it did get you lot here didn't it?"
:"More to the point, why can't you free yourselves?"
:"Warding."
:"Why should we trust you and what is in it for us?"
:"You'll need my help to defeat what was Baz, and trust me? After all we've been through? You should know better than that."
We mull this over. We don't like him. We don't like his wife, and we don't trust whatever he is. On the other hand... why the fuck not? We have the alchemists to kill anyway now that we have discovered what they're up to.
:>How smart are we?
:>Pretty fucking dumb is the answer of course.

We show good faith by not attacking Donny further. We also ensure his good faith by continuing to carry his wife about with us as he leads us to the entrance to the rest of the complex/cave/dungeon.

We also get a demonstration of exactly what Donny is capable of (he's in front of us) as Coliunn, victorious against the crustacean, hurls himself onto land. Donny smacks him upside the (what would be head but actually sort of in the middle of the chest) with his cricket bat, kicks him in the balls for good measure, and watches Coliunn fall back into the waters.

The rest of the alchemists definitely know we are coming, so we try to be cautious. Leaving Donny and his still tied up wife at the very clearly magical barrier (all the symbols and glowy shit are a dead giveaway) we proceed.

Shortly after we come to a right angle in the rather well hewn and orderly corridor. The obvious place if they have set an ambush to do so. Placing the bards hat on the end of a stick and leaning it round the corner. Nothing happens. Cautiously the bard sticks his head round the corner. He ducks back quickly from the fusillade of rapid rifle fire.

As the shooting pauses
:"Ha you did not think we would fall for that!"

We crouch up against the wall. As Angus prepares to stick the nozzle of his flamethrower round and immolate them, some large metal egg shaped things land near us. The wizard only just manages to get them to roll back round the corner as the grenades go off. Entirely deafening in this combined space.

Angus tries again. This time getting off a long burst of hellfire up the corridor. We can hear sizzling. No screaming or anything else though. Cautiously the bard looks again.
:"Nope guys, that did nothing, they're still behind that big armoured barricade."
:"Fuck's sake bard."
The complaining ends as more grenades land. This time the wizard is quick enough to punt them at the base of the fortification (think a sort of mobile pillbox you can drag into place across the tunnel exit). The detonation is followed by a large clang. Angus decides to blind fire up the corridor again, this time there's plenty of horrific screaming as men burn to death (Flamethrowers man, not even once).

Cautiously again, we proceed up the corridor. Now we get out into the thing, it's a straight 15 meter coverless murder tunnel. At the end of it are still burning bodies and the remains of the barricade. We can't see much beyond that. We proceed.

Reaching the barricade we realize there is another right angle. We are getting used to the idea of corners of death, so Angus blindfires up it. Reporting he has a quarter of a tank left of fuel then he's down to what's beneath his kilt and bad language.

Peeking around the corner, there doesn't seem to be anyone still living up there. The iron grates that fall in front and behind us indicate we may have fucked up. The cloud of green scary looking gas doubly confirms it as it hisses from the grenades lobbed from murder holes in the ceiling.

Angus is quick to act. He asks the wizard to take his trousers off.

The DM seems to be the most confused. The wizard refuses. Angus rips a strip from his own kilt and says
:"Quick, piss on that."
The rest of us, barring the bard and the DM, caught on, doing as advised.

It takes some explaining to the DM what is going on and why his "awesum knockout trap" sucks. He takes the new information on the chin and as the bard falls unconscious we each get to roll to see if we stay standing. The DM seems impressed with our ingenuity and we remain standing. The wizard weakens the iron bars in front just like we did his carefully laid plan.

For any anons who don't know what Angus was on about, [http://entertainment.omgfacts.com/lists/5284/During-World-War-I-homemade-gas-masks-were-made-by-peeing-on-a-cloth-ab657-2 during World War I homemade gas masks were made by peeing on a cloth]. I should say the original (DM's) plan was that we all pass out and get captured.

What we are in; feels like a warehouse, it does indeed look like a warehouse, it is in fact a warehouse along with some living quarters for the sixty odd (total) alchemists that were down here. As far as we can tell, we have killed about sixty odd between us. The place seems quite quiet now that we have worked our way through it.

We cautiously look about. Thinking there must be all kinds of fun stuff in these crates. Thing is, big warehouses have lots and lots of stuff in them. The nearest and most interesting looking crates seem to mostly have spoons in them, which is less exciting. We are struck by the idea that if whatever we are looking for is in here, it's going to take quite a while to find...

We think we've killed off all the alchemists, so we can't just interrogate one. We also don't really feel like spending the next month looking through boxes.

Hmm...

A manifest or other ledger would be the obvious thing. Sadly, we can't see one. We apply logic, if the big boxes are full of spoons or candlestick holders or egg cups, then they must keep the good stuff somewhere else, off to one side or something...

True to form, there is a small innocuous looking wooden door. We expect this to be a privy, but we kick it in anyway. We are surprised to discover exactly what we're looking for. Sort of...

We break into the small, quiet, peaceful little room, it feels a lot like a library. Initial searches reveal that the walls are covered in strange books, interesting looking gew-gaws, and occult knick-knacks. Seems like this is more the sort of thing we are after. There is also an armchair by the fire, the back of it is turned toward us, but there's a pair of legs sticking out of it.

An old, but still extremely commanding voice, the kind of voice an extremely polite mountain would have, asks us
:"WHERE IS MY FUCKING LUNCH."
We peek round the chair. Seated therein is what can only be described as Stephen Fry. It also seems he's blind, very old, and more than slightly deaf.

Angus usually has a sandwich about his person, and the Navvie can be relied upon for a beer and a pork pie. We present these offerings.
:"AH, PORK PIE, I THOUGHT IT WAS TUESDAY."
We attempt communication, not really being sure what an alchemist stereotypically sounds like, we opt for simply shouting.
:"HELLO."
:"WHAT?"
:"WE SAID HELLO."
:"WHAT?"
:"WE SAID, HELLO THERE."
:"WHAAAT?"
:"OH THIS IS... I mean this is hopeless guys..."
:"WHY IS IT HOPELESS?"
:"CAN YOU HEAR US?"
:"WHAT?"
This goes on for quite some time.

We can deal with large angry creatures, skeletons, zombies, gods, and other weirdness. We are having an awful lot of trouble here as we don't really know what we're looking for, and the guy who can tell us is deaf as a post.
:"WHAT?"

Ok, so he's blind, therefore drawing a picture isn't going to work. Shouting seems a problem, but we are getting somewhere... slooooowly. As the Navvie and I continue shouting (WHAT?) the rest of the party investigate the room. Angus cheekily pinches his sandwich back.

They don't find anything immediately offensive or useful. Though the wizard is quite taken with a desk ornament (one of those Newton's Cradle things which has little heads that make different expressions as it swings). The bard is struck by the extremely nice set of bagpipes on the wall and shuffles a bit closer to them. Clearly planing on pinching them.

It also occurs to us, what the fuck are we going to do with this invalid, we can't just leave him here... we also, as a party of murder-hobos, aren't taking him with us. We sure as hell can't leave him to starve to death either...

If this situation seems familiar, well, we certainly recalled what happened with the Shellycoat up above. As the old man eats his pork pie, we cluster behind the armchair.

Essentially it's a case of
:"Dude, what're we gonna do?"
:"Kill him?"
:"We can't just..."
:"We could take him along with us?"
:"Into whatever fight we get involved in next? Out on the road?"
:"Ok... so if we do this who's gonna do it..."
:"I will.
:"NO BARD."

After more rummaging the wizard comes across two books. They're paired so it seems. If you open one, the other opens and turns to the same page. He finds this fascinating. Experimentally he draws a dot on the page of one and the same dot appears in the other. The books are full of a script even he can't read. The pictures however are entirely lurid and not for dinner table conversation.
:"PUT THOSE FUCKING DOWN."
Ah ha.

More shouting establishes these are just what we are after. We consider, as these give us some leverage over Donny, could we get him to take care of the old chap? Wait a minute who is this old bastard anyway? Harmless old savant? The Britbongsteros version of an old Nazi war criminal? We have no idea.

We return with the books to Donny. The wizard makes a show of releasing his wife, who doesn't seem particularly troubled by her ordeal ("I'm used to a little bondage") Donny seems awfully keen to get those books back. We hang on to them for now.
:"If we give these to you, you'll help us with Baz and take care of the old man?"
:"Yes. You'll need to scuff out the wards as well, but sure."
Dutifully we do.

A few seconds later, Donny returns with a spine that is dripping blood. Playfully he lashes it at his partner who giggles as blood spatters the bard.
:"Taken care of as ordered boys. Books please. Now. Might I remind you, you're in here alone with me now. Unless you can write very rapidly in several dead languages, there's nothing to stop me taking them off you... but I like to play by the rules. Books please."
I'm not sure if I'm doing Donny justice here, he's as cheerful as he is... not evil in the traditional sense just... totally and utterly sans morals, and yet still quite likeable

Some OOC discussion occurs. Is this really who we are? Doing deals with demonic entities? Are we going to try to be a force for good or a lighter shade of grey? We think we are going to need him though. We hand over the books.

We really do not like where this is taking us, but we have made our beds and we are going to lie in them.
:"So how exactly are you going to help?"
:"When the time is right, I'll be there. Until then, I have some catching up to do..."
As he playfully spanks his wife, he half turns and the pair entirely vanish.

The party is alone now, surrounded by bodies, with an accidental nest of evil wiped out by accident. We do some soul searching.

We set about trying to leave this place as we take stock of our thoughts.
*Baz still needs to be killed.
*We will have to do something about Donny eventually.
*We sort of did good today... kind of?
*Jesus this country is a mess.
*We are going to need help to think of a plan of action re Baz
*Technically we are agents of the crown, meaning we can call on help. We know where Baz is for the time being, and we think it might be best to seek assistance. To the north we have the isolationist Aberdeen, who even if we have a wizard from there with us, likely will not care. We can try to get south. Taking the sea route is going to be hard as there are a whole lot of these critters in the water, and we don't know how safe the tugboat would be without alchemists aboard to keep the wards up.

A group of royal navy warships would be fine enough for us sailing south, but a better (or at least more realistic option) takes us through giant territory. The giants of Stirling in fact, and then on to the North of England and possibly dwarf-Yorkshire.