Session 32 -- Tavern Tangle Triggers Treacherous Turn

Morning broke over Tipperary, casting a pale light through the shutters of the tavern where the adventurers were enjoying breakfast before hitting the road to Dingle, where they would get a ferry to Skellig Michael. But rest had not brought peace. Each of them had passed the night ensnared in visions -- dreams so vivid and strange they refused to fade in the waking world.

Jack spoke first over the breakfast table, his voice low. “I was on a storm-tossed boat. It was a little rowboat kind of thing. We were all there.  And we kept trying to reach this rocky island off in the distance, but the closer that we would get to it, it just seemed to get further and further away. As we got closer, as we eventually did get closer to this rocky island, the boat kept getting bigger, but then so did the island.  Before I knew it, it was a whole sailing ship on a calm sea. And we were passing through, I recognize it, we were passing through the Straits of Gibraltar and I could see Rome and Athens and the Levant. And as we were about ready to make landfall there, the land just sank away. And we were just on this totally trackless ocean with no landmarks until in the distance I see land and it's it's Tír na nÓg. I see us at Tír na nÓg again!  And I was able to recognize certain places from back where I come from.  And then before I know it, we're not there. We're way down south at the mouth of the Amazon River.  And again, we just can't quite seem to make it and make landfall because right as we were getting to the mouth of the river, the whole ship lifted out of the water, and started to float up into the sky. And I'm looking up at the sails and they're not sails anymore.  All of the sails, like all where the sails were, it's just a giant flock of geese that the ship is tied to these geese and they're bearing us aloft and we just keep floating up in the direction of the moon.  And that was where my dream ended. It was the weirdest thing!”

Vegvisir quipped, “I wish that you had to drink last night!”

“Well, to be fair, I did have more  than my share,” Jack replied

Murchad intoned grimly, “That's a bit weirder than mine.  Yeah, that's significantly weirder than mine. I was fighting three demons.  One was gold with tentacles and one had horns, and the other one was like a spider woman.  They jumped me but I was okay because someone was… I was feeling a kind of resilience being infused into me, like a shield.”

Dwårfy laughed and uncomfortable laugh, “Ha! A golden demon and one with horns? He says,  I had one too, but it didn't end nearly as happily. I was in an underground cavern city. And at first I'm thinking, ‘wow, this is great, I'm home,’ but it wasn't Dwarven. And instead of feeling familiar and homey, it was just insidious and wrong and just ‘off.’ And as I tried to like back out of this cavern, because I was getting a little freaked out,  I just started sliding down further. It was like the ground was pitched down into this cavern. And every time I slid and caught myself, you know, finally stopped the sliding, it just kept getting  colder and full of new horrors.” 

“Eventually, I end up squared off against a dragon while all these serpents darting over the ground and they were biting all these people that were screaming and running around in a panic, and every time a serpent would bite a person, they crumbled into ash. And then, past the dragon,  I could see that the whole cavern is like a giant subterranean funnel. And at the bottom of it is like a giant frozen lake and an even greater horror that I couldn't see but I just knew it was there. And with this dragon were two demons and one of them had a gold body and horns and a mess of tentacles for arms and the other one was made out of soil and vines and thorns. And just as I'm getting ready, I got my hammer in each hand, and just as I'm getting ready for this battle that I know is not gonna go well,  I get slammed into from the side by a giant spider demon with the torso and the head of a woman, and that's where I woke up. So at least you get the feeling of like protection and shielding and safety.”

            Vegvisir said, “I suppose mine fell somewhere in the middle of the themes, if we're going to call it.  I just dreamed that I was working on a…some sort of item. It wasn't very clear what, but I had an ingot, and I was trying to heat up. I ended up dropping it into the forge, which is not something I would usually do.  As I tried to figure out how to get to it, as  I didn't see any tools around me,  and even thought about reaching into the fire with my bare hands,  it just  sort of started to change in front of me. As if it was crafting itself, as if it was becoming something all on its own. It first looked like just a mass of lumps and then it turned into the intricate gears that would probably take me weeks to create. The gears started to connect to each other. They were spinning. They slowly just became a humanoid shape and got really quite large.  And then I heard my father, he said, ‘Yep, those machine elves will keep coming now.’”

“When I turned,  as I didn't realize he was there before, he was just staring into the forge as well. And by the time I turned back around, I saw these clockwork beings almost fully formed, and they started pulling themselves out of the forge, and there was just more and more of them being created. I didn’t know if they were just tyring to come out or what, so I took a step back and felt that I started to fall, and that’s when I woke up.”

            Tiv and Ceangal shared an uneasy glance but didn’t say anything. All eyes were on Vedica. 

“Mine was slightly different, I suppose,” she said, “I was just in, what, you would call a desert maybe?  And just like every bit was just nice and level apart from there was some cliffs.  And right at very top of it was this really, really golden city. Of course,  wherever there's golden cities, there is gold.  So I decided to try and climb up to get to said golden city, but these cliffs were just never-ending. No matter how much I climbed, I could just not get to the top whatsoever.”

After an uneasy silence, Vegvisir added flatly, “So we all had, well most of us all had a dream with a lot of endless things in it and no real conclusion -- and seemingly dangerous or frustrating experiences.”

Tiv listened to them all in silence, her hand tightening on her mug. None of them could shake the sense that the dreams were more than dreams -- that they had been shown something. Or warned.

Their brooding was interrupted by a scuffle nearby -- a tavern brawl. Chairs scraped, bottles shattered. a shouting match turned fist fight breaks out among two of the patrons a couple of tables over.

The party wasn’t sure what it was about or what they were discussing, but there was a name that they did recognize.  One of the guys engaged in this fistfight, which kind of got broken up by their,  points his finger and shouts back at the first guy, says, “Faelar's name is mud! Everybody says he's plotting with Connacht!”

Lord Faelor, of course, is the chief nobleman of this particular area in the Kingdom of Munster.  He seemed to be a guy that was well-liked!

The one guy that was arguing  back at the other guy was successfully dragged out the front door by his friends, so that they stop making a scene,  and most people went back to their breakfast.

Then a woman’s voice cut through the din: “Let them come! Let them all come! Munster’s got teeth yet!” The tension ebbed, but the mood had changed. Trouble was brewing.

The party left the tavern without fanfare, setting their course toward Skellig Michael. Their road took them into the green depths of Munster, winding through low forests and ancient stone shrines, the road narrowing near the town of Holycross.

There, beside the broken husk of a merchant’s cart, they found the courier. A young man slumped on the verge, pale and bleeding. “They took it,” he rasped. “The ledger -- it’s gone. Three of them -- into those woods!”

Tiv knelt and pressed her hands to the wound. “You’re safe now. Rest.” Her magic flowed into him. The bleeding slowed. His broken leg healed. Color returned to his lips.

The group tracked the bandits into the woods, where they each employed some manner of invisibility. At the signal, they sprang the trap. Arrows flew, magic surged, and one bandit fell. Vegvisir used his whip to entangle one, and Ceangal’s sleep spell dropped another.

The surviving, conscious bandit stammered under Vedica’s gaze. “We didn’t know what we were stealing, I swear! Some man paid us -- hooded, northern accent, brooch like this.” He nodded toward the claddagh on his companion’s dagger.  The hilt was made of Connemara marble, and it was decorated with a Claddagh motif. A connection to Connacht was unmistakable.

They retrieved the ledger and studied its contents. "Funds to F’s agents, staged act, C’s mark. Full Oak awaits," "Order from C: Shift blame, weaken crown. Meet at Broken Statue," "Scouts: H recruits ready, K signal at New Holly."

Tiv, using her knowledge of religion, was able to make sense out of a couple of things. “Full Oak” and  “New Holly” are like ancient  druid ways  of telling a calendar. She sat down and worked it out, and she said  that the times that are being referenced by Full Oak and New Holly, which have to do with the phases of the moon, basically equate to July 12th through the 26th,  about two weeks away.

            No one could make any sense of what landmark might be indicated by the broken statue reference.

When they returned to the road with their prisoners, the courier was gone. Ceangal searched for signs of a struggle but found nothing. “Vanished,” he muttered. “Either frightened off… or part of it.”

At Holycross, they turned in the surviving bandits, the dagger, and the ledger. The steward-marshal, listened in grim silence, said “If this is true, it’s not just rebellion. It’s calculated revolt. And it’s working.”

“You believe Faelar’s part of it?” Jack asked.

The marshall shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe. But someone wants us to tear ourselves apart.”

They moved on west, crossing into lands near Killarney. Smoke stained the sky. A cart had been burned by the road, its sides painted with rough letters: FREEDOM OR DEATH.

A man -- Muirne -- stood amid angry villagers. His uniform was stained with ash. “They came screaming like banshees,” he shouted. “Masked. Armed. Said I was bleeding the people dry.”

A woman in the crowd hurled a stone. “You are! Ten percent hike and no grain to show for it!”

Murchad raised his arms. “Enough! This won’t help your children or your fields. Let’s all breathe before there’s more blood.”  Intimidated by the presence of the party (but Murchad’s in particular), the crowd dispersed twenty or thirty paces.

Vedica approached the taxman. “Did they say who they served?”

“They said the People’s Flame,” Muirne replied. “Same dagger. Claddagh hilt.” He pulled it from its sticking place in the husk of his burned-out cart, his hands shaking.

The party escorted him to safety, eyes watching from every hedgerow. On the road, Muirne explained further: “There’s unrest in every town now. Someone’s organizing them. Not just riots -- coordinated strikes. Timed attacks.”

That evening, they reached Killarney. Muirne, grateful for their escort, brought them to an inn and offered to buy a round for them.

The tavern they entered -- the Broken Statue Inn -- was thick with tension. Muirne raised his glass: “To sanity. And those who still fight for it.”

A bard, introduced as Lirien, sang a protest song that electrified the crowd:

“Come round and hear the tale of Mumhain’s impov’rish’d woe,

The king’s greed grows, e’en tho his taxes flow,

From fields of green and homes so poor and lowly,

He’ll bleed us dry, unless we stop him nigh.

The golden crown conspires with nobles’ greed,

A war they plan, our doom has been decreed,

Rise up, good folk, and for your freedom plead ye,

With pike and sword and not down upon your knees,”

“All hearts turn north, where aid, it may be found,

Take up your cause with arms and will profound,

Lord Caedmon with pity may lend you his might,

Rise now and fight for freedom, claim your right!

So, march ye forth when fields they bleed with strife,

And all your hills resound with cries of woe,

Oh, we’ll stand strong in battle’s heat or cold of night,

Oh, Mumhain’s sons, oh, Mumhain’s sons, arise and go!”

The crowd cheered, voices rising. Someone shouted, “When this spreads, we’ll fight the king!”

Muirne turned to the party. “This is what I’m talking about. They’ve lost their heads.”

Murchad whispers to the rest of the party, “I think we should just move on. This doesn’t concern us, and we have demons to fight!”

Unnerved, the party decided to press on toward Castlemaine that very evening. They left quietly, advising Muirne to do the same.

They reached Castlemaine late, just past ten. Once they checked into their rooms, Vedica spotted a mysterious woman loitered near a warehouse in the market square.  She was tall, gray-haired, and armored beneath her cloak. Vedica, invisible, decide to investigate. She left the inn and crept up on her. Another figure approached the woman, and the two began to whisper.

Vedica listened. Words like “sabotage” and “you have the papers” passed between them. The man sounded reluctant -- coerced, perhaps. The woman held the plans.

Vedica tried to pick the woman’s pocket -- and failed. The woman spun around, sword drawn. “Who the hell are you?” she snarled.

Combat erupted. Vedica fought alone at first, fending off blows. Vegvisir, who had also been watching through the window, darted out of the room, kicking the bed Murchad was sleeping in on his way out of the room. “Vedica needs help!”

He soon arrived, whip lashing. From the window above, Murchad hurled a paralyzing bolt from his crossbow, dropping the male conspirator. Vedica struck with her blades and brought the woman down. Papers were recovered from the woman (identified by the man as Serana, a veteran fighter) -- plans for sabotage in Corcaigh.  The plot seemed to hinge on fomenting unrest in Mumhain, paving the way for an invasion from the north and a naval bombardment and landing in the south. Serana’s papers detailed “sabotage Corcaigh’s harbor by New Holly” with sketches of the Blackrock Fort and ship hulls, annotated with “powder charges” and “mine placements.”

Connacht agents would to infiltrate Corcaigh’s harbor under cover of night (targeting the New Holly phase, July 26, AD 1366, 2 weeks from June 28) using small, swift boats. Their goal is to plant explosive charges—crude black powder kegs smuggled from Connacht—along the seaward walls of the city’s primary defensive tower, the Blackrock Fort. The charges, timed to detonate during high tide, will breach the lower stonework, collapsing a section of the fort and exposing the harbor to naval assault. Torin’s role was to provide insider knowledge of guard patrols to ensure the agents avoid detection.

Simultaneously, agents will target anchored Mumhain warships, using divers to attach improvised limpet mines (waxed wooden boxes filled with black powder and timed fuses) to hulls below the waterline. This aims to sink or disable 2–3 key vessels, crippling the harbor’s defensive fleet and preventing a counterattack during the invasion. The mines are designed to explode as the agents retreat, maximizing chaos.

With the fort breached and ships disabled, Connacht plans a southern invasion via Corcaigh, coordinating with a northern push across the Shannon. The weakened defenses would allow their fleet to land troops and siege engines, overwhelming the city within days.

The man, a guard captain named Toril, confessed. He muttered a plea, “They’ve got my family -- Lord Caedmon -- I had no choice.  Help me, or Corcaigh falls, and we’re all lost!” He stressed at the plan’s severity, suggesting the party could intercept the agents or rescue his kin to disrupt it.

Toril agreed to travel with Vegvisir to Corcaigh, the capital, to expose the plot and seek help.  Vegvisir was also intent on trying to line up a ship to purchase and a crew for the party to hire while the rest would go on to Skellig Michael.

As the night deepened, the party faced choices: warn the crown, save the hostages, or press on to Dingle and leave the rising storm behind when they sailed for the Continent.

The unrest in Mumhain had ceased to be a rumor.

And the demons in their dreams -- perhaps they had simply been waiting for the gate to crack.

Now, it had.