Sessione 10 -- Roadside Distractions

The journey began in Venice, where Fancy, Nico, Volpeo, Gianna, and Guido made ready to leave the city in search of Capulet, the Genoese merchant rumored to be working with the Byzantines and hiding in Verona. They set out with full health and spells, but not with much money, and immediately had to think like travelers instead of urban adventurers. Before leaving, Guido worked with his falcon, training it to recognize and report of anyone wearing a red scarf, a sign of the enemies they had made in Venice. He specified that the bird should come back and alert the party whenever it spotted such a mark, giving them a mobile warning system as they moved inland. The others reviewed their equipment and discussed supplies, especially healing potions.

They took the main road from Venice heading west. They used the road network as a guide, choosing a route through Padua rather than dragging their armor through hills or trying anything as foolish as swimming across the Adriatic. The party decided that staying on roads would effectively double their speed. They kept an eye on the terrain types under each hex and traded light jabs about who was “completionist” enough to go poke around in nearby hills “alive with the sound of music, or maybe just with eyes.” Despite the temptation, they agreed that the safe and efficient path went through Padua.

Padua itself was a small town, more backwater than metropolis. It lay under Venice’s political influence, with a church, a tavern, and the usual collection of simple shops. The party had traveled two days to reach it and needed both food and rest. Their rations, which had not mattered during earlier city‑based adventures, suddenly mattered a lot. Volpeo had been carrying several, and a kind of practical comedy emerged as it became clear he had been feeding multiple people without everyone quite noticing. The group realized they needed to re‑stock before pushing on.

Nico slipped away into the shadowy side of town, seeking the local thieves’ guild. His tiefling heritage did him no favors. While he managed to find them, the members were wary and refused to share much. In contrast, Fancy sought out the escorts’ guild and its head madam, asking with polite charm if any “unseemly” visitors or dangerous news had passed through recently, especially concerning the road ahead. The madam spoke of something far worse than ordinary brigands. She described strangers turned away from town, people with an ashen complexion, dark rings around their eyes, and severe headaches. Locals were whispering about plague somewhere to the west, and the town had refused to house a small group showing such symptoms, sending them on as quickly as possible. Fancy, suspicious by habit, read the woman’s manner carefully and decided she was being honest rather than evasive.

Guido listened to Fancy’s recounting and frowned. The symptoms sounded disturbingly like a variety of undead‑related diseases he knew from his clerical training, though they could also fit some mundane plagues. He admitted that his divine magic was still too weak to cure diseases, which put a sharper edge on rumors of sickness they would soon hear on the road. He explained that some priests believed that holy water, if drunk or poured on a bite almost immediately after infection, sometimes helped, although stories contradicted one another, and once symptoms took hold, it was often already too late. The party decided to treat the threat seriously. Fancy went to the church, asked for vials of holy water, and haggled the price down. She left with several vials at a discount. Guido confirmed he already had three more, but noted he still was not high‑level enough to consecrate new holy water himself. They discussed weight and cost, then carefully distributed some vials to Gianna, Volpeo, and Nico while Guido kept a couple for emergencies.

They also addressed their food situation. Lodging and a hot meal for the night in Padua cost each of them a gold piece, which spared their carried rations for later. Then they bought preserved rations at a steeper price that included water, each one heavy enough to matter for encumbrance. Nico, mindful that he would be “sharing his fries” with Fancy for the foreseeable future, bought a substantial stack. Gianna and Volpeo each purchased ten days’ worth. There was a digression about how, in some faraway city in another age, a restaurant had a menu item called “My Girlfriend Isn’t Hungry,” adding extra fries and onion rings for exactly the situation they were now living in, but with salted pork and stale bread instead of fried potatoes and onions. Once stocked, they plotted the miles and decided that five more days of travel would take them to Verona.

Leaving Padua, they again chose the road across grassland instead of the more arduous hill route. Nico worked out that road over hills required the same movement as open grass. The others trusted this calculation with a mix of seriousness and teasing. Guido’s trained falcon flew overhead, the “red scarf detector” on watch. For a while, the road was empty.

Then they came upon three armed men standing squarely across it. The lead figure was smaller than average but projected a remarkable confidence. He stepped forward and welcomed them in what was meant to be a grand, landlordly way, announcing that this was his road and that using it required paying a toll. He introduced himself as Piccolo Niccolo and was very clearly enjoying his role. Hidden archers in the scrub just off the road tightened their bowstrings, waiting for his signal. The “toll” he demanded was laughably high, five hundred gold pieces, a number clearly chosen so that no typical travelers could pay it and thus give him an excuse to “enforce” the toll with violence.

Fancy stepped forward as spokesperson, as usual. She bantered with him, letting him admire her charm, then quietly wove a charm spell into their exchange. It took hold. One moment he was a swaggering road thief, the next he was besotted with his “dear friend” who had such a sense of humor. He cheerfully admitted to her that the outrageous toll was part of the con: one always asked an amount no traveler actually had; then when they failed to pay, the bandits could attack with righteous indignation. He boasted that he had already cleared other ruffians off “his” stretch of road, explaining that the secret to being a successful highwayman was to never let rivals establish themselves on your turf.

His henchmen, still hidden in the brush, grew increasingly confused. One whispered so loudly the whole party could hear: “Boss, you’re blowing our cover. Are we attacking or what?” Piccolo Niccolo hushed him in an affectionate but imperious way, insisting there would be “no whacking today.” Fancy seized the moment and turned the toll on its head. She asked if they could borrow some money instead, promising to pay him back double on their return trip for all the “help” he had given them and for keeping the roads safe.

Niccolo, in his charmed state, admitted that it was early in the day and they had not yet shaken down many travelers. He asked how much they needed, and then, with only token hesitation, tossed her a small coin purse. One of the other bandits blurted, “Boss, that’s everything we got from the other group,” but Niccolo just brushed him off. Fancy reached into the purse and, without counting, pulled out several coins to give back so he would not be left entirely empty‑handed. Only then did she realize they were platinum pieces, far more valuable than gold, and that she had just handed him four of them. She kissed him lightly on both cheeks, thanked him profusely for his bravery in “keeping the roads safe from bandits,” and promised she and her friends would repay him twofold. He blushed crimson, attempted a gallant flourish, and waved them through with his compliments while his henchmen glowered over his shoulder, too loyal or too stunned to disobey. Once the party was safely away and had time to count their unexpected windfall, they discovered there were still seventeen platinum pieces in the purse. They divided these between them and quietly marveled at how a prepared ambush had resolved not in bloodshed but in profit.

They pushed on, traveling another day and consuming more rations. At the end of one long march they saw, ahead on the road, a small caravan coming toward them. The wagons were laden with household goods, pulled by tired animals and surrounded by weary people. Fancy went ahead to greet them warmly on behalf of the party. She spoke to a middle‑aged man who introduced himself as Nikias, and to his wife Eudokia. When she asked about bandits or dangers on the road behind them, he told her that compared to what they had already fled, ordinary bandits might almost be a relief.

In halting but earnest speech, Nikias explained that there was plague in Mantua. He said that in Mantua’s streets now walked the dead. People were being bitten and within hours were turning into monsters. The city gates had been closed too late. The place was lost. He and his people were going east, to reach a port, then a ship, and ultimately Constantinople, which he called “home” and “safe.” As he spoke, Fancy, who had been trying to read them as people, heard rasping coughs from several wagons. She noticed faces that looked ashen and exhausted. Some clutched rags to their mouths. She asked if many among them were sick. Nikias answered that he and Eudokia were not, but some of the others were. He insisted they hoped to find a healer before it was too late.

While Fancy spoke at the front, Nico used his cloak and instincts to slip off the road and circle behind the caravan, peering into wagon beds. He saw several travelers clearly marked by illness. One woman in particular, perhaps in her fifties, sweated with fever and coughed without pause into a stained cloth. Their possessions looked like everything they owned: peasant clothing, bundles of tools, modest household goods, and a few children. At one point, as he watched, Nico felt a tug at his sleeve. A barefoot boy, freckles on his face, looked up at him and introduced himself as Petros. Nico discreetly pressed a coin into the boy’s hand and gestured for silence. The boy glanced back toward a girl of about twelve with braided hair and a wooden doll, motioning for him to come back, her eyes darting between the boy and Nico. While the adults seemed oblivious, the two children could both see him. He gave the boy another coin, and told him to give it to the girl to buy her silence, too. Petros then ran to her and shared the coins. The rest of the caravan paid little attention to them.

Back at the front, the weight of the situation fell fully on the party. They understood that Nikias and his people, sick and healthy alike, were heading straight toward Venice and, from there, one of the largest cities in the world. Guido’s earlier explanation about undead plagues and holy water came back to them. Fancy struggled over what to say, knowing that if she urged them to press on, she might be condoning the spread of a terrible disease, but if she told them to abandon their sick, she might be asking something no parent or sibling could do.

In the end she chose a middle path that was compassionate but stark. She took one of the vials of holy water they had bought in Padua and pressed it into Nikias’s hand. She told him that, according to what they had been told, this might help if it was used immediately after someone was bitten or first exposed, though it was no guarantee. She warned him that if he kept traveling with the gravely ill in close contact with the healthy, he risked not only the lives of his uninfected family but also the lives of countless people in the cities toward which he was heading. She told him that he was approaching a point where he would have to make terrible choices.

Nikias listened, pained but resolute. He turned from Fancy and went back to one of the wagons, to a young woman in her twenties named Sophia who was pale and trembling, her long black hair matted. She looked barely strong enough to stand up. He held the vial out to her and told her that this would help. Sophia drank the holy water, but there was no immediate miracle, no sudden color returning to her cheeks. Nikias returned and thanked Fancy sincerely, insisting again that they had to try. He said they would go to Venice, then find a ship to Constantinople. They had come too far to turn back.

The party conferred in low voices. Some were deeply uneasy at the idea of letting this caravan travel on. They pointed out that Nikias had just told them Mantua was full of walking dead and that his people, some already coughing and pale, were heading for populated ports. Others argued that these were civilians with children, peasants who had done nothing but try to survive. Guido, who earlier had urged caution about the plague, did not propose slaughtering the refugees. In the end, they stepped aside and gave the caravan a wide berth, making a conscious decision not to become executioners on a country road. They watched Nikias, Eudokia, Sophia, Petros, and the others continue eastward, and walked on in the opposite direction, knowing they might see the consequences of that choice later.

Days later, after more plodding across grassland and another tally of rations, they saw another caravan, this one in ruins. Wagons lay smashed and overturned. No living travelers moved among them, but there was plenty of movement. As they drew nearer, the stillness cracked. Figures that had been strewn among the wreckage began to stir, then rise. Fourteen corpses, dressed like Eastern or Byzantine peasants, pulled themselves to their feet as zombies and lurched toward the party.

Fancy, Nico, Volpeo, and Gianna moved to meet them, forming a rough line, hanging back with missile weapons and firing into the horde as it closed. In their fear and surprise, almost every bolt and arrow missed its mark. Guido stepped forward, brandishing his holy symbol and calling upon his god. Divine power surged forth, and several of the undead simply collapsed under it, destroyed before they could take a step. The others continued staggering onward toward the group.

The zombies were slow but relentless. They clawed and struck at anyone they could reach. Gianna took multiple hard blows, but she kept fighting, her axe cutting down one attacker after another. Guido, whose magic had weakened their numbers, stood near her with his mace ready, both to fight and to heal if he could.

At one point a zombie veered off from the main melee and rushed at Nico, who had been firing from a distance. It landed a brutal hit that left him badly hurt. Suddenly the comedy of earlier days on the road vanished. He was on the edge of collapse. Fancy saw this and sprinted across the battlefield, firing at the zombie that threatened Nico. Her shot struck true, dropping the creature before it could finish him. Nico then fell back even farther, uncorked his last healing potion, and drank it, gaining barely enough strength to hold his ground.

Meanwhile, Volpeo fought like someone who had spent a lifetime with steel in hand, cutting down several zombies in quick succession, his movements precise rather than flashy. Gianna, though battered, felled one with a heavy axe blow, then turned to face another. Guido finished off one that got too close with a mace strike. The last and most haunting of the enemies was a small, child‑sized zombie that crawled from an overturned wagon clutching a headless teddy bear. Gianna switched from close combat to her missile weapon and, grim‑faced, shot it through in a single hit.

When the last of the undead lay still, the party stood amid splintered wagons and scattered bundles. The scene was bleak. These had been families, much like Nikias’s caravan, caught and transformed. The group decided to burn the bodies rather than leave them to rise again. Before setting the fire, they searched the wreckage. They found coins totaling about 120 gold pieces, a silver holy symbol in a distinctly Eastern style that Guido identified as likely Byzantine, and a torn scrap of writing. The fragment was from Nikias. In terse words it advised: plague from Mantua bites, burn bodies, head east fast. The letter confirmed that these dead had been connected to the same outbreak Nikias had described, and that he himself had tried to warn them.

Fancy, who had been leading the search, took the letter and showed it to the others. It tied the rumors in Padua, Nikias’s desperate flight, and the risen corpses on the road into one line. The party took the holy symbol for later examination and respectfully built the pyre. As the fire caught and smoke rose over the wrecked caravan, they turned back to the west and continued their journey toward Verona, now fully aware that they were traveling through a land where rumors of plague and the walking dead were not distant stories but living, and dying, reality on the same road they walked.