A trio of strangers filed into the alehouse. A tall man mantled with shaggy, matted fur led the pack, sly and self-assured as a wolf stalking sheep. His youthful countenance seemed mismatched with the grey streaked through his unruly mane. A graceful minstrel whose bright crimson cloak jingled with silver bells all but pranced after him, half-smirking at the villagers staring back. Such simple folk had rarely seen the like of him, to be sure. And stomping up behind them was some manner of priest, or so it seemed from the heavy talisman dangling under his forked beard: the gleaming Hammer of Sigmar!
Laying eyes on that blessed symbol should have reassured the mistress of the house. In better circumstances, strangers as well-armed as these (for each wore their steel openly) would scarcely find any welcome in sleepy Stirbruck. Even now, the alewife strained to manage a smile as the wolfish man silently drew up to the crackling hearth and the minstrel jangled off merrily to some comfy nook, unslinging his lute. The priest, meantime, paced up and down the floor. Suddenly, he addressed everyone, yet no one in particular, in a voice as clear as church bells. "We have heard about your recent troubles."
"Sir," the alewife answered, for the priest's tone had cut the silence with a sharp, accusatory edge. She came out from around the serving counter, fretting with her apron. "Sir, if you have heard the ... rumors then have pity on us." The minstrel chuckled softly while tuning his instrument; it made her shudder. Everything about that fellow was out of place in the cursed village. On the other hand, the tall man watching the fire as if mourning over his true love's grave was the perfect reflection of Stirbruck's despair. She wondered what tragedy, or horror, had silvered his sable locks.
"Pity? Oh yes, good lady," the priest boomed, breaking her out of reverie. He brandished a hammer in each of his giant fists. "This one," he explained "is called Pity." Her face contorted into a snarl a second before a hammer blow caved it in, even as the rest of her still lurched forward to attack. "And this one is called Mercy," the blood-spattered priest continued, grinning. His companions had already drawn their blades. "Now let us hear your confessions."
The hunter's grisly work continued as the sun sank ever lower. They learned what they needed to root out Stirbruck's affliction: A vampyr was nesting in the cemetery and its thralls in the village fed it unwary travelers. Its increasingly ravenous hunger terrified the villagers to the point of locking it in the mausoleum of some long-forgotten nobility. They secured the charnel prison with three mechanisms hidden among the tombstones. The hunters marched off to the cemetery under the rising moon as the alehouse burned to cinder behind them, its former patrons having received absolution.
Despite the Old World setting, this was actually a game of Lasting Tales. Although we are still waiting on that Kickstarter to fulfill (two and a half years later) we have a PDF of the rulebook and have been enjoying the game for a long while now.
Our heroes approached the Stirbruck cemetery from the table edge toward the lower right of the picture above. The grim heroes are pictured below, left to right: the Bard (John), Fighter (Michael), and Cleric (yours truly).
John and I stormed down the left side of the mausoleum. I cracked some skulls while John headed for a treasure chest glinting under the moonlight in a stand of gnarled trees.
Michael the Lone Wolf took the right side, slaying foes, cracking open treasure chests, and successfully activating the first of the three hidden mechanisms (spending a Fate point to make sure it unlocked).
I successfully hit and rolled a 6 on the Fate Die. But I only rolled 4 damage on 2d6. John advised me to spend a Fate Point to re-roll and I got a 7. She soaked 1 damage thanks to Resilience but failed her Armor save. Six damage went through.
Me: How many Hit Points does she have?
Michael: Six.
Me: Oh.
And so the Fiend of Stirbruck was defeated. I had probably built her up in my mind to where she seemed like a greater threat than she really was, especially after seeing her take down Michael's Fighter in her one (and only) activation.
For those who wonder if the final confrontation was somewhat anti-climactic, please believe me when I say I almost never roll well when it really counts. So for me, killing the vampire with a single mighty THWACK was extremely satisfying.
All credit to Michael for supplying the miniatures, terrain, and scenario.