Behold, I saw a horse, pale greenish grey. The name of the one riding on it was Death, and Sheol was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill by sword and by famine and by plague and by the wild beasts of the earth.”
Book of Revelation 6: 7-8
The Harvestmen - spirits or demons that feed off the pain, fear and rage of mortal men - are afoot. Those who speak of them are dismissed as lunatics or feeble-minded and yet there are those seers, mystics and ones versed in the occult who dare not dismiss these tales as the babbling of Bedlam.
What better time than now for the Harvestmen to gorge on the suffering of a continent engulfed by the fiery furnace of Hades itself. What has that Tyrant Bonaparte unleashed? From this feast of torture and desolation the Harvestmen harness a diabolical power to bring forth the twisted nightmares of Old Europe’s myths, legends and lore.
There are those across the continent who see and understand and who will travel to the Dark Places to shield humanity from these demonic manifestations in order to preserve the sanity of all.
One such Dark Place is the confluence of empires - Austria, Russia and The Sultanate of The Ottomans - the Carpathain Mountains. Heavily forested floor rising to awe-inspiring peaks with darkness and shadow penetrating every nook and cranny breeding a heavy atmosphere of suspicion, terror and unflinching violence. The very landscape is wreathed in the fog of the supernatural and an impenetrable superstition, stalked by the folkloric nightmares of millennia.
It is here our story shall begin……
Karim Al-Ghamdi had been despatched from Constantinople with a small and dedicated force of veteran hunters to investigate the strange happenings on the edge of the mighty Sultanate. They found themselves in the thick forest covering the foothills of the Monolithic Carpathians. To their north, and completely unbeknownst to Al-Ghamdi and his followers, Captain Fyodor Raskolnikov and a small band were trekking the vast forest searching for a route to Castle Fier - the Czar demanded the Russian Bear vanquish whatever horror lurked within those ruins and claim the arcane treasures which was sure to await the victorious nation. Neither empire had considered whether Austria might also stake a claim.
As both forces were struggling to find a true route through these damned forests a strange and, quite frankly, inhuman dirge could be heard emanating from within the forest, all around them and yet seemingly coming from nowhere. As they stumbled forward disorientated by this directionless hubbub they became aware of a brightness ahead - it only seemed so bright because of the impenetrable canopy of the trees around them. A clearing!
Both forces exercised caution, not because they were aware of each other, but rather the sight that greeted them. A large circle free of trees - itself a strange and eerie phenomenon - and positioned in the centre a large stone altar with strange symbols carved around its base. Around the altar there were figures, four….no five. They were dressed in shapeless rags and it was impossible to tell whether they were Adam or Eve. They were cavorting and dancing around this altar, guttural howls being literally flung from their mouths towards the heavens. The Russians and Turks were no strangers to superstitious peasants and Sufis but this was of a different magnitude. It was Hassan Al-Masri, learned cleric with Al-Ghamdi,who recognised this for what it truly was……..a Demonic Summoning!
There were two rough hewn peasants on the edge of the clearing - probably lookouts; one right in front of the Russian line to the centre, the other midway in the clearing perimeter on the left of the Russians. Both were brandishing fairly antiquated looking muskets,but muskets nevertheless and they’d probably been holding them since the cradle.
Both Turks and Russians formed a loose semi-circle as they approached the edge of the tree line. Platon Karataev, a heavy-set surf from the \Urals, made straight for the bandit directly in his path however he had not spotted from across the clearing elements of the Turkish force taking up positions behind some boulders and trees. Confusion reigned. Muskets cracked - was it the bandits, the Turks or the Russians - but the upshot was that Karataev had been shot and was slumped on the ground. No one knew if was dead.
The cultists ignored this and continued their ecstatic wailing but everyone else was a mixture of surprise, panic and adrenaline!
The second bandit was caught in a cross fire from Alexey Yegortych and one of the Turkish Janissary’s on the far side - was it Salim Selim?
The Russian leader, Fyodor Raskolnikov, incensed that Karataev had fallen, moved to his position and shot the bandit trying to shelter behind one of the mighty oaks. Again one of Johnny Turk may have wildly shot towards the bandit and had a lucky hit. It was then another bandit emerged on the right of the Russians, the other side of the small river. Luckily Pyotr Luzhin and Fyokla Karamazo were sheltering behind a small barn next to the river, cover from this bandit and a group of Turks hiding up ahead of them.
Raskolnikov moved to check the bandit was dead and form the very earth itself sprang a deformed, green humanoid. He had no time to react and relied on instinct. Raskolnikov managed to wield his knife and wound this abomination who, wary now, backed off, a short distance.
Luzhin now found himself pinned down by two bandits now and had been hit. Karamazov managed to move off to try and support Raskolnikov, but not before being hit himself. With the bandits occupied one of the ‘brave’ Turkish scouts moved forward, his eye caught by something hanging in one of the trees, a necklace to confer some power or something over unworldly threats.
Raskolnikov then loosed his second pistol at the abomination in front of him and with an unholy screech it breathed it’s last.
The perfidious Turks now emboldened, by the Russians taking on bandits and Goblins, started shooting at the hard-pressed Russians who now started taking casualties.
THEN!......The wailing and cavorting stopped. The cultists dispersed from the altar making for Turk and Russian alike. A great fiery blood-red Demon ascended from the stone altar and sped towards the nearest prey……Karim Al-Ghamdi and his sapper, Mahmoud Al-Masri. The demon was shepherded by a cultist, like the owner of some demented dog…..
The remaining cultists were cut down mostly by the Russians. Sharpshooter Ivan Ilyich scrambled up a hill giving allowing a largely unimpeded view across the clearing and fired his rifle at the beast. It was a true shot and yet the devil bore down on the Turks. Al-Masri courageously charged the demon to save his leader. It was a futile gesture and he was tossed aside. Al-Ghamdi was now staring into the jaws of hell itself and then …..crack! Ibrahim A-Masri, brother of the wounded sapper, who had been cowering in bushes behind the beast steadied his hand with his pistol and despatched the Elemental before he fell upon Al-Ghamdi. Al-Masri must have used some sort of evil magic to fell the beast - these heathens are surely in league with Satan so it is strange one of Lucifer’s own should attack them……
Both sides pulled back in case more servants of The Black Prince should emerge. Overall both sides felt relieved as it could have been so much worse.
Miraculously neither side suffered fatalities. Mahmoud Al-Masri made a swift and full recovery - the work of demonology no doubt.
Pyotr Luzhin sustained an injury to his leg, which while slowing him down initially, was assessed as only temporary.
Platon Karataev was less fortunate with shot lodged in his chest. A hardy son of the land though he insisted on carrying on.
They would all regroup, re-equip, tend their injuries then push on to The Iron Keep.
