This is the third battle report for a Strange Aeons campaign that I
played with my group. This was a 16BP start on both sides, with my team still
sore from the last game that saw civilian William Forsythe die to a Night Gaunt
and Agent Connery developing Ballistophobia. Agent Petri lost his tommygun to
the Night Gaunt via Destroy Weapon. Still with a Map Piece, the team looks to
stay on the cooling trail of the Church of Dagon, gain some XP and skills though they aren’t sure if they are the hunters or the hunted…
The mission was “The Bagman” with me going first as
Threshold, who had to exit the far corner of the graveyard with the secret carrier, "Monk" McGuinn, surviving to get perks. We used a 2’x2’ terrain board I had built a long time ago that has a
graveyard, stream with humpback bridge, ruined Church and catacombs below. There
were no special rules here, just standard rules for difficult/impassible
terrain and the usual cover modifiers. The entire footprint of the ruined
Church was half-movement Difficult Terrain and the water half movement no cover
save. Everything else is WYSIWYG. The condensed results are the picture
captions and there are more pics of the terrain board at the end of the thread.
Threshold and terrain board built/painted by Yeti, Lurkers built/painted by Pete Ceretti.
16 BP Threshold & Lurker Lists
Yeti: Threshold (rebooted from
last game’s loss):
Agent Connery
(Character, Command, Heroic, Two Fisted, twin .45’s, Bowie Knife, Ballistophobia)
Agent Petri (Heroic,
Tommy gun, .45, Bowie Knife)
Civilian “Monk” McGuinn
(.22 and knife). Additionally, Monk is carrying the bag in this scenario.
Pete: Lurkers List
Cult Leader (.45 and
knife)
Cultist (knife)
Cultist (Shotgun)
Hybrid
Hybrid
 |
| Lurkers deploy in the graveyard across from the church, advancing in a picket and listening for the burglers they knew were there... |
|
|
Connery swept his
flashlight across the murky dark of the catacomb. The wet yet warm smell of damp
minerals rose to head-height, the heady aroma of loamy grit in the air and
something else, like old cinnamon and grease… the team seemed to wade through
the vapor more than walk through it. “Monk” McGuinn, the town’s professional antiquarian
they had drafted this morning, stood before one of many alcoves and shifted
feet as he held the grotesque ceramic urn in his large, professional hands. His
grip trembled in the dank chamber and the moving flashlight beams silhouetted
the group crazily, like a mob of photographers flashing away in slow motion. He
looked at Connery and cleared his throat. “This is… extraordinary. Just
magnificent. If Dr. Forsythe was here, he’d of course be happy to see this… the
glyphs are… unprecedented but authentically real and the fetish stored inside is... amazing.”
Connery lifted his foot
from a stagnant pool of water on the catacomb floor and shaking it out, unleashed
his annoyance of… well, everything over the last 36 hours, through his retort,
“I don’t think ‘happy’ is the word he would have used to describe that thing. And
he’s dead, as sure as we’ll be if we don’t step on it. Secure the piece and
let’s get going. We have little time before the owners come home.” He ignored
the extra splashes he thought he heard and how the reflected flashlight seemed
to show wriggling in the black pool.
 |
| Threshold advance up and out of the catacombs with the stolen relic. |
“Correction. We’re out
of time Connery,” said Agent Petri, who stood in the greenish light at the
bottom of the passageway, looking at the daylight above, “I hear voices.”
Connery imagined Petri’s ruined half face watching the stairwell, the mass of
scars from the Night Gaunt still suppurating and salving as it tried to heal.
That face resembled the craggy natural rock formations of this tomb which they
had discovered. Unlike Petri, who wore his good heart on his sleeve, this place
was evil and it strained to keep its secrets out of the light of their torches.
Connery learned long ago, the hard way, that like people, the earth can be good
or bad. This earth was god damned devilish and he was happy to leave, silently
promising it a return visit from Petri with a cask of blasting powder for the
troubles.
“Tick-tock boss, gotta
go.” Petri started up the cavernous stairwell, not checking to see if they
followed him up, the tunnel amplifying and hopefully transforming the distant
voices he heard into what sounded like strange croaks and barks.
 |
| A shotgun wielding Cultist and Hybrid cross the road and make for the Church entrance. |
|
|
When they reached the
surface, they were back in what had been a garden path set into the foot of the cliff
face. They had entered the ruins of the Church from the other side through
holes in the cracked foundation, into a debris clogged cellar and down the
crypt stairwell. Connery signaled Petri to cross the old cellar and gain the
first floor above them, to help McGuinn and guard the high ground. If anybody
was around, they’d have to make a racket to get to them or come through the
doorway of the Church, which smiled, open, like a jack o’ lantern's missing tooth. He spun suddenly as he thought he heard a shuffle in the
back of the chamber. He wasn’t sure they were alone. He noticed Petri staring
back past him too, flashlight steady and .45 ready.
Only a day before, Connery,
Petri and young Forsythe had flushed the Dagonite Cultists from their now-ruined
lair in the suburb West of town, pursuing them East out to a farmstead known for bootlegging and human trafficking. What they
hadn’t expected in their haste to run the cult leader to ground was the damned
Night Gaunt, whose horrifically slender frame housed the terrible power and
great silence which accompanied a murderous rampage. It is possible the
creature was only delayed in fully materializing by the Threshold’s
interruption of the Church’s rites before yesterday, only delaying the complete summoning of the beast that darted through the pine trees into their midst, a dim shadow
of murder that left Forsythe dead and the desperate agents evading the pursuing cultists
all night long. Connery and Petri probably survived because the beast was then considered
pre-emergent.
Now they were adrift, midweek, a day ahead of a monstrous daemon and a day behind the criminals that
summoned it.
 |
| 2 Cultists hear the Threshold team clattering through the open cellar so they flank around while the Hybrids and Cult Leader watch the front door... The Threshold are trapped! |
Petri looked back at
Connery and whispered, “This doorway funnels us too, boss.” Connery had moved
them towards the door anyway and nodded, his .45’s out. He felt something…
something like electricity in his fillings or cold air in his sinuses. His
pistols felt heavier, less reassuring and something troubled him at the thought
of how loud they will be… too loud. The voices were getting closer. Crouching
among the fallen walls and timbers he peered down the great stairs of the Church,
across the courtyard and the nearby road to the graveyard beyond. Risking a
longer gaze, he counted. Several purple robed cultists and 2 brutish, ugly men
with a pallor he didn’t like. His palms sweated. Were the ugly men civilians?
Why did they look familiar? Were they in a dossier he has seen before? Or on a
distant street? He was thinking too much about their squashed muzzles and the too-round
orbitals.
 |
| A Hybrid sniffs the air, croaks and waits as footsteps come down the stairway... |
McGuinn hugged the swaddled
ceremonial vase like an ancient sleeping toddler, his bug-eyes peering over the
bundle as he tread through the moldering cellar’s debris. Connery urged him towards
the doorway above as Petri, already on the first floor over them, offered an
arm up. Connery held the vase as McGuinn flailed his way over, via an avalanche
of mortar, dust and flooring.
Voices. Shouts. Footsteps.
They were made.
 |
| The Threshold see they are surrounded and prepare to make a break for it. Connery orders McGuinn down the front stairway first and says, "Run for the car across the graveyard when I start firing." This was a critical blunder on the part of the Threshold. Yeti had meant to have Connery go down and out first, to start shooting Lurkers out of McGuinn's way but due to Command, Connery sent McGuinn down the stairwell first, followed by Connery. There was not enough space for bases to pass each other. McGuinn would have to run the gauntlet outside first with Connery hopefully killing intercepting Hybrids and Cultists after the rabbit ran, with three sets of pistol shots, due to Heroic. |
 |
| The second Hybrid stalks the doorway... |
|
|
 |
| McGuinn tears out of the doorway. Connery fails both of his tests to shoot due to Ballistophobia. McGuinn is charged by the one-legged Hybrid but McGuinn guts him instead! The other Hybrid fails his check from seeing his brood brother killed and suffers Stupification. The Cultist with knife on right side of doorway Frenzies and attacks Connery. Agent Petri and the Cultist with a shotgun open up on each other, sending spall and wickering debris into the air. |
|
|
 |
| Hybrid #2 recovers from Stupification and attacks McGuinn, who then lands a clumsy but effective knife jab into the hybrid's neck. The hybrid collapses in a welter of black blood as he paws at the swaddled vase containing the apocryphal architeuthis tooth, which the hybrid dies saying that fast three times. Agent Petri trades shots with the cultist on the side of the house, cover saving both men from grievous gunshot wounds. |
 |
| The Cult leader smiles beneath his silk hood as he pumps a critical pistol shot through Forsythe's waistcoat, for a Major Injury and KO. The Cult Leader picks up the tooth in front of Connery. Connery stabs the screeching cultist to death in the doorway with a wet thud. As the dead cultist slumps down the wall, Connery trains both .45's on the Cult Leader from the doorway as a last ditch effort to save the game. If the Cult Leader survives Connery's fire he can use both moves to get almost off the board for the win. But Ballistophobia strikes again and Agent Connery hesitates, overcome by panic and fear and fails all attempts at shooting his pistols. The Cult Leader smirks and backs away as shots spak against the doorway, covering fire from the remaining Cultist. Connery decides not to pursue, since the other cultist has now moved to block Connery from pursuing and has him zeroed. Agent Petri fires on the Cult Leader from the side of the ruins, hitting him with a crit hit but he fails to wound. The day is lost to the Lurkers and the Cult Leader escapes with his artifact. |
 |
| BALLISTOPHOBIA!!!!!!!!!!! |
Agent Connery looked in
the rear view mirror as a bloom of fire and smoke geysered up from the front of
yet another church. Debris pattered on the roof of his speeding car, one which he
had hidden nearby. He didn’t see if Petri made it out but the resourceful
Italian obviously had time to tripwire the Dagonite’s car; once a Mob man, always a Mob man. Connery had faith he’d
see him at the safe house tonight. McGuinn was still back there, sprawled out
on the overgrown lawn of the church entrance piled with those strange, dead... men? And also left holding the empty bag they had fled with, a feint. It would have have been great to bring that cursed vase and retched squid tooth back to HQ for study but as things were, plans change, sometimes on the fly, and sometimes, like now, it was for the better. Hopefully, it would
take the Dagon cultists awhile before they realized that the relic they just
rescued from McGuinn wasn’t the only thing taken from the alcoves of their
unholy crypt, the death of the antiquarian a currency in the purchase of time via an elaborate ruse. Connery would be back and next time things would be different. He patted
his bulging pocket and wisps of grey-blue vapor puffed out of the mouth-like pocket, like a smoking monkey he once saw at a carnival. He laughed at that, a strained, more exasperated-than-merry chortle and imagined the Cult Leader, wide-eyed, throttled in Connery's bare hands.
He drove East towards the safe house.“Next time...
it will be different. Everything will be different.”
Connery swept his
flashlight across the murky dark of the catacomb. The wet yet warm smell of damp
minerals rose to head-height, the heady aroma of loamy grit in the air and
something else, like old cinnamon and grease… the team seemed to wade through
the vapor more than walk through it. “Monk” McGuinn, the town’s professional antiquarian
they had drafted this morning, stood before one of many alcoves and shifted
feet as he held the grotesque ceramic urn in his large, professional hands. His
grip trembled in the dank chamber and the moving flashlight beams silhouetted
the group crazily, like a mob of photographers flashing away in slow motion. He
looked at Connery and cleared his throat. “This is… extraordinary. Just
magnificent. If Dr. Forsythe was here, he’d of course be happy to see this… the
glyphs are… unprecedented but authentically real and the fetish stored inside is... amazing.”
When they reached the
surface, they were back in what had been a garden path set into the foot of the cliff
face. They had entered the ruins of the Church from the other side through
holes in the cracked foundation, into a debris clogged cellar and down the
crypt stairwell. Connery signaled Petri to cross the old cellar and gain the
first floor above them, to help McGuinn and guard the high ground. If anybody
was around, they’d have to make a racket to get to them or come through the
doorway of the Church, which smiled, open, like a jack o’ lantern's missing tooth. He spun suddenly as he thought he heard a shuffle in the
back of the chamber. He wasn’t sure they were alone. He noticed Petri staring
back past him too, flashlight steady and .45 ready. 
Agent Connery looked in
the rear view mirror as a bloom of fire and smoke geysered up from the front of
yet another church. Debris pattered on the roof of his speeding car, one which he
had hidden nearby. He didn’t see if Petri made it out but the resourceful
Italian obviously had time to tripwire the Dagonite’s car; once a Mob man, always a Mob man. Connery had faith he’d
see him at the safe house tonight. McGuinn was still back there, sprawled out
on the overgrown lawn of the church entrance piled with those strange, dead... men? And also left holding the empty bag they had fled with, a feint. It would have have been great to bring that cursed vase and retched squid tooth back to HQ for study but as things were, plans change, sometimes on the fly, and sometimes, like now, it was for the better. Hopefully, it would
take the Dagon cultists awhile before they realized that the relic they just
rescued from McGuinn wasn’t the only thing taken from the alcoves of their
unholy crypt, the death of the antiquarian a currency in the purchase of time via an elaborate ruse. Connery would be back and next time things would be different. He patted
his bulging pocket and wisps of grey-blue vapor puffed out of the mouth-like pocket, like a smoking monkey he once saw at a carnival. He laughed at that, a strained, more exasperated-than-merry chortle and imagined the Cult Leader, wide-eyed, throttled in Connery's bare hands. 
At that, a
motorcar tried to start in front of the church but wasn’t turning over in the
damp air. Petri was already pulling out the satchel charge as he legged it towards
the church, trench coat flapping out broadly, like an eagle taking off. Connery
started after him but Forsythe, renewed by Wannamaker’s death, grabbed his arm.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Connery, halted by the vitality in Forsythe’s
tone, answered, “We’ve got to stop them before they go. What do you have in
mind?” Forsythe’s brow furrowed under pressure and thought out loud, “They are
leaving… because they can. We could not have stopped whatever they are doing.
They were committed to this and so if they are running, it means they can, that
they have another option. If they did not they would be fighting to the death now,
right? It follows that Wannamaker didn’t have the only scroll. We need to let
them go so we can find their other option! I only knew of this coven, as did
you. We need to find the other one. There is only one route back to town they
would take which happens to run past the fire road on which we parked. We can
get to my dad’s auto and follow them!” Connery pursed his lips as the rain
pattered on his face and said, “You mean your auto.” He considered the lack of
counter-attack and the dark automobile now moving through the trees away from them.
“You may be right. Petri? Bring it down and let’s go.” Petri pulled the primer
cord and fell back to the graveyard walls, muttering a prayer in Italian,
clomping up to them with a stop just as the dynamite detonated behind him. The fieldstone
building tumbled down, filling the sub cellars in tons of rock, timber, fire
and dust. He exclaimed, “What the hell are we doing? Dissertation?” Connery
laughed and said, “Something like that. The professor here has a plan. I knew
we brought him with us for a reason. Petri, you’re driving. And Forsythe… nice shot back there.”
