A quick recap.

Juliette Rougemont and Melodie Croupier find themselves in the Windbreak Sprithouse and Inn, on a stormy night in the costal village of pipers Quay.

Apart from the proprietor, one Maricia Creag, Sea Elf, the only other patrons a four local fishermen, until the door bursts open and in walks one Sabeen Sinann, the first born daughter of Lord Erskine.

Sabeen has heard Garberend, one of the four fishers, has has uncovered an underground cave system while expanding his family’s root cellar and she  is curious about what may lay beyond the
cellar. She is a follower of the Old Gods and believes the newfound caves could lead to the lost crypt of Gwyr the Horrible.

The fishermen are too afraid to go inside the cave themselves, so Sabeen has managed to persuade Juliette and Melodie, almost against their will, to go down there the following morning and explore the cave system. At which point Sabeen left the inn.

Click the link to read session 0

Toolbox

Rules: Tales of Argosa RPG from Pickpocket Press
Setting and stuff: Piper’s Quay and the Secrets of Wrym Cove, and several other publications by Roan Studios.
Oracle: The Bones dice and Deck of Signs Cards by Pickpocket Press.

Gaberend the Fisher

Question. Does anything happen in the Windbreak Inn after Sabeen leaves? No, Fortune.

Outside, the storm is throwing a full-on tantrum, trapping the locals indoors and the four fishermen stuck at the inn. The only sounds cutting through the silence between Garberend and his buddies are requests for more Skullpin Rum. Every now and then, Garberend sneaks a glance at Juliette and Melodie, probably hoping the rum will give him some courage.

When Maricia brings another round of rum to the fishermen, Garberend sneaks off for a secret chat with her. Once that’s done, he tags along as Maricia introduces him to Juliette and Melodie.

Juliette looks about as thrilled as someone stuck in a long meeting, while Melodie pauses mid-bite of her fried capelin to ask, “So, you’re the one who found the cave, huh?” as if it’s the most exciting thing she’s heard all day.

I draw two cards from the deck of signs to get some inspiration for what Garberend has to tell the two companions. I get the following words to draw from
Escape Running Freedom Danger
Death Decaying Uncaring Doomed

Garberend stands behind Maricia, hat in hand, eyes flicking between the two companions. His voice is low. like he is afraid the cave might hear him even in here.

“Aye. I found it. Or it found me. Wasn’t looking for anything but rum and dry stone. Then the rock gave way like it’d been waiting.”
Garberend glances towards the window where his fiends drink their rum in silence.
“Smelled of rot. Not fresh, not old—just wrong. Like something that died and kept dying. I’m not for caves, we got out of there. fast as we could.”

Juliette raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Melodie wipes her fingers on whatever cloth came to hand, “so what do you thinks down there? Bones? Treasure? Ghosts?”

Gaberend’s jaw tightens. He looks at Maricia, then back at the women, “Freedom, maybe. Or death. I do’t know. But it’s dangerous. Uncaring. Like it don’t care if you’re noble of fisherfolk. It just is. And it’s better left sealed.”
He hesitates, then says: “If you go down there, don’t go with jest in your heart. It’ll hear that. And it wont like it.”

Juliette finally looks up, her tone as dry as driftwood, “Oh no, we wouldn’t dream of jesting. We’ll bring solemn expressions and matching funeral cloaks. Maybe light a candle for Gwyr while we’re at it.”

Melodie shoots her a look, half amused, half cautioning. Garberend stiffens, his jaw clenched.
“You think this is a game? Fine. Go play explorer. But don’t expect the cave to play fair.”

He turns on his heel and stalks back to his friends, leaving a silence behind that even the storm outside seems to respect.

The wind off the bay howled low and constant, rattling the shutters of the Windbreak Spirithouse like a warning whispered in wood. The scent of salt and fish lingered in the rafters, mingling with the sour tang of Skullpin Rum and the slurred conversation of Garberend and his companions. Their tales turned incoherent—half boasts, half curses—and Juliette Rougemont, ever the skeptic, had heard enough.

She excused herself with a curt nod, boots thudding up the narrow stairs to her room. The floorboards creaked under her weight, and for a moment she paused at the landing, listening to the wind and wondering—not for the first time—if Piper Quay was a place that had simply forgotten how to be sane.

Melodie Croupier lingered a moment longer, her fingers brushing the worn leather of her bagpipe case. She’d hoped for a song, a story, a spark of something worth remembering. But the fisherfolk were too far gone, and the tale she sought would have to wait. She said goodnight to Maricia, and offered a polite smile to Garberend, who was now muttering about “the cave that watches” and “bones that don’t sleep,” before slipping away to her own room.

Outside, the tide crept in, black and silent.

Morning at the Windbreak Spirithouse.

Question. Is everything as expected in the Windbreak Inn this morning? Yes, Fortune…

The next morning breaks grey and damp. Mist clings to the cobbles of Piper Quay like a veil, and gulls cry overhead with a sound that feels too much like mourning. Juliette is already awake, sharpening her blades with methodical precision between sips of bitter tea. Melodie joins her, journal tucked under one arm, she sits at the table, ever the romantic, scribbles notes in her journal—phrases like “crypt of the uncaring stone” and “daughter of Erskine’s folly”.

Apart from the two companions the Windbreak Tavern is devoid of life, a folded note has been left on the table downstairs, weighed down by a fishhook and a half-empty bottle. It reads:

“If you go, go quiet. The cave don’t like noise. And if you hear the bell, run.”

No signature. Just the hook, rusted and barbed.

Maricia emerges from the back room, tying her hair back with a strip of sailcloth. She wears a worn leather jerkin , sword by her side, a shortbow slung across her back—neither ostentatious, but well-maintained. Her boots sea-worn, her gaze steady.

Maricia picks up the note and reads it, putting it back on the table she says “These are not cowardly superstitious folk, simply more at home on the open sea than in the bowels of the earth.”

Juliette glanced up from her tea, watching Maricia’s fingers linger on the rusted hook before she set it back down with deliberate care.

“They know the tides,” Maricia continued, her voice low but firm. “They know storms and shipwrecks and the way the sea can take a man without warning. But caves… caves don’t speak. They don’t rage. They just wait.”

Melodie scribbled the line down immediately—“Caves don’t rage. They wait.”—before looking up with a half-smile. “You’ve got the soul of a bard, Maricia.”

“and you look dressed for a fight, going somewhere?” asks Juliette.

“I’m curious to see what’s down there. Thought I would join you.”

Juliette’s brow lifted, amused but not surprised. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, the morning light catching the edge of her blade.

“Well, you’ve got timing,” she said. “Melodie’s already packed half the pantry and a sketchbook full of theories. If you’re coming, you’d better bring something besides curiosity.”

Maricia gave a half-smile, tugging her coat tighter. “I’ve got a lantern, rope, a steady hand, and no illusions. That should be enough.”

Juliette nodded once, then turned to leave the Windbreak. “Then let’s see what waits in the dark.”

Maricia takes a lantern and rope, Juliette and Melodie both have a couple of torches and their weapons, Melodie has her bagpipes and an old satchel which she never leaves behind.

The path to Garberend’s homestead wound through salt-bitten hedgerows and stone paths, the kind built generations ago and never quite straight. Maricia led with quiet confidence, her lantern swinging gently at her side, casting long shadows across the dew-slick grass.

Juliette and Melodie followed, torches clinked against flask and other bits and bobs. Melodie muttered about the weight of too many good ideas.

The homestead itself was modest—timber-framed, with a slate roof and a weathered porch that leaned slightly to the left. Gelda, Garberend’s wife met them at the gate, her apron dusted with flour and her eyes sharp with worry.

“You’re late,” she said, not unkindly. “They’re waiting.”

She led them past the house, through a patch of overgrown garden and down a narrow trail that dipped into a hollow. There, half-hidden by brambles and a leaning apple tree, stood the root cellar—its door reinforced with iron bands and a rusted latch.

There, Garberend stood with arms folded. Beside him, Sabeen Sinann, cold and aloof, her expression unreadable.

“You came,” Sabeens voice was low but commanding. “Good. You have work to do.”

Question. Is everything as expected in the first room of the Root Celler? Yes (extreamly great).

Garberend opened the door to his root cellar without ceremony. The air that spilled out was cool and damp, tinged with the scent of old earth and something faintly metallic.

Inside the first chamber of the root cellar was a trove of provisions, stacked with the quiet precision of someone who knew how to weather long winters and sudden storms. Hooks along the beams held strings of cured meats and smoked sausages, the briny tang of dried and salted fish laid out on wooden racks noticeable too. Barrels of Gallowale ale lined the walls, their iron hoops slick with condensation, and in the far corner stood a pyramid of Skullpin rum casks—enough to keep a ship’s crew singing and staggering for a season or more.

As the lantern light flickers against the damp stone, Garberend lingers at the threshold of the second chamber, boots planted firm on the packed earth. His voice is low, almost swallowed by the silence. “This is as far as I go. The cave don’t like me, and I don’t like it back.”

Turning without ceremony, he leaves the root seller, pushing the door shut as he does so.

As they moved into the second chamber, daylight vanishes behind them. Maricia struck flint to steel, raising her lantern which cast a flickering glow across the walls. Without hesitation she took the lead. Melodie followed close behind, while Juliette brought up the rear, hand on her blade. Their formation instictive—latern, watcher, blade—each roll as familiar as breath.

Question. Is everything as expected in the second chamber of the Root Celler? Yes, Fortune…

The second chamber holds no suprises. Recently excavated by Garberend and his friends, he has placed a few more barrels and crates in here. At the far end an opening where Garberend broke through a large slab of rock, big enough for one person to easily get through.

Melodie makes a perception check. Needing 16 or less she rolls 6 on a d20. Great Success. She finds a copper coin.

In the half light of the lantern Melodie spots a coin half berried in the freshly dug earth, this tarnished copper piece seems to defy gravity always landing on its edge. Melodie flips it once, twice, then frowns. “Useful,” she mutters. “Or cursed.” She paces it in her leather pouch.

The three companions enter a small third chamber through the opening, shoulders brushing slick walls, breath fogging in the cold.

At the far end, the floor simply ends.

A jagged lip of rock gives way to a sheer drop—twenty feet down into a pool of still, black water. No ripples. No sound. Just the faint echo of their own movement, swallowed by the dark.

The air here is colder. Heavier.

Question. Is there anything in the small room to securely fasten a rope to? No, Misfortune.

Maricia hooks the lantern on to her belt, and ties the rope to a heavy barrel. She turns to Juliette and Melodie, “Hold the rope firm. If I slip I’d rather land in water than on stone.” Maricia begins her decent.

She makes a Dex (Athletics) check. With a Dex of 18 (+1), she rolls 12. Success.

The rock face is slick with condensation, and the air grows colder with each foot she lowers herself. Her boots scrape against the limestone, fingers finding purchase in shallow cracks. The rope creaks. Her breath fogs. A loose stone tumbles into the black below, vanishing without a splash.

She swings across to an opening in the far wall, landing hard but with only bruised knees and stinging palms. The chamber ahead yawns open, low and wide, its ceiling lost in shadow. She unties the rope from her waist.
“Haul the rope back up. Melodie, your next. It seems safe enough down here but the air feels wrong, like somethings holding its breath.”

Melodie has a dex of 13, she rolls 16 on d20, failure.
She rolls against her luck, needing 12 or less, she rolls 2. Success.

Melodie ties off the rope with practiced fingers, unable to both hold a torch and climb down, she relies solely on the flickering glow of Maricia’s lantern below. The descent begins well enough—hand over hand, boots finding purchase—but the slick stone betrays her.

A misstep. A gasp. Then gravity.

She slips, rope burning her palms, and begins to fall.

Luck intervenes.

The rope snags on a jagged spur of rock jutting from the cavern wall, halting her descent with a brutal jolt. Her breath catches, heart hammering. But the sudden tension whips upward—

Juliette, still gripping the rope, is yanked forward.

The barrel too gives way with a groan.

Both tumble over the edge.

Juliette crashes into the water below, the impact sending a shockwave through the still pool. The barrel follows, splintering as it hits, its contents scattering like offerings to the deep.

Above, Melodie dangles, breathless and wide-eyed, the rope creaking beneath her.

Below, the water ripples once… then stills.

to be continued.

Pipers Quay and Bay of Spirits and all artwork are the creation of Randy Musseau, published by Roan Studios and available on drivethruRPG.