Campaign Setting - Mousillon, City of Lost Souls.pdf
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A Short History of Mousillon
A Short History of Mousillon
Mousillon is situated in the marshy valley of the River Grismerie and originated in the
Dark Age of Bretonnia when refugees from Settra's raids sought safety hiding in the
marshes along the river. The settlement grew rapidly into a large town, and became a
prosperous trading port. Riverboats made frequent trips up and down the Grismerie
bringing goods and people, from all over the world, to the towns of Guisoreux and
Parravon and the numerous villages in between. The lower parts of the city suffered
badly from frequent flooding of the river, causing conditions to become unbearably
squalid. The poor state of these areas often attracted Skaven and Undead raiders.
Elements of the latter managed to gain a hold within the crypts of the city, and became a
persistent menace to the population. Eventually so many people sought refuge here that
their hovels clustered around the outside of the walls and extended along the banks of the
river. These would remain the city's poorest inhabitants, finding work only at the quays
or as sailors aboard Bretonnian ships. Like other port cities of Bretonnia with similar
poor areas, Mousillon would be plagued by the Red Pox from time to time. The last
outbreak two centuries ago was so bad that the city was almost entirely depopulated.
Many of the kings of Bretonnia have desired to cleanse and rebuild Mousillon, but
despite every effort the city tended to revert back to squalor. For centuries the dukes of
Mousillon tried to hold back the decay. And under the leadership of Duke Maldred the
city seemed to have finally achieved a victory over the centuries of pestilence and
squalor. Travellers reported that Mousillon was the most wondrous city in Bretonnia,
more splendid even than the capital Couronne. The city seemed charmed, its people
happy and content. In summer the white walls of the buildings sparkled in the sun, and in
winter, when the rest of the land shivered under the snow, soft breezes kept the streets
and houses warm.
But like a gilded goblet made by a shoody craftsmen, the glittering surface of Mousillon
hid a rotten interior. The port's prosperity was not due to the hard work and honesty of its
citizens, but was fuelled by the sorcery of Malfleur, and the corrupt dealings of Maldred.
In daytime the city streets bustled with all the usual activity of a busy port, but after the
sun had set, the inhabitants of Mousillon had the curious habit of never leaving their
homes after dark. At night, the only things that moved through the dark streets of the city
were packs of rats and the crews of the night-calling ships. Wrapped in cloaks, hoods
pulled over their faces, these silent strangers moved mysterious bundles of cargo
backwards and forwards between the dockside warehouses and their sleek, black-sailed
ships.
During the years of Duke Maldred's rule the king of Bretonnia died and left no heir to the
throne. Maldred decided to seize this opportunity to make himself king of Bretonnia. He
could not wed Isoulde, the daughter of the dead king, since he was already married to the
sorceress Malfleur. So together she and Maldred hatched a treasonous and dishonorable
plot. This became known as the affair of the false grail. When the treachery of Maldred
and Malfluer was exposed, their doom, and the doom of Mousillon, was set in motion.
The knights of Bretonnia led by the Fey Enchantress laid seige to the city, a siege that
would last for three long years. as its inhabitants suffered, so did the city decline. The
sparkling white walls started to flake and peel, revealing cracked mudbricks beneath.
Foul-smelling seaweed clambered up the rusty mooring chains and spread across the
piers and jetties. Cracks appeared in the pavements, and streaks of grey mould soiled the
city walls.
Yet while the townsfolk perished from starvation and the pox, Maldred and the nobles of
his court shut themselves up in the white palace and immersed themselves in an orgy of
self-indulgence. Outside, the starving townsfolk killed each other in fights over dead
seagulls while in the perfumed rooms of the palace the nobles drank sparkling wine from
crystal goblets and nibbled on swan's wings. Dressed in red silks and satins, and wearing
fantastic masks, they danced to the sound of their own self-destruction.
One cold spring morning the Knights besieging Mousillon witnessed something strange.
As the sun crawled slowly into the sky, its cold red light spilled over the walls and towers
of the city, so that it seemed drenched in blood. Mousillon was utterly silent: not a single
sound could be heard from inside its walls. With an ominous groan, the twin gates of the
city yawned open, as if inviting the watchers inside. Protected by holy relics, and in the
company of the Fey Enchantress, a small party of Knights ventured into the city. Inside,
all they found was death. Bodies of men, women and children lay all about. Batting away
the flies, the Knights made their way through the dead up to the palace. They walked
through the open doors into a scene from a nightmare. In the palace gardens, the plants
had withered and rotted. Inside the halls and chambers the finery of the debauched nobles
writhed with maggots, and scuttling insects gnawed away at the chairs and tables. In the
main hall, Maldred and Malfleur slumped dead in their thrones, their empty eye sockets
gazing vacantly over richly dressed skeletons of the nobles heaped on the marble floor.
Maldred's stiff hands were clasped around a golden chalice chased with rubies; the false
grail.
Who could say what strange fate had brought about the doom of Mousillon and its lord
and lady? Was their evil punished by some divine retribution, or had the powers they
sought to master ultimately destroyed them? The Fay Enchantress ordered that every door
and window of the palace be bricked up, so that none could ever enter that cursed place
again. Great grey stones were hacked from quarries in the forest, and dragged to the city
by teams of oxen. Room by room, corridor by corridor, every door and every window
was closed with blocks of stone, and wreathed with sacred blessings to seal the evil
within.
All the dead bodies in the streets and houses were gathered up, heaped on wagons and
taken outside the city to be buried in great pits. Though the burial mounds were covered
with fresh earth, and sanctified with prayers for the souls of the dead, the only plants that
would ever grow there were twisted hawthorn and black sukebind. Indeed, the pits soon
aquired such an evil reputation that the main road into Mousillon, which used to run right
past them, had to be rerouted to approach the city from the east.
Periodic attempts to repopulate Mousillon have never succeeded, as most honest citizens
of Bretonnia are wary of the place. Any who are foolhardy enough to venture into the
ruined city in search of sanctuary or treasure inevitably come to a nasty end, crushed by
falling masonry, torn apart by monsters, or driven mad by stalking horrors. And traders
sailing up the River Ois on their way to Gisoreux whisper that, at the dead of night, the
sound of ghostly music and laughter still floats from the abandoned city.
Mousillon is now virtually an uninhabited ruin. The few remaining townspeople are
dwindling or settling in new domains along the coast established by vigorous Knights. In
this way the king and his Knights are tirelessly building a 'cordon sanitaire' of castles
around the city which is regarded as virtually lost to Bretonnia. Ultimately the city must
be redeemed for Bretonnia, but for now, its days as a port are over and it is regarded as a
lost territory to be reconquered. The present king has now ordered an Errantry War to
cleanse the city's ruins. He has declared that the Knight who can rid the city of evil will
be made Duke of Mousillon. Young Knights Errant from all over Bretonnia now gather
outside the city gates preparing themselves for the trials that await within this city of lost
souls.
The Scourge of Aquitaine
In the days of King Louis the Righteous, fifteenth ruler of Bretonnia, a crusade to liberate
the Estalian people from the oppression of invaders from Araby, brought many Knights
to battle first in Estalia and then in the hot desert lands of sultan Darius-i-Quabir. One of
these noble warriors was the Duke of Aquitaine. The Duke was an impressive, powerful
man, widely known as a skilful swordsman and capable knight. He led his retinue of
knights, squires and men-at-arms in many successful battles against the heathen forces of
Araby. Unfortunately even the bravest and most gallant knights are sometimes defeated.
During the siege of Lashiek, shortly after the walls had fallen, the Duke of Aquitaine
disappeared and was counted as lost. For several days rumours and speculations about his
fate went through the encampment of the crusaders, until he was finally found, gravely
wounded and delirious, but alive. The faithful followers of the Duke looked after him,
and refused to give up hope. They drew him home, through scorching deserts and Orc
ambushes, at last arriving in Bretonnia and eventually the Duke's castle in Aquitaine.
Darkness fell over the castle, as the fallen Duke was laid in his bed, unconscious and
racked with a blistering fever. His knights and squires mourned for him and swore,
without a thought, to serve him even beyond death; words that would bring about their
own doom. When his heart stopped and his body grew cold the ever loyal and
heartbroken retainers buried the Duke under his castle, as was the custom in those times,
and sang a hymn for his soul long into the night.
The next day found the knights and squires exhausted from their vigil. The sun refused to
break through the haze, and as the sad and tired retainers of the deceased Duke
languished before the dying embers of the previous nights fire, the hall of the duke lapsed
into silence. By days end all the inhabitants of the castle were sleeping, while outside the
castle, storm clouds gathered and the rain began to fall. In the tomb of the Duke a
transformation was taking place.
With first a groan, and then a scream of anguish, the Duke opened his eyes and beheld
the vault in which he lay. A gnawing hunger and terrible thirst racked his reanimated
body. With inhuman strength he forced his way out of the crypt in which he had been
entombed. At first he staggered on his feet, as if drunk. Then quickly regained his balance
and, snatching up the sword he had been buried with, nearly flew up the stairs and into
the castle halls above.
He entered the great hall and found his loyal retainers fast asleep. Filled with a rage he
could neither comprehend nor control he began first to slay them with his sword and then
to drink from their slit throats their life's' blood. He had become a repulsive vampire,
depraved with an unknown torture. As his thirst was quenched his anger abated, but none
was left alive in the great hall of the Duke. As awareness at what he had done began to
break through his clouded mind the Duke was engulfed in guilt and shed tears over his
victims. They would be the last tears he would ever shed, but the guilt would remain
forever.
The storm that had assaulted the castle broke as the sun began to climb into the morning
sky. The first rays of sun to penetrate the windows of the great hall burned into the eyes
of the duke, as he lay penitent on the floor before his statue of the Lady of the Lake.
Realizing the danger, almost too late, the Duke rushed down the stairs into the hateful
crypt so recently vacated. Each subsequent dawn would find him here pondering the fate
to which he had been cursed.
After the sun had set the Duke would emerge from the tombs beneath his castle and
driven by his thirst would feed on the servants and peasants that yet remained about the
castle. So soon they were depleted and the Duke had to range further abroad to hunt his
prey. His foraging eventually brought him in contact with the Sorceress Isabeau. Isabeau
lived in a great tower at the foot of the Massif Orcal. The tower was an ancient ruin,
which lay at a focus point of magical forces and had been abandoned by the elves
millennia ago. Knowing the strength of Vampires, Isabeau charmed the Duke with words
of comfort and promise. She brought him into her tower, in the forest of Chalons. By
night she would bring him cups of blood from anonymous sources and her books of
arcane lore for him to study the arts of sorcery and the ancient history of the Vampiric
race.
Armed with his newly acquired knowledge and accustomed to his life as a creature of the
night, the Duke returned to his castle and resumed his place as ruler of Aquitaine. To the
skeletons of his former men at arms he gave movement and they took their place as his
guardians once more. Upon the sick and malformed he showered mercy and gave shelter
within his domain but his twisted mind and neverending thirst truly made him a monster.
At the occasion of each winter and summer solstice the Duke would kidnap a maiden
from the many villages near his castle. They were never to be seen again. At the same
time many travellers disappeared in the surrounding woodlands, and nobody knew to say,
whether they had become victim of the Duke or the ever-increasing wolf packs.
His true name no longer used; most people referred to the treacherous ruler of Aquitaine
as the Red Duke (if they could speak of him at all). Hundreds fled northwards to escape
from the terrors of their homeland, only to be taken into slavery or serfdom in other parts
of Bretonnia. The duke himself seemingly never left his castle; only during the night he
would venture into the countryside in his sinister black carriage. The horror of those dark
nights would keep peasants huddled in fear behind barred doors wary of the sound of
thunderous hooves.
Visitors and messengers returning from the duke's court would always report of unnatural
sights. The castle guards, clad in black robes, would never show their faces. Their
movement was a measured tread and their weapons held strangely rigid. The castle is a
place of darkness and even on the brightest day shadows darken the grounds about the
castle and a strange mist blocks the sunlight. The interior is illuminated as if by pale
moonlight and the windows are ever covered by dark and heavy tapestry. Fires burn low
and provide no warmth.
The Red Duke never pursued the invitations to visit other nobility and even ignored the
summons of the king. While the nobility considered him snobbish, disregard of the king's
authority in Bretonnia is counted as high treason. Therefore, in time, a herald of the king
arrived at the duke's court and demanded him to comply with the king's order to appear,
and thus make the accusations against him ineffective. In his arrogance the duke killed all
of the heralds retinue and sent the herald, blinded and beaten, back to his king.
The king was in rage, how could one of his vassals dare to put his authority in question to
such an extent and refuse a direct order in this way. He commanded one of his faithful
vassals, the Duke of Bordeleaux to raise an army and to send it against the Red Duke.
The objective was to take the duke into custody and to bring him to the king; no one yet
knew that the rebellious duke was in fact a vampire. Duke Blanché of Bordeleaux
planned to occupy the land and possibly to set the castle in a state of siege, and secretly
hoped to be able to annex part of the dukedom of Aquitaine to his own territory.
The Red Duke aware of the king's wrath and the army assembling in Bordeleaux
conspired with the sorceress, Isabeau, in the forest of Chalons. The Red Duke sought an
alliance, with the hope of being able to rebuff the troops being assembled against him.
Isabeau ostensibly agreed. She recognized the Red Duke for what he was - an inhuman
monstrosity from the realm of death. Nevertheless Isabeau tried to subject the half-
daemon with enchantments to bind him to her will. She realised too late that she had
underestimated the magical abilities of the duke, who upon realizing her betrayal
cautiously avoided a direct confrontation with the sorceress.
The Duke then sent his undead servants to her tower to kill her. As the servants of the
Red Duke reached the tower, Isabeau was in a trance, preparing enchantments to enslave
the duke. She did not suspect the danger, but awakened just seconds before the undead
creatures reached her chambers. Weakened by her spell preparation, Isabeau fled, only to
be torn to pieces by dire wolves. As the Red Duke arrived on the scene she was barely
alive, blood ran from her throat and dozens of other wounds. Her torn up body lay in an
unnatural twisted position and the last thing she perceived in life was the Red Duke's
harsh voice: "you refused to serve me in life, so you will serve me eternally in death."
Thus did Isabeau become a Banshee wailing her laments while held in thrall by the dark
magic of the Duke of Aquitaine.
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