THE FALL OF CASTLE IRISH
Sunday, 30th November, 2025. Day 1.
DAY 1 — 0845 Hours — Secret Escape Tunnel under Castle Irish, Firenewt Assault Force
The warm lava tube was two miles back, the cool stone beneath his feet told him he was close. Vrassik led from the front. Behind him, sixty Blazenewt assault troops moved in single file, scale mail bound tight, hand crossbows loaded. No torches. Firenewts needed none.
The tunnel curved north and the stone underfoot changed — they were beneath the castle now. Then the signal ran back down the line.
Vrassik moved up.
The tunnel opened into a low chamber. And there on the floor, filling most of the space, its two heads lolling back in a stupor— the Ettin, breathing slow and deep.
Both heads. Asleep. Just as the surface woman had said.
Vrassik raised his fist.
DAY 1 — 0900 Hours — Brawling Brutes Tavern Stables, Slippery Pete
Slippery Pete cinched the saddle and checked the loops where his coil of rope, crowbar, and bulging purse rode. His Hat of Disguise sat low on his brow, showing today the forgettable face of a freckled drover. Outside the half-open stable doors came the quiet life of Irishtown on a Sunday, and the ordinary peal of St. Patrick's bells calling the faithful to mass — which, this morning, he had every intention of missing.
He had just enough time to feel pleased at getting away clean and early, then he heard something out of place.
DAY 1 — 0900 Hours — St. Patrick's Church, Marty O'Tool
The lofty church filled with the murmurs and rustling of devout parishioners beneath soaring stone arches. The scent of incense and polished wood settled in the air. The choir's hymn rose in sweet harmonies.
Marty O'Tool's hands were folded in quiet devotion as Father Cormac intoned the sacred rites. Around him the Irish Candy Army lads filled the rear benches, the town's civilians packed in the middle.
 |
| Meanwhile, Sir Troland was at mass in the castle chapel |
DAY 1 — 0900 Hours — Brewery Basement, Hawkman Technology Room, Karshe
Isaac Tremain, known as I.T., pored over arcane schematics, muttering in his mechanical monotone, hands moving deftly over the dismantled robot sentry head they had captured in session 60.
Karshe was sharpening his trident, hoping to soon get a chance to use it.
DAY 1 — 0901 Hours — Brawling Brutes Tavern Stables, Slippery Pete
Shouts from the street: "Firenewts! It's the firenewts! They're everywhere!"
Pete peered outside. A unit of Giant Strider cavalry ridden by firenewts was shooting fireballs at the gate guards. From the commotion he was certain the firenewts had already gotten inside the town by some other means. This attack on the gate was a feint.
(safely outside, I was sure he would exhibit the better part of valour, but he chose differently)
He had one immediate problem. The way the town was wedged into the mountain, there was no riding from one gate to the other without entering the town itself. He could not ride to warn Castle Irish (he did not know it was already too late for that). He loosed Pepper's reins. She was very happy to take off without him, particularly when a red dragon came into view flying over the town.
He made for the wall.
DAY 1 — 0901 Hours — St. Patrick's Church, Marty O'Tool
Marty O'Tool rushed outside. Immediately the troops there rallied to him in front of the church.
From this vantage he could see that the gate to the road up to Castle Irish had been blown away by fire. Firenewts were streaming into the town from that road — from the direction of the castle.
To his horror he realised it had already fallen.
He stood his men in front of the church and waited.
DAY 1 — 0905 Hours — Brewery Basement, Karshe
"Firenewts! They're everywhere!"
"Finally, some action," Karshe looked at I.T. "Do we have any anti-Firenewt devices?"
He grabbed his weapon. I.T. powered on his laser carbine. They went upstairs.
From inside the brewery they observed the battle through the windows. There were hundreds of Firenewts already inside the town. Organised resistance had been reduced to the group standing with Marty O'Tool at St. Patrick's across the square. As they watched, a red dragon flew overhead and Karshe ducked back from the window so as not to be seen. There was a woman riding it — long flowing hair, a hideous dragon mask. The leader? To be successful this swiftly the attack must have been well planned.
His thoughts turned to the pigeon coop on the roof, and to the hidden basement below his feet.
DAY 1 — 0910 Hours — Irishtown Palisade Wall, Slippery Pete
Pete made for a section of wall and had just started climbing when he remembered overhearing something about Marty O'Tool spending months casting glyph of warding all over the walls to prevent just what he was trying to do.
 |
| how is this pronounced? |
When he got to the top of the wall he had a good view of the town. The gate to the road up to Castle Irish had been blown away by fire. Firenewts were streaming in from that road — and back out again with prisoners. They were coming from the direction of the castle. It had already fallen.
Some few troops had rallied to Marty O'Tool in front of St. Patrick's. Everywhere else it was a mop-up operation.
A red dragon flew overhead. Pete managed to suppress the urge to cringe in fear. It had a rider. Long flowing hair. Hideous dragon mask. She was preparing to address the last resistance.
He pressed himself flat and hid in the shadows, eyes peering out. He began to count. Hundreds of firenewts. Perhaps a thousand. Giant Striders pouring in through the undefended gate — perhaps a hundred of them. Plus whatever force now held the castle.
This is no raid. Someone very big is behind this.
DAY 1 — 0915 Hours — St. Patrick's Church, The Square, Marty O'Tool
The sounds of battle, and pillage, and terrified townsfolk petered out across Irishtown.
A voice resonated with feminine malice from behind the dragon mask, carrying across the silent square:
"Now hear, everyone, the Eternal Avarice of your new Master, the Lord Inferno, who now counts these lands among his own Treasures, and You among his Hoards, and this place which he now calls Castle Inferno. From here on, your lives are in service of Lord Inferno! Now you shall tend his treasures and worship his Mightiness and receive even greater treasure as your reward! Even YOU, prospective zealots of our lord, are jealously valued as precious crude ores — to be purified in the fires and become the Gilded Zealots of the Lord Inferno! Today you hear the voice of the Eternal Avarice through me, the Lady of Dragons! Now raise your voices, Zealots, and your arms in allegiance to me!"
A pause. She bellowed: "Raise your voices!"
To Marty's shock, a local voice answered first: "Hail Lord Inferno!"
The Lady of Dragons was pleased. "Good. Follow this example. Raise your voices!"
A smattering from the terrified crowd: "Hail Lord Inferno!"
He didn't blame them. None of his own men joined in.
The face in the mask turned toward the group in front of the church. The eyes found Marty's.
"And you, priest — what is your answer?"
DAY 1 — 0910 Hours — Brewery Roof, Karshe
Karshe slipped up the series of ladders to the roof and found the dove keeper. He whispered his orders urgently.
"But we don't have any nodes set up yet!"
"Shush. They will find Dusty. He will get help."
He pressed a roll of parchment into the keeper's hand.
DRAGON ARMY INVADED IRISH. GET HELP.
The pigeon was released into the clear morning sky, over the rooftops and the smoke, away north-west towards — roughly — Schloss Ragnar.
Karshe came back down the ladder. From the square below came the Lady of Dragons' voice, and the long silence before the priest's answer. He watched for it from the nearest window.
IRISHTOWN PALISADE WALL
0916 Hours
From the wall Pete watched the woman on the dragon address the square. He stayed in the shadows and listened to every word. He filed it all away.
The face in the mask turned toward the men standing in front of the church. Toward the priest in the armour.
Pete watched Marty's lips move. Watched the dragon's maw open in response.
He looked away.
DAY 1 — 0916 Hours — St. Patrick's Church, The Square, Marty O'Tool
He had one spell that could work, command. One word to choose.
"Fall."
Before he could see the effect on the Lady of Dragons, the red dragon's maw opened, sucked in a lungful of air, and breathed out an inferno.
The last thing Marty saw was a world on fire.
DAY 1 — 0918 Hours — Irishtown Palisade Wall, Slippery Pete
The fire came down.
The Lady of Dragons' voice rang into the silence:
"So is the fate of all who oppose my Lord Inferno! Amongst you, impurities still hide. The strongest and most cunning among you will be given authority. Any who work to reveal the impurities which remain among you will be called the most useful vessels in the Lord's treasure troves. Cowards — even you are paltry stones in his service. Carry on what you have heard here into the mountains and lands beyond! All surrounding villages must know of their new Lord! Send an offering to Castle Inferno within a week — treasure, or able-bodied men. This month will be a month of offerings, demonstrations, and celebrations! Now run fast, cowards!"
To her firenewts, one final command: "Search every building for hidden enemies. Bring anyone of note to me at the castle."
With a flourish, she flew off. In her wake, St. Patrick's caught fire and became a conflagration.
Pete stayed in the shadows and kept counting and watching. The dragon looked to be adult size. Perhaps a thousand firenewts in the town. A hundred striders. Plus whatever held the castle. A huge force. He filed every detail away and waited.
Then, through the smoke of the burning church, he saw something move across the square from the brewery — the fighter with the magic trident, what was his name? Cart or something, running low through the smoke toward the burning pyre where Marty's armour-clad body lay. He dragged Marty clear and pulled him back into the brewery before any of the firenewts, perhaps thanks to the smoke, saw what he was doing.
Pete marked the brewery. He settled deeper into the shadows and waited for dark.
DAY 1 — 0925 Hours — Brewery Basement, Karshe
Karshe got Marty down the stairs and onto the worktable. I.T. was shocked at the condition of him.
"Get him on that table!" He swept the desk clean of wires and bolts, dropping them clattering to the floor. "It's bad, man."
"He took a dragon's breath full on. I didn't have time for first aid."
I.T. nodded and got to work, peeling scorching hot armour plates off with a pair of tongs and dropping them hissing into a water trough. Then he laid his hands on the cleric and prayed.
Cure light wounds. The holy power entered Marty's body.
"His body has received the holy power. I think he will make it — but he needs rest."
A pause.
"We can rebuild him. We have the technology."
(having reached -7 hit points before being saved, Marty is now permanently disfigured)
Upstairs, the brewers surrendered quietly to the searching firenewts and gave them no cause to look further. The hidden basement held its secret. Karshe listened to the footsteps above until they moved on, and thought about the pigeon — it was their only hope.
DAY 1 — Night — Brewery Basement
That night Marty O'Tool awoke with a start, eyes darting wildly, ready to shout. I.T. called for Karshe, alarmed.
Karshe put his hand over Marty's mouth. "Shush. You are alive and we are safe — for now."
Marty collected himself and prepared his spells. Then: "Karshe, are we safe here? How long has it been? What's been happening? Do we need to move?"
"It has been several hours. The dragon cultists know nothing about this basement. We should be okay for now — but we must leave if we are to get help."
"Ragnar is closest, and I have a man there."
"Then Ragnar it is."
"The problem," said Karshe, "is that you were on death's door, lad."
The scale of the damage to his burned body settled the argument. Marty was not going anywhere for seven days.
Then they heard footsteps on the floorboards above — light, stealthy. Only the timber warped from years of spilled Guinness made them audible at all.
"I can't make it out," said Marty. "Does it sound like heavy four-legged footsteps — a horse or a firenewt? Or a man?"
A man. Moving carefully.
"The brewery was locked up," said Karshe. "Whoever is inside might be a burglar." A pause. "Let's surprise him. Marty — Hawkman helm, rifle, point it at the door if anyone comes in."
Marty took the helm and the rifle and stacked up behind I.T. Karshe propped the basement door open a crack and killed the lights.
"It is probably Pete trying to loot the place for himself," Karshe muttered with confidence he didn't feel.
Marty kept the rifle levelled. He hoped who ever was there would not see that he was still far too weak to pull the trigger.
DAY 1 — Night — Brewery, The Cellar, Slippery Pete
Pete worked his way carefully down toward the cellar, trusty continual light imbued coin hidden in his mouth, one hand on the Black Dagger. He had seen the man with the trident drag Marty's body in here hours ago. Whether either of them was still alive, whether the firenewts had found them during the search, he did not know. The place had been quiet when he came in. Almost too quiet.
He had taken perhaps three more careful steps when the darkness in front of him resolved into shapes — a helm, a rifle barrel, maybe three figures stacked up together.
Marty whispered: "Karshe — is it one of them firenewt bastards?"
"Yeah," said Karshe. "Open fire."
Pete smiled. He opened his mouth and let the light coin shine out from between his teeth, illuminating his face in the dark.
He looked at the rifle, at the terrible burns on Marty's face. He spat the coin into his belt pouch stuck and his hand in after it.
"Do you need some healing?" He held out a potion.
Karshe allowed himself a thin smile. "Hell of a time and place to be, Pete."
Outside, the square was dark and silent. The charred ruin of St. Patrick's glowed faintly.
 |
| The battle for Castle Irish — no, Castle Inferno — was over. But the struggle was only beginning. |
No comments:
Post a Comment