TEXT:   Red Ruin Publishing 
   
  The Adventures  
  of  
  Cedric and Fulk 
   
  who encounter 
  The Wickedest Man  
  in Banlet  
   
  You can visit 
  The Witch Oak  
  and meet 
  A Real Live Boy 
   
   
  A Chapbook for the Dragon Warriors Roleplaying Game 
  
  2 
  Contents 
  A Real Live Boy ......................................................................... 3 
  The Wickedest Man in Banlet ................................................ 6 
  The Witch Oak ......................................................................... 15 
  Sir Aldis of Balstaple ............................................................. 18 
  Brother Fulk ............................................................................ 19 
  The Sword of St Gaius ............................................................20 
  Brother Cedric of Osterlin ................................................... 21 
   
   
  Text and art by Nigel Ward, Editing by Simon Barns 
  Skull Book Image by Brock, Ogre Image from CoF #1 
  www.pixabay.com/vectors/ogre-fantasy-line-art-monster-5273036/  
  Medieval illuminated cover border by http://cliparts.co/clipart/3687712   
  This fan publication includes material based on the Dragon Warriors setting, as 
  created by and copyright (c) Dave Morris and Oliver Johnson, and used 
  according to the terms of the Serpent King Games Fan Policy. We are not 
  permitted to charge you to use or access this content. This publication is not 
  published, endorsed, or officially approved by Serpent King Games. For more 
  information about Dragon Warriors products and Serpent King Games, please 
  visit www.serpentking.com 
  Red Ruin Publishing is committed to providing excellent fan made material for 
  the Dragon Warriors RPG – more information can be found at www.redruin.org 
  
  3 
   
  A Real Live Boy 
   
  Travelling along the old Forest Road, the party hears indistinct, but clearly 
  angry, voices along with a child’s high-pitched pleading up ahead. Around 
  the bend in the road a disturbing scene confronts the party. Four rough 
  looking men, undoubtedly robbers and cutthroats, lynching a small 
  colourfully dressed boy.  Two of the men hold a rope slung over a low oak 
  branch, the other end tied in a noose around the child’s neck. As the 
  characters arrive, they are preparing to haul the boy up, again it seems, 
  perhaps torture rather than murder may be the plan.  One of the other two 
  men holds a notched falchion, whilst the last is bald and dressed in the 
  rough homespun cassock of a monk!  
  
  4 
   
   All is not what it seems. Really the ‘boy’ is a magical simulacrum, a four-
  foot tall, brightly painted wooden manikin, dressed in colourful fool’s 
  motley. The doll was carved by a famed Ferromani toy maker, Golpetito 
  (whose mark is carved into the sole of one of its feet) but was given ‘life’ 
  when the sorcerer Ulric confined a mischievous sprite within the wood. 
  Some say Ulric did this as a gift for his daughter – a companion for her as 
  she was an only child living in his strange otherworldly tower. This may be 
  but one of the dozens of fanciful tales 
  attached to the reclusive wizard.  
  The ‘brigands’, whilst dressed as 
  desperate men, are in fact well-armed 
  and equipped (ring jackets and mail vests 
  for AF 2), their belt purses filled with 
  5d6 florins each.  They are mercenaries 
  in the pay of Cynewulf Magister who has 
  heard tales of the “wee Fool in the 
  woods” and sent men to investigate and 
  retrieve the manikin. If it is the rumoured 
  companion to Ulric’s child, so much the 
  better. 
  Many outcomes are possible. The men will fight if attacked but will 
  withdraw if clearly outmatched and return south to report their findings to 
  their master. If able to do so, they will take Panko with them. Whilst this 
  happens the manikin will beg, plead, wheedle, and cajole the PCs to ‘save 
  Panko from the bad men’. The wooden manikin calls itself ‘Panko’, can 
  speak (though its painted lips do not move) and has wonderfully 
  articulated, dexterous wooden hands. Panko has a squeaky childlike voice 
  and refers to itself in the third person. Whilst the sprite trapped within the 
  wood is not malevolent, it has a mischievous perspective and delights in 
  games and tricks, even those with dangerous or fatal consequences. Panko 
  
  5 
  has a tendency to pilfer small items, and simply forget them when it spots 
  the next interesting thing. For its own amusement Panko will often leave 
  pilfered items with someone to whom they don’t belong, with potentially 
  dangerous consequences. Concepts like ownership, money and value are 
  meaningless to Panko.  
   
   PANKO 
  ATT 6 DEF 15 (as per weapon but -1 ABR and Damage due to low STR) 
  STR 5, INT 13, REF 17, PSY 13, LKS N/A 
  AC 2, HP 5, Magical Defence 13, Stealth 20, Perception 14, EV 9, Move 
  15m, Panoptical vision.  
    
  Pious PCs may see Panko as the devil’s work. Opportunistic ones may 
  instead see potential for mischief and profit. Panko is whimsical, sulky, 
  and petulant if not indulged.  It has the spellcasting ability to cause petty 
  annoyances such as itching, uncontrollable sneezing, or hiccups, boils, trips 
  and falls, and dropped weapons.  Panko’s high DEF is due to an almost 
  otherworldly agility at dodging blows and it climbs as an 8th rank Assassin 
  with Climb skill chosen twice.  
  Panko will be reticent about its past and how it got where the PCs found it 
  but it is ancient and can speak (but not read) Lughwyd and Bacchile, 
  perhaps giving some hint as to the origin of the inhabiting spirit. If treated 
  well Panko will tell the PCs it has “two fathers” perhaps a reference to the 
  toymaker and the sorcerer.  Dealing with Panko could be a source of great 
  adventure. 
   
   
  
  6 
   
  The Wickedest Man in Banlet 
  Tyrsdae 21st Bael Monath, 997 Anno Sancto 
  My Lord Abbot, 
  I hope this missive finds you in good spirits and fully recovered from the 
  gout, which I understand has recently afflicted your most reverend person. 
  My travels in your service have led Brother Fulk and I to the hamlet of 
  Banlet, about 2 days' ride north of Ongus. It is without a word of 
  exaggeration that I most humbly provide you with this report for your 
  consideration.  Whilst it will appear mendacious and fantastical, I give my 
  most solemn oath on our Saviour’s glorious deliverance that every word is 
  the Lord’s truth as related to me. I pray you will find this tale worthy of 
  inclusion in your most magnificent work, Codex Maleficus Et Ellesland. 
  The good folk of Banlet related to me the tale of their former lord, Sir 
  Rickard Cadel, a knight of dark reputation. They say he was a most 
  puissant huntsman, but over time his quarry extended further than deer and 
  boar, to the hunting of men and maidens for sport.  The villagers tell that 
  they appealed to the Baron, yet Sir Rickard was cunning and would only 
  hunt those he had first accused and found guilty of trumped up charges. Sir 
  Rickard was distant kin to the Baron who thus turned a blind eye to 
  Rickard’s excesses as long as Banlet’s taxes and levies were bountiful and 
  punctual.   
  The tale, so it goes, is that Sir Rickard sold his soul to the Devil in 
  exchange for preternatural skill at the hunt, and unnatural vigour long into 
  his dotage. One may of course question the veracity of this claim, but it 
  appears beyond question that he proved a cruel and immoral overlord who 
  treated his serfs most brutally.  A further rumour also told that Sir Rickard 
  
  7 
  murdered his wife, though my perusal of Parish and manorial records, such 
  as they are, suggest a more mundane demise from an imbalance of the 
  humours. 
  The locals say that Sir Rickard terrorised his people for many years until he 
  finally expired on a hunt, breaking his neck after being thrown from his 
  horse. One venerable matron, who claimed she was the object of Sir 
  Rickard’s final hunt across the moors, deposed that the horse shied at a 
  stick the poor woman had snatched up to defend herself. The matron swore 
  upon my Bible under fear of eternal damnation that the stick turned into an 
  adder in her very hands as she held it up in her defence. You may be 
  scandalised to learn that opinion was evenly divided as to whether this was 
  a case of divine intervention or Old Nick sick of waiting to collect the soul 
  he was promised.  
  Despite these events being a scant three score years past, recollections 
  differed as to the circumstances of Sir Rickard’s internment. On the one 
  hand the villagers say their forebears were concerned to ensure Rickard 
  was securely buried so that the spirit of such an evil man would not rise up 
  to continue to plague them in death as he had in life. Yet on the other hand 
  it was contended that Rickard left his retainers precise instructions upon his 
  demise to inter him in such a way as to confound the Devil and keep his 
  soul from being dragged to the depths of Hell where it belonged. 
  Whatever may be the right of it, what is certain is that Sir Rickard’s broken 
  body was not interred in the family tomb but instead was buried outside the 
  south door of the village church. It was related by those greybeards who 
  claimed to have been present that Sir Rickard was first buried deeply in the 
  earth, and then a heavy stone was placed upon his head. Once the grave 
  had been filled the entire altar stone from the church was, in a most 
  heinous desecration, placed atop the grave.  The view being either that the 
  consecrated stone would keep Sir Rickard in or keep the Devil out. A squat 
  stone crypt was subsequently constructed over the grave.  It is most solidly 
  built, but curiously has a wide iron grill on the side facing the church. On 
  
  8 
  the opposite side is a strong wooden door with a locked keyhole.  I am told 
  the key was thrown inside once the door was locked. 
  The good folk of Banlet were most insistent that we remain in the village 
  for another two days to witness certain weird occurrences which are said to 
  take place on the anniversary of Sir Rickard’s demise.  Several men vowed 
  and declared to me that two glowing red eyes have been seen behind the 
  bars inside the structure. Others have said that on the date of his death each 
  year, demons come scrabbling at the tomb in a vain attempt to retrieve the 
  soul of the knight for their diabolical master to satisfy the debt long 
  overdue. 
  I was also told an amusing tale that it has become something of a dare for 
  the children of Banlet to walk widdershins around the tomb thirteen times 
  before inserting a finger into the keyhole of the wooden door.  The 
  challenge being to leave their finger in for the longest time at risk of Sir 
  Rickard gnawing at the tip. 
  Brother Fulk and I will remain to observe the anniversary of Sir Rickard’s 
  death at the insistence of the folk of Banlet and I will provide you with 
  such further updates as circumstances may require.   
  Your humble servant 
  Brother Cedric of Osterlin 
   
   
   
  
  9 
   
  24th Freyasdae, Bael Monath 997 Anno Sancto 
   
  My Lord Abbot, 
  I write this from my sickbed but wish to record the events of last night 
  whilst they remain fresh in my mind. 
  As requested by the villagers of Banlet, we sat a vigil outside Sir Rickard’s 
  tomb to try to observe the uncanny happenings.  The night was cool but 
  clear and something of a festive atmosphere had settled over the assembled 
  folk with even a little Banlet cider flowing.  
  One of the village lads, Cena the blacksmith’s boy, emboldened by drink, 
  skipped widdershins around the tomb thirteen times, and stuck his finger in 
  the lock.  After a few moments he gave vent to a great hue and cry, 
  snatched his hand away and ran around the horrified group clasping it and 
  wailing. The cheeky lad declared it all a great jape and held up his hand 
  whole, much to the amusement of all.  Whilst all congratulated Cena on his 
  jest, our merriment was suddenly broken by an unearthly howl.  I must say 
  it froze the very blood in our veins and left me feeling weak at the knees.  
  Even steadfast Brother Fulk looked most perturbed. We then heard a 
  scrabbling of claws on the wooden door from the far side of the crypt.   
  Moments later, to our horror a ghastly hound, larger than a wolf, stalked 
  around the corner of the crypt towards the assembly.  Whilst it was hard to 
  judge in the light of our bonfire and lanterns, its fur appeared a greenish 
  black, and its eyes glowed with an unearthly green light.  The jaws of the 
  beast slavered with a luminous spittle, which smoked when it dripped to 
  the ground.  Most curiously I expected the assembled villagers to flee 
  
  10 
  screaming from the sight of 
  this demonic hound but 
  instead they all seemed 
  transfixed by its murderous 
  glare. 
  I am ashamed to say that I too 
  stood rooted to the spot by 
  this terrible apparition until 
  Brother Fulk cuffed me round 
  the ear and shouted that “the 
  hound seeks that blaggard 
  Rickard! Let’s give the dog a 
  bone!”  Shaken from my 
  reverie, I followed Fulk as he 
  raced around the far side of 
  the crypt.  I noted then that he 
  wore his maille coat under his 
  cassock and had drawn the 
  ancient Selentine Gladius he 
  brought home from the Crusades.  As we rounded the stone structure, we 
  heard awful cries and commotion as the hound began tearing and ravaging 
  the poor dumbstruck villagers.  I felt a moment of guilty indecision at that 
  juncture, but my resolve was hardened by Fulk muttering “We cannot save 
  them” before with a mighty boot he kicked open the wooden tomb door. 
  Our doom was then upon us.  Fulk whirled, and the hound was upon him, 
  only his maille saved him from a savage mauling.  He struck repeatedly at 
  the beast, whilst urging me in language most unbecoming of a monk, to 
  drag Rickard’s mouldering bones out of the tomb. I dashed into the crypt 
  and felt even greater dismay as I saw the large slab of marble which must 
  mark the knight’s resting place.  Many would have cause to now doubt my 
  tale but as I have previously disclosed to you in times of great emergency 
  
  11 
  the Lord has often gifted me with the strength of ancient Heraklos.  Indeed, 
  the good Lord saw fit to intervene in that dreadful hour and holy power 
  infused my limbs and I slid the great altar stone to one side like it were 
  made of wood.  To my great horror, even in the dimly lit interior of the 
  tomb, I saw a desiccated pair of hands burst out of the soil, and the tip of a 
  helmet erupted from the damp earth. 
  
  12 
  I scrabbled backwards in fright out the door and drew my seax to try to 
  assist Fulk, although my skills as a warrior are somewhat lacking. Fulk had 
  led the beast away from the tomb, but was sorely pressed, his cassock in 
  tatters from its ravening maw.  As I moved towards the melee, I glanced 
  behind and saw what could only be the corpse of Sir Rickard staggering in 
  a clumsy and spasmodic fashion towards us, rusted sword trailing in hand.  
  I had no doubt that Sir Rickard was in some unholy limbo between life and 
  death.  He surveyed us with a pupil-less ivory gaze, the skin of his face a 
  pasty white pallor. Most disturbingly, his lips were blue and though his 
  mouth opened and closed in a rictus and deathly grimace, not a sound 
  emerged. Perhaps proving the truth of the tales of his demise from a broken 
  neck, his head flopped back and forth in a disturbing and unnatural 
  manner.  I held up my seax to fend off a blow, but he easily batted aside 
  my defence and stabbed me through the flesh of my thigh. 
  Upon seeing Sir Rickard, the hound broke from assailing Brother Fulk, and 
  rounded upon the dead knight.  A furious fracas ensued, with Rickard 
  slashing ever more skilfully at the hound, whilst it ripped and tore at his 
  pallid flesh.  
  Eventually the hound bore Sir Rickard to the ground, and just when I felt 
  certain it would close its terrible jaws around his neck, he thrust upwards 
  with his sword, impaling the beast.  The hound gave vent to a blood 
  curdling howl, and a green sulphurous mist rose from its corpse, 
  enveloping both it and Sir Rickard. When the mist cleared, we were 
  greeted with the sight of Sir Rickard kneeling in a stagnant pool, his sword 
  stuck in the mud.  Brother Fulk seized the moment, declared “Be off to 
  Hell with you!” and rushed forward, delivering a final blow to the undead 
  knight.  Immediately after Fulk struck the death blow, Rickard’s corpse 
  
  13 
  began to age rapidly before our eyes, leaving it a leering armoured skeleton 
  in mere heartbeats. 
  We buried unlucky Cena and his father this morning, both victims of the 
  hound’s fury, as well as Father Bodram – whom I am told dropped dead of 
  fright when the creature cast its baleful gaze upon him.  I said the prayers 
  propped up on a stool in his place.  I remain unsure whether we did the 
  Lord’s work last night or were the Devil’s unwitting accomplices, but I am 
  most certain that we rid the village of Banlet of a great evil.   
  I remain your humble servant. 
   
  Brother Cedric of Osterlin 
   
   
  
  14 
   
  Statistics
  Sir Rickard – Cadaver and 10th 
  rank knight – see p76 Bestiary 
  Attack 24, (d8+1, 5) Armour 
  Factor 4 
  Defence 17   
  Movement: 10m (18m) 
  Magical Defence 12  Evasion 6 
  Health Points 26 Stealth 16 
  Perception 15 (panoptical) 
   
   
   
  The Barghest – see p50 Bestiary 
  Attack 20, Fangs (d8, 6 and 
  special venom)  
  Armour Factor 2 (and takes half 
  damage unless silver or magical 
  weapon) 
  Defence 6 Movement: 15m 
  (30m) 
  Magical Defence 15 Evasion 6 
  Health Points 17 Stealth 24 
  Rank-equivalent: 7th  
  Perception 17 (panoptical)
    
   
   
  
  15 
   
  The Witch Oak 
   
  “Aye, the Witch Oak, folk round ‘ere call it” the innkeeper answered as he 
  poured a large mug of ale for the impeccably groomed man standing before 
  him.  
  The man looked at the mug, his lips tightening in barely concealed disdain, 
  and then reached and took a long drink from it. 
  “The Witch Oak, you say”, said the man, placing the mug precisely in front 
  of him on the worn timber bar. “Is it far?” 
  “About five mile up the North road” slurred one of the half-pickled 
  greybeards propping up the far end of the bar. “Ye can’t miss it. Great big 
  branches, covered in moss, but they grow sidewards like. Not up like a 
  proper oak!”  
  “Sideways, you say? Like this?” The man held up his left hand, palm 
  facing the low ceiling, with fingers and thumb hooked into a claw. 
  “That be right” nodded the innkeeper. He leaned across the bar and 
  continued in a low conspiratorial whisper.  
  “They say, at midnight when the moon is full, witches and vile devil-
  spawn dance along the branches. Foul rituals and such stunted the tree’s 
  growth and warped its shape. The tree be too ashamed to grow upwards to 
  reach the light o’ heaven so it grew outward instead.” 
  He leaned back and poured himself a draught. “Leastways that’s what they 
  say.” 
  The greybeard piped up again. “An’ the fornicating!” 
  
  16 
  A loud snort at the far end of the taproom broke the mood.  
  “And what would a shrivelled up old prune like you know about 
  fornicating, Oswinn Webb?” pronounced a formidable looking matron, as 
  she heaved herself to her feet near the hearth and dusted her hands on a 
  patched apron.  
  “You’ll keep a civil tongue and stay out of men’s business – woman!” the 
  innkeep rounded on the woman as she approached the bar. 
  “Husband” the woman said dismissively as she brushed past to approach 
  the stranger “You’ll keep your tongue still and your lips closed, or I’ll take 
  that poker from the fire and shove it up your bunghole!” 
  Turning to the stranger, with more civility, she greeted him. “Good sir, I’m 
  Leona. My fool of a husband and I keep this good house. Who might you 
  be, and what brings you to our simple village?” 
  The stranger looked impassively at the large woman for longer than 
  comfortable before he broke the silence with a cold smile. 
  “Sir Aldis of Balstaple, serving his Grace, the Bishop of Netherford. It is 
  my honour to lead his Grace’s Episcopal Guard.” 
  Sir Aldis paused, before raising his voice so that he addressed the far 
  corners of the taproom.  A hushed sense of menace settled over the room. 
  “My business in Moyston is his Grace’s business.” The cold smile 
  appeared again.  
  “For God-fearing men, and women, you seem over well acquainted with 
  the diabolical misdeeds and blasphemous rituals of witches.”  
  The colour drained from the innkeep’s ruddy cheeks, and he spluttered in 
  protest. “We are righteous folk and obey the laws of God and the King! 
  Father Hereward leads us in our prayers!” 
  
  17 
  “Indeed.” observed Aldis. “Hereward has been summoned to Netherford. 
  Two of my men escort him there.”  
  He turned away from the innkeep and addressed Leona again. 
  “Prepare my lodgings and billet my men. We ride tomorrow for this ‘Witch 
  Oak’ of yours with fire and axe. We’ll see who comes to challenge the 
  Lord’s work come the witching hour.” 
  “Of course, my Lord. Boy, make yourself useful and show Sir Aldis to his 
  room.” 
  As the knight ascended the narrow creaking stairs to the inn’s private 
  rooms, Leona beckoned to her youngest daughter, who had been watching 
  proceedings wide-eyed from under a table. 
  “Fritha, my poppet, be a dear and run along to Nanny Brida and tell her 
  I’m making soup for the Bishop’s man, so I’ll be needing her herbs. Oh, 
  and tell her we’ll soon need to be a-dancing again”.  
  The little girl grinned as she skipped out the door into the dull evening 
  light, calling back to her mother “I love dancin!” 
  “So do I my love, so do I”, whispered Leona, as she watched her daughter 
  fade into the gloom. 
   
   
   
   
  
  18 
  Sir Aldis of Balstaple 
   Male, 4th rank Episcopal Knight 
  & Witchfinder 
  Attack 17, sword (d8,4)  
  Defence 12 
  Magical Defence 8 
  Hit Points 13 
  Armour Factor 4 (Maille 
  Hauberk) 
  Movement 10m (20m) 
  Stealth 13 
  Evasion 5 
  Perception 5 (Normal)
  (Strength 12; Reflexes 12; Intelligence 15; Psychic Talent 15; Looks 13) 
   Special Abilities: Ride warhorse, Torture & Interrogation, Knowledge of 
  Infernal magic & creatures 
   Treasure: Aldis wears the finest clothes and has an almost uncanny ability 
  to avoid mud and muck. He carries an iron dagger, and a silver dagger for 
  use against faerie and infernal creatures. Silver bound holy book. Badge of 
  office. 24 florins and a spare set of expertly tailored clothes.   
   
   
   
   
  
  19 
  Brother Fulk 
  Male, 8th rank Knight & lay brother of 
  Osterlin Abbey  
  Attack 23 (26 with Gladius, 28 vs selected 
  opponents - see below), Gladius (d8+4, 7, 10 
  vs Undead) 
  Defence 17 (19 with Main Gauche) (20 with 
  Gladius, 22 with Gladius and Main Gauche, 
  22/24 vs selected opponents, - see below) 
  Seax (d8+1, 4)
  Magical Defence 10 
  Health Points 20 
  Armour Factor 1 Gambeson/ 3 
  Maille Hauberk 
  Movement 10m (20m) 
  Stealth 16 
  Evasion 7 
  Perception 8 (Normal)
   (Strength 17; Reflexes16; Intelligence 13; Psychic Talent 9; Looks 13) 
  Special Abilities: Ride warhorse, Track, Armour expert, Main Gauche (+2 
  DEF or 2nd Attack at 0 DEF) 
  Treasures: Fulk wields an ancient Selentine gladius (shortsword +3) that 
  contains the tooth of St Gaius, the Selentine soldier who it is said pierced the 
  Saviour Gatanades’ side, and a Seax when fighting two-weapon style.  He 
  wears a gambeson under his monk’s robes, and if expecting a fight will don 
  a maille hauberk under his robes.  Otherwise, his possessions are those of a 
  humble monk. Typically, 3d6 florins at any given time.  The brothers travel 
  on two donkeys owned by the Abbey – a long way from the fine destrier 
  Fulk rode in his previous life.  
  
  20 
  The Sword of St Gaius 
  This powerful weapon and relic is an ancient Selentine gladius (shortsword 
  +3) that contains the tooth of St Gaius, the Selentine soldier who it is said 
  pierced the Saviour Gatanades’ side. Despite being around 1,000 years old 
  the sword and sheath show no sign of rust or deterioration, albeit its bone 
  handle is well worn. The wooden pommel can be unscrewed to reveal a small 
  cavity containing the tooth.  Whether the sword itself is magical or the magic 
  derives from the hidden relic is unknown.  
  This sword is unknown to the Church and is currently in the possession of 
  lay brother Fulk, a former minor lord and crusader.   
  Neither Fulk nor his mystical companion Cedric have any idea of its true 
  origin or power. Fulk discovered the blade when he fell down a desert 
  crevasse pursued by Ta’ashim warriors in the Holy Lands and found himself 
  in the hidden tomb of this early Saint, about whom extraordinarily little is 
  recorded.   
  The relic confers 80% chance of sensing great evil in a person, place or 
  object. Both +2 ATT and +2 DEF vs Boggarts, Goblins, Hobgoblins, 
  Bugbears, Spriggans, Hags, Trolls and Undead.  The sword also inflicts 
  double damage against undead (i.e., 9 rather than 6 i.e., 3x2 +3). 
   
  
  21 
  Brother Cedric of Osterlin  
  Male, 5th rank Mystic & Monk of Osterlin Abbey 
  Attack 15, Seax (d8, 3) 
  Defence 9 
  Magical Attack 21 
  Magical Defence 11 
  Health Points 13 
  Armour Factor 1 Gambeson 
  Movement 10m (20m) 
  Stealth 15 
  Evasion 5 
  Perception 11 (Normal)
  (Strength 9; Reflexes 12; Intelligence 16; 
  Psychic Talent 16; Looks 14) 
  Special Abilities: Spell casting, spell 
  mastery “Allseeing Eye”, Premonition 
  (Sixth Sense) 45%, ESP (Seventh Sense) 20%, Enchantment of Arms & 
  Armour up to +1. 
  Treasures: Cedric wears a large crucifix of dull gold on a chain around his 
  neck studded with some semi-precious stones (a gift from the Abbot of 
  Osterlin worth 250 florins).  The crucifix is in fact a type of Shielding 
  Charm.  Cedric is in the habit of grasping the crucifix in prayer when 
  attacked.  This activates the charm (p.143 Rulebook) which takes the form 
  of a translucent ‘angel wing’ that deflects blows. He wields a seax (d8,3) in 
  battle and tends to use his mystical powers in times of great danger invoking 
  the Saviour’s help to call them forth.  He also carries a sling and a dozen 
  smooth riverstones, a skill learned as a foundling boy at Osterlin. Otherwise, 
  he only carries the possessions of a humble monk, with 2d6 Florins on hand 
  at any given time.   
  
  22 
   
   
         
     
  Finis. Deinde usque ad tempus. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  If you’ve enjoyed this – why not consider checking out Casket of Fays, Red 
  Ruin’s quarterly fanzine to support the Dragon Warriors RPG. Start with our first 
  issue, and then check out the others. 
   
  Casket of Fays #1 – a Dragon Warriors 
  RPG fanzine - Red Ruin Publishing | 
  DriveThruRPG.com 
   
  There’s mere-trolls and hags, a Light 
  Elementalist, and Tatzelwurms! Oh my! 
   
  It only gets better with each of the 
  following issues. Issue four will be on the 
  ‘virtual’ shelves soon after this chapbook. 
   
   
   
   
   
  
  23 
   
  Editor’s Notes 
   
  Isn’t having a whole page of notes, grand? I could get used to this... 
  Back in the depths of history (September 2020) I badgered Goodfellow 
  Nigel Ward into doing a two-pager write-up so Red Ruin would have 
  something suitable to drop into DriveThruRPG’s Halloween extravaganza. 
  The Witch Oak and the Real Live Boy are what made it into that. 
  Later on, poor Nigel made the mistake of telling me about Cedric and Fulk.  
  “Well” sez I, “Have you ever heard about chapbooks?” 
  Here we are. More badgering and poking on my part. Tears from Nigel as I 
  overwork him again. And again. Badger, I say. 
  I hope you enjoy this look at the bold pair of Brothers in the first issue of 
  their very own chapbook. I’m sure you’ll also enjoy the next issue which 
  Nigel is working on as I type – there’s a few names it could go under yet – 
  but its working title is ‘Murder in Moonlight’.            
  Simon Barns 
   
    
  
  24 
     1st pub. February 2021 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
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SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Dragon Warriors/Dragon Warriors Revised/The Adventures of Cedric and Fulk Dragon Warriors Zine/The Adventures of Cedric and Fulk #1.pdf