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so I decided to get an indulgent little comic commission of Helene and Vasili meeting for the first time. he likes to tease her nowadays about how she curtsied at him when they first met. but they were both drawn to each other the moment they first laid eyes on each other.
(art by @deadbeatcleric on twxr)
#curse of strahd#vasili von holtz#cos blogging#dnd#fantasy#ch: helene crow#r: crowholtz#r: pull the pin#fun fact! this man once exploded his leg for her to save her from a shitty situation. he's really dramatic#(of course he is he has the soul of strahd)
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So, we finished Curse of Strahd
After about 9 months we did it. I'd say even on accident, because one session before we were too stubborn to comply and obey Strahd and started a fight. We didn't expect to finish it all in one session, but here we are and...I'm just so grateful to our amazing Master, who's sadly not on Tumblr, for what story he's given us. And generally for what way we have walked from the very first session, unsure and quiet, till the very end, emotional and beautiful as it is. /breathes in/ So, you probably want to know what happened to our characters? And even if you don't, I'll still tell you this hehe. Saer'llith, my silly little boy, who's no longer just a phylactery for a Lich, who's no longer bearing the Dyrr surname, is learning to live a new life. Without memories of his past self, without an ability to walk under the sun because he has no soul left, but with a person who loves him unconditionally, who made it through along with him - with Escher Belasco. They both are now looking after the Orphanage and the children, inculding Victor (whenever he's not doing something dangerous with his magic again) and trying to learn what it's like - to live freely. Maxine has reached the end but her time was ticking - a deal with Zhudun and one death later broke her own soul into pieces, therefore the only thing left was to finally lay to rest in peace in a tomb, along with her wife - Erin, so they together become nothingness. Their draconic "son", Mark, became a stone guardian statue, protecting their eternal sleep. They've finally reunited. Sharlotka has found who she was seeking for - one of the hags of these lands, who was forever bound to her lover - a vampire named Gulthias, who is just now a tree, free to grow under the sunlight and give wine apples that are able to sate vampires' hunger for blood (and thus becoming a way out for Escher). But she has broken her own morals and her own self - a grave domain cleric who had to raise a person from the dead, who buried her friends along the way and who now walks a path different from her own god. She still has a lot of work to do in Barovia. Deva, or Virgo now partially has her fate in the hands of the deity, but that doesn't mean that her story has ended. Even under such control she's free to roam wherever she wants to and to finally forget about the constant dungeons she's been all her life in. Barovia has let her out even if most of her new friends stayed in there - and she'll use every possibility of that. And the character who's been the least with us - Isil [ee-s-ee-l'] - has wandered back to where she first appeared - to the Amber Temple to find the knowledge, the truth she's been seeking. Our Master said that she'll have her own little story later and we're so waiting for this. The player's other chacracter - Gabriel - has also died but she's forever our favourite for the silly songs and just for who she was. Well...I think, that's it? I still can't really believe that we've finished it all. Of course, months later we'll start something new but for now - this fandom will have a storng grip on us all for times to come. And I'm just glad that this fandom exists. And for all the coincidences that has happened along the way, for who we've met and for who we've become. Thank you, @qusok, @vadimtea and @she-who-must-not-be-woken. I'm grateful to play with you all. And just know that I love you :)
#curse of strahd#dnd#dnd campaign#cos#saer'llith dyrr#or should I call him Saer'llith Belasco now..#maxine lynch#erin nailo#sharlotka#virgo#isil galanodel#escher belasco#victor vallakovich#zhudun#yeah i am mentioning everyone#roll the credits
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hey BIG BIG BIG BIG Curse of Strahd spoilers under the break okay? okay.
also big tall scary sexy women and cool homebrew (i think)
enter at your own risk
Alright so Sykane the Soul Hungerer.
Oh my god what a concept. I had a warlock player who wanted their patron to be tied to Barovia, so i was looking at the Dark Powers and like. that's incredible. Most of the Dark Powers are admittedly pretty mid, but holy shit.
For those unfamiliar:
Like, that's pretty cool. The gift is lame, cause I think artificially imposing a flaw on a character without a Player's knowledge is just hard and frustrating to play, but whatever. Just look at that name. The Soul Hungerer. This is someone who wants to eat and (presumably) destroy Souls. That's a terrifying concept in general, but in Barovia? Holy Shit that's bad. Barovia has a horrifically finite amount of souls floating around in what I have affectionately deemed "The Snowglobe" and someone just showing up and... consuming souls? Capital B BAD. It's insane that she's just casually tucked away in random area X33c. So naturally, this is the concept I went with for my PC's patron.
The way this all shook out in our game is that Patrina and Strahd were on the hunt for the amber temple together, and after a lot of work, they finally found it. There, Strahd took the gift of Vampyr and Patrina took Sykane's gift, becoming, effectively, her first warlock. The way we play Sykane is that whenever one of her warlocks raises someone from the dead, the warlock gets the body, and she consumes the soul that was tethered to it (hence the recently deceased. If the soul is untethered from the body, she can't do anything and isn't interested.) This sets her apart from the other Dark Powers, who instead feed off the suffering of the Barovian souls, not the souls themselves.
It also means that once the mists set in, all of a sudden Sykane is effectively going around eating the cows that produce the milk everyone else needs to live. The other Dark Powers are, shall we say, none too pleased about this and decide to exile her from Barovia, where she lies in wait for other aspiring necromancers to want her power, and also tries to set herself up as a Goddess of Death, much to [insert your campaign's death god here, in ours it's Kelemvor]'s disdain. Of course our Warlock started making deals with her, and when he ended up in Barovia, she came with! And now our warlock is here with a Patron who destroys souls, and whose shit list includes, but is not limited to:
Strahd (for wanting Patrina to be killed)
Rahadin (for attempting to kill patrina)
Kazimir (for killing Patrina)
Exethanter (for helping the Dark Powers exile her)
The literal fucking Dark Powers.
And also she wants the warlock to feed her a soul roughly every three days.
uh anyways i promised tall sexy women so
also please talk to me about her I love this character so fucking much.
#curse of strahd#curse of strahd spoilers#dungeons and dragons#patrina velikovna#strahd von zarovich#dnd warlock#warlock patron#cos: wildflowers#ts4
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Azalin Reviews: Darklord Inza Magdova Kulchevich
Domain: Sithicus Domain Formation: 720 BC Power Level:💀💀💀⚫⚫ Sources: Secrets of the Dread Realms (3e), Gazetteer IV (3e), Heroes of Light (3e), Spectre of the Black Rose (novel)
Once the Dark Powers grew bored with Lord Soth collecting dust and kicked the overcooked Knight of the Rusty Rose out of Ravenloft, a new Darklord took on his mantle - Inza Magdova Kulchevich became the Darklord of Sithicus during what is now referred to as the “Night of Screaming Shadows”.
Seeing that Inza has always been a screaming child overshadowed by her famous mother, this is quite fitting. Inza was born to Magda Ilyanova Kulchevich in the Domain of Gundarak on the exact moment Duke Gundar, the Darklord of Gundarak, was assassinated. A little foreshadowing there, I suppose.
Since Magda is far more important to this tale, let’s discuss her first. Magda’s tale begins when Lord Soth slaughtered her entire family and tribe, then forced her to serve as his guide as he angrily swung his sword at everything in Barovia and Gundarak.
You can read about Soth’s tale here. For Magda’s part, she did act as Soth’s guide, for given the choice between him and Count Strahd, she choose the rusty bucket, which should give you an idea of how pleasant it is being around Strahd for more than a few minutes.
During her wary adventures with the Death Knight, Magda discovered the fabled Gard, an unbreakable cudgel that is said to belong a legendary ancestor of hers, Kulchek the Wanderer. It is said that Kluchek carved the cudgel with his fable dagger Novgor from a tree “on top of the world”. Utter nonsense, but there are grains of truth in these tales for both weapons are imbued with powerful magics.
As soon as she had the chance, Magda fled Soth and began gathering other Vistani who had lost their tribes and formed her own - The Wanderers. Despite her youth, Magda was the raunie of the Wanderers and viewed as a hero to her people. She hoped to find Novgor someday to add to her family’s legend.
Inza was an apple the fell very far from the tree. She caused problems for the Wanderers wherever they went, but her mother was blind to her selfish and brash attitude. The Wanderers would often complain about Inza but never to their raunie. I’ve heard the saying “love is blind”. Magda’s love for her daughter was akin to being blindfolded in a cave far below the Shadow Rift.
Inza is a master of manipulation and convinced others to teach her how to move as silently as a shadow, pick the toughest of locks, and break into the most well-guarded homes. Where she learned magic, however, is unknown. Some say she made a pact with an unknown entity to obtain it. I venture that it was our tormentors that granted her this gift, paving her way into her eternal prison.
The Wanderers knew to avoid the Domain of Sithicus, but sometimes the Mists have other ideas and they eventually wandered (pun intended) within. Lord Soth allowed them passage through is land and his protection for Magda’s past service, but he forbade them to ever leave and closed the borders whenever they made the attempt.
Once in Sithicus, Inza formed an alliance with Soth’s werebadger seneschal, Azrael. It was Azrael who obtained the Novgor dagger from Malocchio Aderre, the temporal leader of Invidia, and gave it to Inza.
Azrael agreed to assist Inza in eliminating her mother so she could become raunie of the Wanderers and in turn, Inza would assist him and Malocchio in overthrowing Lord Soth. Of course, Inza had far greater plans than being a mere raunie.
With Azrael’s ability to concrol the creatures known as 'salt shadows' and using Novgor to sabotage Gard, Magda was murdered. Inza also ended the life of her mother’s favored guard dog that night, for she has a deep fear of the creatures. Dogs, she believes, can smell the taint upon her soul.
After manipulating everyone from Soth to Malocchio, Inza saw all but three of her fellow Wanderers killed and herself safely behind the walls of Soth’s fortress, Nedragaard Keep. She then directed Soth’s attentions to Azrael’s ritual at the salt mines that would allow him to steal every shadow in Sithicus and use their power as his own.
While Soth was distracted, Inza placed protective wards around herself to ensure her shadow wouldn’t be stolen and Soth’s minions could not touch her as she opened the gates to allow Malocchio’s Invidian forces into the Keep. Soth, always one to deal with a woman that wronged him instead of an apocalypse, ran back to his Keep as soon as he learned of the treachery and left Azrael to his own devices.
Soth broke down Inza’s wards and his undead forces slaughtered the invaders as a do-gooder of the name of Ganelon interrupted Azrael’s ritual. These events lead to the Night of Screaming Shadows, in which the shadows ripped apart Soth’s Keep and the Death Knight disappeared.
Inza survived this ordeal, yet as she was attempting her escape she was accosted by the surviving Wanderers. To escape them, she jumped into the Great Rift. Not the best escape plan…but as she did the shadows embraced and transformed her and she became the new Darklord of Sithicus.
Inza is a mostly hidden Darklord with Azrael attempting to take on the mantle of leadership as she manipulates things to her pleasing from the shadows. Mostly Inza enjoys turning those pure of heart towards the darkness and cares little about actual ruling.
The shadows made her into a creature of formless, shifting darkness. Though, with concentration, she can appear as she was before. She rarely takes anything head on, preferring her minions to handle direct physical conflicts though she has some skill in the arcane and with her dagger, Novgor.
As one of the Wanderers, Inza cannot sleep in the same place twice and as a Darklord cannot ever leave her Domain, which may be trying for a lone Vistana. The presence of someone pure of heart is detrimental to her. Given how difficult it is to fine one so innocent in these lands, I hardly think it’s of much concern for her.
Her shadow form is akin to a vampires mist form, though much faster. She can use it to escape through the smallest cracks in the earth and reverts to this form if defeated so she may raise again another time.
If you make an enemy of Inza, you likely won’t realize it until it’s too late. Her expert manipulation, shadow form, and countless spies make her a difficult individual to counter. Though, I find her type easily dealt with by employing a bit of sunlight.
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the ballad of fancy uncle chucklefuck pt. 6
(previously on fancy uncle chucklefuck: 1, 2, 3 (look at the reblog for the update), 4, 5)
a long one! so this time, a cut!
GUESS WHO HAD A BAD TIME THIS WEEK HAHAHAHAHA
my plans to have fancy uncle chucklefuck idly making breakfast for the recently re-traumatized (BY HIS GOD) party were thwarted bc he instead woke up to being physically threatened by another, different god
bc lol the party weren't the only ones his god had pissed off -- an old god of the land itself had come to menace this sad old dandy and make its complaints Known
old god was understandably pretty upset that yet another power was throwing its weight around in barovia -- and even worse, possibly making itself available to strahd?? you idiot!! you asshole!! what's wrong with you!!
sidebar: feral hagdaughter tried to wallop the old god MULTIPLE TIMES bc it was the sensible thing to do! something seem dangerous? whack it until it goes away! DUH.
anyway btwn the old god's ire + the rest of the party's comments about "worst night of our lives" and "truly fucked nightmare" and the like, fancy uncle chucklefuck started to piece together that his god had maybe FUCKED AROUND only to leave him to be the one to find out! come on!! ¯\_(ಠ_ಠ)_/¯
anyway he went from protesting that he didn't really know anything to, well, protesting that he didn't really know anything, but with more detail.
you know, like admitting this power is something he recognizes but could never have expected to wield bc he doesn't even go here. (in terms of both being not of the royal bloodline, also not even technically from the kingdom, so like ¯\_(ಠ_ಠ)_/¯ !!!)
but also in terms of how, well, the power doesn't look like he remembers it looking. he's used it to make light and to heal -- and he only ever saw it used for violence, or to change the course of a mind.
which, to be fair, it has very obviously been fucking around in everyone's brains so ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
tl;dr it's new, he doesn't like it, he's never seen the god -- or whatever it is -- do anything for anyone that wasn't directly harmful, and the only time it ever saw fit to talk to him! it gave him a migraine! so like! ¯\_(ಠ_ಠ)_/¯
but the worst part was arguably when the old god made some comment about how this god loves him.
uh oh
oh no
why
tangentially, uncle chucklefuck asked Seasonal Affective Disorder: the Warlock a thing he'd been meaning to ask her ever since she said something about how there are "different kinds of dead"
namely whether it's possible for the soul--the self--to be carved out of a body, only for the body to still be breathing
(which was probably the most intense rush of emotion i'd felt at the table thus far bc holy shit not the time he wanted to ask that, if he ever even actually wanted to)
turns out this question hit HER in a terrible and unexpected way, but tl;dr the horrible answer is "YUP"
anyway that was around the point the old god decided it was satisfied -- which it articulated by suggesting they all go walk into a lake so as to not bring any more problems down upon its people or its land. buh-bye!
to which the dragonborn herbo was like "actually that sounds great, byyyyeeeee" and promptly exited stage left
the dour divine bard and SAD: the Warlock went to go talk her through her stress/ongoing powerful aversion to God Shit
which was DARLING esp bc the dour divine bard proved far more emotionally deft and gentle than they had yet dared to be!
but THEN the dragonborn herbo was like "THAT. CHUCKLEFUCK. TOLD ME NOT TO BE VULNERABLE. AND THEN WENT AND EXPOSED HIS ENTIRE FUCKING RIBCAGE TO US." (see 3)
here pictured: me, offscreen, wailing with laughter
SAD: the Warlock's answer to this was along the lines of "to be fair, uncle chucklefuck's probably going through it, and i suspect that awful god is too -- but ALSO, if they touch our brains again, i will kill him :)"
which made the dragonborn herbo feel better so we're all good now! we're fine! we're great! it's chill!
meanwhile fancy uncle chucklefuck had offered to make food for the group before answering any questions they wanted answered and feral hagdaughter was Extremely Interested in breakfast.
which was the most sensible thing that happened all morning and made him finally confess she's his favorite.
while they tended to that, a very distressed farmer's wife politely asked the utena butch bard whether the party planned.....to stay....any longer..... and desperately pretended the farmhouse was SO haunted by the most OBNOXIOUS ghosts so they would probably be MUCH happier if they just CONTINUED ON DOWN THE ROAD...
breakfast ended up remarkably chill all things given. dragonborn herbo (NEEDLESSLY!!!) apologizing for her "outburst" and committing to sticking with the group -- and making clear she keeps her fucking promises.
followed by fancy uncle chucklefuck cautiously offering to part ways with the group bc lol! didn't expect to be contagious! sorry! haha! fuck!
tho he was also talked out of this by the double-punch salvo of 1) we've already caught the contagion and distance probably won't help, 2) strahd has already proved Interested in your god and none of us really want him to get it, so!
ultimately we hit the road again with fancy uncle chucklefuck having changed into the farmer's spare clothes bc 1) god he's tired of putting on fancy face, 2) when he runs out of money, the fancy clothes will also be good for bartering.
and we left off on debating how best to deal with hags who have the bones that we want, with the conclusion that we definitely should not bargain with them, probably could not kill them, and therefore ought to steal from them -- so uncle chucklefuck has a new mission! which is teaching these whippersnappers how to do CRIME.
relatedly, two of the party members who are decidedly not actually whippersnappers due to various circumstances (dour divine bard + SAD: the Warlock) had a sidebar where they were like "hey i maybe Get you in a weird way. anyway are you also feeling 'i just met this dragonborn herbo but if anything happened to her i would kill everyone in this room and then myself?' yes? awesome. good talk."
great and functional party with tremendously admirable coping mechanisms you got there. would be a shame if they were to trauma-bond or something.
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My Curse of Strahd campaign has ended after a whole year! Izek is the NPC that probably got the most torture out of all of them, but at least... well, he got... to use makeup... and nail polish? a win is a win!
More info about the ending under the cut!
Of course, they didn't have a good ending - someone else took Strahd's place and Barovia got an even more powerful vampire overlord (PC, Willow), Ireena/Mirabel (PC) forgot who she was, her bride Izayah (PC) couldn't save anyone (and became a single mother), Ahvain (PC) exploded, his son got isolated from society and had to live brother-bear style with his ancestor (PC, Barak).
Ismark died a horrible death, Izek got the okayest death out of anyone else in this campaign but then his soul got sold to an evil entity so now he has to serve it for eternity </3 slay though
he's one of the npcs that will show up as an active character through the next campaign, even though I accidentally made it so Victorian fashion was immediately followed by viking fashion :D
#my art#digital art#sketch#dnd#dungeons and dragons#npc#rpg#curse of strahd#izek strazni#i guess?#storm kings thunder#stk
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Curse of Strahd, Act I: Pt. 2, Ch. IV -Where The Dead Sleep-
D&D Campaign Retelling Part 2/6 Chapter 4/5 ~7.2k words Content Warnings: Curse of Strahd typical content, Read at own risk
Summary At the burgomaster's mansion our unfortunate souls trapped within Barovia's mists meet Ireena Kolyana, a blessing that will soon join them on their journey for answers. But Ismark fails to tell his sister of her imminent departure and as they argue, another member of the family is met within a coffin. Read Previous Chapters also available on AO3
Ireena steps back from the door with one final look out past them, her eyes seeking other trouble in the waxing night and Emet finds himself glancing as well. Beside him, Roshan stares unblinking at the young woman with red hair. The old man’s smile falters, and even as Ismark ushers the group of strangers into their home, Roshan holds the woman in his eyes like a man seeing the ghost of someone lost within a stranger. The most precious of stolen wonders. Even when he is shuffled in by Evie and Evrrot nudging him ahead, Roshan seems unaware of all else around him. Only her.
Ireena stands off to the side with arms gently wrapped about herself. She absently rubs the soft wool of the well worn scarlet scarf wrapped around her neck like a gentle serpent. Her fingers worrying at the fabric, settling it this way and that as though never satisfied where it rests. Ireena offers each new guest a brief polite smile and a nod, her eyes flicking to Ismark between each expectantly, awaiting the answers to questions Emet can tell she expects her brother to offer sooner rather than later. Namely, who are these people?
Ismark catches her look only after the last guest enters and he swings the door shut.
“Oh, ah, this is my sister Ireena Kolyana. And Ireena, these are—”
Ismark stutters to a halt, a bit of flush spreading across his face.
“Forgive me, in all our conversation I never asked your names,” he smiles sheepishly.
Roshan snaps out of his strange trance, but his sad eyes do not loosen their hold on Ireena, “I am Roshan. It is of great pleasure to meet you, Ireena.”
Her polite and practiced smile is a little hesitant under his intense stare, but she offers it all the same as she likely has been taught to do so to every guest that has been welcomed within these halls. And once rich halls they have been.
Emet studies the foyer as the others offer their names—first names only, of course—and polite hellos. The manor holds the decadent finery of a middle tier barony, but the metal is tarnished, the wood scuffed and wanting for polish, the tapestry faded and thread worn, the furniture in need of a seamstress’ fine touch. The illusion of grandeur long since having fallen, a lord who still receives invitation to galas, but only out of pity for who they once were. A family clinging to the decadence of a memory that now eludes them. Like the Blood on the Vine tavern, the manor holds the wear of a place lived in, not a callus and sterile palace of perfection that is more a museum to wealth than a home. Wealth lost to time and decay.
Ireena’s burnt honey eyes catch Emet’s gaze wandering about her home with a sense of anticipation and he realizes he is all that is left in these introductions.
“Emet, the pleasure of your company is mine.”
He dips his head in a half bow, hair spilling past his shoulders and sharp elven ears. Her eyes linger on them and follow him back up to full height with curiosity written across her expression, but she holds herself back before she can voice whatever question holds her captive.
Ismark quickly shuffles to a set of closed double doors with little scratch marks near their base as if a cat or small dog once pawed for entry in its past. There’s a hurriedness to him as though trying to make up for his previous lapse in introductions.
“Come, we can sit and—”
Ireena’s eyes widen even before the doors open, her hand flashing out in silent command. But it is too late. The doors swing inward to reveal a dark sitting room with a fireplace long gone cold and still, every curtain drawn tight as the grave. Fitting, as an open coffin sits atop the low coffee table.
Evrrot grabs Roshan’ shoulder in the split second it takes for Ireena to reach the doors the charmer is already pointing at the casket, its upper half hinged open with the silhouette of a body just beyond the bar of light stretching across the floors from the open doors. He gives the holy man a look as if to say, That’s a body. That’s a fucking body right there. You’re seeing this right?
Ireena grabs the doors from her brother’s hands and slams them shut behind her back. She leans against them protectively, face flushed half as bright as her hair. Ismark gives his sister an apologetic look and she burns him with a silent glare, torn between embarrassment and frustration. He’d clearly known, but if the darkened circled under his eyes speak of anything, it is a message of forgetfulness born of endless restlessness. Not carelessness.
“Sorry,” Ireena breathes hastily, “Our father…we haven’t had a moment to lay him to rest. We’ve been preoccupied.”
She touches her neck as she says the last word, adjusting the scarlet scarf once more with a gentle tug higher. Her gaze softens toward Ismark, all forgiven in an instant. He kisses the top of her head.
“All is well.” Emet can almost feel the ache in Roshan’s voice as the holy man watches the two siblings a moment longer. Something heavy and dark sits behind his eyes before they shutter shut in an instant, closing as sharply as the doors and the warm smile returns, “Do you have any powdered silver?”
“Powdered silver?” Ireena repeats.
“If you do not mind. I can perform a funeral rite so your father may rest undisturbed.”
“Undis—ah. I’m afraid we have nothing so fine, though I am grateful for the offer. Truly.” She straightens, tapping the door behind her lightly as though afraid they will open of their own accord,” But you are our guests. Please, is there anything I might get you? Drink or food perhaps. Our supplies are limited I’m afraid, but we have wine and I can make a stew for dinner if you are staying?”
“I wouldn’t say no to some food,” Evrrot pipes up, his belly still full—Emet would hope—with his very recent late lunch.
All but Ireena give him a questioning glance.
“A man’s gotta eat,” he shrugs. An alluring smiles curls over his devilish fangs,”And anything crafted by your lovely hands would be most welcome.”
Evie looks like she wants to punch him. Emet wouldn’t mind the distraction.
“Of course, I’ll start to prepare something.”
Ismark stops his sister with a light touch before she can go, a troubled expression having taken him over before the offering for food and having deafened him to Evrrot’s comment. His voice holds a weight in his throat as though he does not wish to speak what he must say, but he steels himself.
“There is something we must discuss first, Ireena. This group will accompany you to Vallaki in the morning. They have already agreed to escort you on their way to their own business. You will be safer there—”
A tight smile cuts across Ireena’s soft features, silencing her brother.
“Would you all excuse me and my brother?” Ireena asks sweetly, though her tone poorly hides the sharp edge within it. She holds Ismark beneath her stern gaze. “There’s something we need to discuss. Privately.”
Ismark’s shoulders fall and Ireena takes his hand, dragging him across the foyer to a set of doors opposite the coffin filled sitting room. The door closes behind them with a sharp snap.
It takes all of five seconds for Evrrot’s tenuous hold on self control to completely disintegrate without supervision. His seductive charming smile drops like a curtain over a stage and he opens the sitting room doors, strolling right up to the corpse filled coffin as though it is a piece of art to be admired. Evie and Roshan share a you first look before they both follow. Emet shakes his head and remains in the foyer. He crosses his arms and squeezes the muscle, releasing his tension with a breath. This isn’t their home. And if Ireena wanted her father on full display, she wouldn’t have shut the doors.
Emet’s never understood nosiness. The people who pry into every place they do not belong, riffling through the cabinets of other’s lives and homes seeking knowledge they themselves would hide. Everyone has their secrets. Some are not meant to be plucked from the shelf and opened like a book upon a desk. Some should stay shelved forever.
His back to the coffin room, Emet listens to the hushed conversation behind him while doing his best to ignore the muffled heated words ahead.
“See that?” Evrrot’s quiet voice carries across the wooden floors. “Wolf claws likely. Not zombie. The cuts are too sharp and deep for any sort of humanoid fingers. Our nails don’t get that sharp.”
“Speak for yourself,” Evie retorts, flashing he newly sharpened talons.
Emet shivers. Phantom hands trail across his body, their cold fingers tracing over every scar with a promise to open them again. The largest of his scars, the deep wound marring his back and piercing through to its twin upon his chest aches deeply.
“The coffin’s poorly made,” Evie says under her breath. She trails one of her sharpened nails along the rough planks and Emet grips his arms tightly, feeling its ghost trail along his bones. Poorly hammered nails and glue keep the coffin together without skill, but there is no lack of care. “Guess there’s no proper undertakers in this place.”
“Or they have been taken under themselves,” Roshan says grimly.
Evrrot sweeps out of the room on silent feet toward the closed door where Ireena and Ismark argue in hushed tones, his interest in the dead lost. Emet half wishes he grabbed the tiefling as he passed, but if the charmer desires the ire of his hosts, it will be all too deserving a fate. With one tapered red ear carefully set against the door, Evrrot closes his eyes and listens. To Emet, the words are muffled and hushed, spoken by people who do not wish to be heard, but having a conversation filled with emotion that demands volume.
He can make out a few sentences against his better judgement, but there is nowhere else to go. Ireena yells she is no coward, that she will not abandon friend and neighbor. Ismark explaining he does not think her one and that he is not asking her to abandon anyone. He says their people in Vallaki need a leader. They need her.
There is such silence afterward Emet wonders if all has been spoken. But Ismark voice returns now with a tremor in his voice. It is Ireena’s choice in the end, but he cannot bear to loose her too. Ireena’s fire falls to tears and she tells him she will go. Even if only for him. But she has one condition. Whatever is spoken next is so quiet Emet would guess even the meddlesome tiefling fails to hear it.
Were he a better man, Emet would have dragged Evrrot away from the door by the horns or at least made some noise loud enough for their hosts to realize they have an audience. Were he a better anything, maybe he wouldn’t have listened himself. But Emet supposes he stopped being a good man months ago.
The phantom hands tracing his scars briefly wrap around his throat and fade away.
Evrrot slips from the door deftly, barely a sound as he sidesteps to a nearby decorative table topped with various trinkets and examines them with feigned interest just as the doors softly click open.
Ireena and Ismark walk out together, their faces blotchy and stained with the trails of recent tears. Emet casts his eyes to the side and allows them a moment to wipe away the stray rivers of their eyes and sniffle back the last of what remains. Those who grieve do not need prying eyes upon them.
When Ismark finally addresses him, Emet meets the man’s eyes without letting his gaze wander like a pointed finger to their reddened eyes and noses. They both offer him a faint nod in thanks.
“You look strong, if you don’t mind me saying.” Ireena clears the strain from her throat, “Would you be willing to help bear our father to the church in the morning so we might finally give him rest?”
“Of course. It would be no trouble.”
“I can as well.” Evie steps from the open coffin room, “I’m stronger than I look, especially when it comes to coffins.”
An interesting choice of words.
Ireena eyes her as Evie drifts out of the room she closed off to them—Roshan still within and praying over the coffin. There’s almost relief and resignation in that look. Perhaps there is peace when the skeleton no longer must be hidden in the closet. She gives Evie a nod and Emet realizes he never really noticed how short Evie is until this moment. Even with her platform boots and swept up hair, she still stands beneath Ireena’s height. Emet wonders how well carrying a coffin will go between the two of them.
“Ismark and I talked,” Ireena continues. “I’ll come with you to Vallaki. It may be best after all.”
Emet thought he’d hear resignation in her tone, perhaps resentment or the continued indignation she’d displayed at plans having been made about her life without her consent. But whatever hushed words were spoken behind those closed doors soothed her anger and warmed her to the idea—even if only faintly. The young woman turns to her brother and takes him in as if trying to remember every last detail should it be the last. Her eyes start to glisten once more.
Were he a kinder man, Emet would never ask now the question they all politely avoid. But if they are to stay here this night and if Ireena is to join them further, it is an answer they must know.
“There is something we should know.”
Ireena wipes at her eyes and Ismark sniffles.
“Might I ask why your…” Emet thinks a moment for a gentler word,” late night visitor is so fascinated with you, Ireena?”
Ireena swallows the lump in her throat and adjusts her scarf once more. He catches a glimpse of the angry punctures along her neck this time, swollen and red. Two deep fissures the width of a human mouth’s canines scarring her perfectly smooth skin, the faint bruising along the rest of her neck where the other teeth once left their indentation. She hides it beneath the soft scarlet cloth as vibrant as the blood that must have spilled down her throat.
Ismark rubs his sister’s shoulder and from the corner of his vision, Evie’s glare threatens Emet with physical violence. But Emet continues without accusation or blame in his questioning, trying to be as careful as one can with such a delicate subject.
“I only ask to assess the dangers we may face in your company. It is better to know what we are dealing with before it is too late to ask.”
Ireena nods to herself, fingers pressed tightly into the folds of crimson cloth. “I wish I knew…but I don’t.”
There is such vulnerability to those words.
Within her hands she holds a broken fragment of herself, one violently shattered like porcelain in the careless hands of another. If she held up what was broken it would fit in the space left behind, but it will never look the same. There will always be the lines of fracture. Evidence of harm making sure she can never go back to how she was before. Everything poured within will spill out and remind her again that she will never be whole.
The scar along Emet’s chest aches and Ireena’s eyes find the floor.
“Perhaps they’re like mosquitoes,” Evie smiles for the first time, her dark tinted lips soft and gentle, filled with such radiating warmth. And it is such a genuine, disarming thing, held out only for Ireena. “Mosquitoes have an attraction to red hair.”
Ireena chuckles despite herself, gratitude in her eyes.
Evie’s face reddens a little.
“So what about dinner?” Evrrot asks, leaning against the decorative table. Perhaps it is his own way of diffusing the situation—or perhaps he is simply an ass.
“You just ate!” Evie snaps.
Ireena’s smile brights and throws her head back in laughter, wiping away tears of another kind.
Ismark grabs a thick winter coat from a hook beside the front door and bow leaning in the corner, “It is no worry. I will hunt us something while I am out organizing the search for Gertruda.”
The ache still radiates hollow in Emet’s chest. He is grateful Evie undid the pain in Ireena. “Please don’t go out of your way for us.” Emet says, “Save your supplies.”
Ismark waves him off and slings the bow over his shoulder, kissing Ireena on the cheek in farewell. She tells him to be back soon and he slips out into the bitter cold of the setting day with promises of return. Ireena locks the doors behind him, several bolts and locks and bars sliding into place.
Roshan looks up from his prayers over the coffin, “How about salt. Do you have salt?”
Emet wonders if the old man is even aware of the past few minutes.
Ireena is just as confused by the sudden change in direction, “We have some, yes—”
“Good, good. I can perform a different rite for your father to help preserve his body. One that does not require the silver.”
It does not take Ireena long to procure a small pouch of salt from the kitchens, the leather satchel barely larger than her closed fist. Emet hopes that isn’t all they possess. His gut sinks at the thought of eating so dearly into their meager supplies.
Roshan bows as he takes the salt and sets himself up around the open coffin. Ireena tosses a few pieces of wood—the few left—into the fireplace and lights it, giving the holy man some light to work by. They gather around the coffin.
Emet glimpses the corpse for the first time, taking in the squared off jaw, the sharp cut corners of his face. The resemblance to Ismark is strong, yet he sees none within Ireena. The body isn’t very old either. Though his flesh is a shade of pale on the dead can achieve, one would think the man were sleeping if he weren’t resting within coffin. The unnatural stillness of his chest, the lack of a gentle pulse in his neck, and the deep gouge of darkened blood peeking above the clean cut collar the only signs that he is not merely resting.
And there’s that emptiness. The kind Emet never could get use to.
A void where a person should be and though your eyes tell you they are right there, one gentle touch from opening their eyes, you can feel it. An absence and emptiness. The hollow left behind when a soul has fallen through a hole in the world you cannot see nor follow. The sensation of stepping to the edge of a cliff not knowing glass has been stretched across it. You cannot fall and yet you feel the emptiness beneath your feet calling and wonder if you are wrong.
Emet feels the pull as he looks into the coffin. The body a portal into a fate that awaits him and all on another day. The edge of some place he cannot yet see nor reach. Not yet. But it is there all the same.
“What caused these wounds?” Emet asks, trying to chase away the thoughts and memories of a field of bodies all calling for him to follow.
“Wolves,” Ireena replies softly. She watches Roshan’s hands work, his calloused fingers setting two copper coin atop the man’s sealed eyes. “They were everywhere during the siege. The risen dead, wolves, and whatever else joined the small army surrounding our home.”
“Regular wolves or dire?” Emet pauses realizing this must sound like an interrogation. “Apologies for the questions. I suppose I’m trying to understand the dangers of this land.”
“It’s okay, all of this must be so strange to you. They were regular, I think. Maybe a few larger. My father told me to keep away from the windows before they were boarded up with whatever we could sacrifice to block the entrances. So I suppose I didn’t get a good look.”
“Why him?” Emet presses gently, “If you don’t mind…”
“I don’t. Kolyan—my father—he is the,” Ireena stops herself, “was the burgomaster before Ismark. Ismark isn’t technically burgomaster yet, but he might as well be. The people have no one else to turn to. No one else to blame. He might as well hold the title.”
Though Emet can see the same questions in the others’ eyes, none open their mouths, seeing fit to let him continue swallowing the blade on their behalf. They busy themselves with interest in Roshan’s ritual, but their ears listen.
“And what made the hoard leave?” He asks.
Quiet settles over Ireena, heavy as a mourning veil. Only the hushed murmurs of Roshan’s prayers fill the expectant silence.
“They left after my father fell. For an entire week, they did not break these walls. This old house held out strong and the boards on the windows kept them at bay. Repairing the boards was dangerous work. The more intelligent of the creatures outside kept attacking them like they knew it was the weakest part of our defenses, others battered themselves against the stones mindlessly until their skulls were broken and their hands little more than stubs. A wolf managed to gnaw its way through one of the weakened planks, its jaws snapping and trying to break off more. My father tried repairing it before the wolf could get inside, but its jaws found him instead.”
Ireena’s voice grows quiet and soft, tender with guilt for all the possibilities she did not make reality. “I didn’t see what happened…I was upstairs. But Ismark told me the beast dragged him through and shredded him. It went quiet after that.”
She looks so small and vulnerable. A wounded creature with blood in her fur and horrors her eyes. Emet wants to mend her pain and take away its burden, but he doesn’t know how. His healing cannot close these wounds.
Emet glances back into the coffin at the man who was claimed to be shredded. Kolyan’s face is left almost entirely untouched. Strahd must have wanted it to be known without doubt who he’d killed for the deep gouge in the man’s neck is the only visible wound. But like Emet’s, the majority hide beneath his fine clothes. Unnatural wrinkles in the shirt and trousers where the cloth sinks too deeply. The wolf must have eaten well.
Emet pities the son forced to dress the ruined remains of his father. Those are memories that will haunt Ismark’s dreams forever.
“Strahd was likely making a point,” Emet says. “That if he could get to the most powerful of you, then he can get to anyone.”
Ireena quickly swipes away a tear, “That’s what Ismark thinks too.”
Evie inches closer to Ireena, a desire in her eyes to comfort the young woman but not knowing how. She resolves to stand close, perhaps willing her strength into the girl she wants to save.
Roshan continues his prayers without stop, the words spoken so low and quick Emet isn’t entirely sure he speaks the common tongue at all, but another. One unfamiliar to Emet’s ears. Copper coins glint atop forever shut eyes, the holy man’s weathered and scarred hands sprinkling the salt in patterns across Kolyan’s stilled chest. It seems this rite is no sooner to being done than the moon is to rising and the rest of them are of no aid in its completion.
Ireena reaches out a hand to her fallen father, but stops before she can touch his chest. Her palm hovering over the body with trembling fingers wanting so desperately to feel him, but frozen at the idea. Feeling what has been stolen will only break her again. Emet takes a heavy step away from the coffin, allowing his gauntlet to scrape against the rough wood as he turns. The sound pulls Ireena back and she blinks, withdrawing her hand in a clenched fist.
She straightens her navy doublet and takes a filling breath, releasing the hold of the dead on her mind, “Come, I’ll show you to your rooms.”
Ireena shepherds Emet and Evie out, leaving the holy man to do his righteous business. It’s only now Emet realizes that Evrrot is nowhere to be seen. The charmer likely already snooping where he is unwanted and unwelcome.
Opposite the front doors, a set of oak stairs covered in worn and faded blue runners vanish into the darkness of the second floor. Ireena plucks a candle from one of the sconces and lights the path ahead of them. The stairs creak gently beneath their weight, the tired old bones of the manor beginning to sag and bow beneath the weight of generations.
The upper floor bisects the manor, two halves of a hall stretching in opposite directions with their stairs at their center. The candlelight—brighter than the sun in these lands—reveals multiple doors lining each path and one tiefling standing in the shadows. Evrrot looks into one of the rooms down the right hall.
“I see you’ve found our guest rooms,” Ireena remarks lightly.
Evrrot straightens, but does not apologize. He doesn’t even appear embarrassed.
“I can take this one.”
A single bed fills the modest room, the decor having seen better days as most have in Barovia but it’s functional and better still than most inns. Evrrot roughly tosses his bag into a corner and hops onto the bed, boots and all. His long coat drapes over the fine linens likely staining them in the leather’s smokey scent. Lounging on the bed like he’s spent his life sleeping in it, Evrrot props his boots up on the footboard and folds his hands beneath his head, careful to avoid the sharp points of his horns. He spends a few seconds adjusting his tail until it lays just right.
“Close the door behind you, please.”
Ireena does so politely.
A second single-bed room shares its wall further down the same hall. Ireena opens the available room’s door with a brief showing and leaves it ajar as an option. To the left of the stairs, Ireena opens two more doors. The room closest the stairs holds two small beds, perhaps a bit more worn in the way a children’s room is always more worn than that of the parents. Maybe this is where Ismark and Ireena slept as children.
The farthest room down this left hall holds a modest sized bed with a small bath. This room is clearly lived in more so than the previous guest rooms. A pastel pink canopy falls across the pale bedding embroidered in floral patterns.
“This was my room.” Ireena picks at her scarf, “But I don’t like to stay here anymore.”
There is no delicate way to ask, but Emet tries, “Can he enter the entire building or just this room?”
“Everything, I’m afraid. If your concern is for your safety, perhaps each of you could share rooms tonight. It would probably be safer that way anyways…”
“My concern is less for myself, and more for you.”
Ireena blinks at that, watching Emet as he studies the entry points of the rooms and the proximity and distance between them with an expression caught between surprise and a touched warmth. Emet averts his eyes, finding himself undeserving of the change after the questions he asked so coldly.
“If you need anything, just call out. I sleep little and light being what I am,” he touches one of the points of his ears. “No matter the time, I’ll be there.”
The warmth in Ireena’s faint smile grows until even the candle dims beneath it and she quickly goes about fussing with the room in a flustered hurry. Ireena adjusts the already immaculate bedding and fluffs the pillows a bit more, finding something beneath them and quickly tossing it in one of her wardrobes. She keeps looking around the room as if expecting to find some embarrassing item or two to hide, but finally ushers Emet in to settle himself.
He sets his bag on the floor beside the door and Ireena debates between closing it or keeping it open. She settles on halfway.
“I’ll have dinner ready in a few hours if you’d like to rest for now.”
“Thank you, I’ll be down.”
Evie keeps to Ireena’s side as the two women leave him for the double-bed room next to his and with the door open, Emet can hear their conversation.
Evie clears her throat lightly, “If it’s alright with you, I’d rather not share a room with a strange man. I’ve only just met these people, literally this day as long ago as that might seem at this point. And…” she ventures carefully, “it didn’t sound like you were too eager to be in your own room. Would you be willing to share with me? If that’s better for you. If you’d rather not, like, bunk up that’s fine too.”
“No, no. It’s completely okay with me.” There’s a gladness in Ireena’s tone that Evie asked first. “This isn’t the best room, I hope that’s alright.”
“That’s fine with me. I mean, I’ll sleep on the floors these days, I really don’t care.”
“That won’t be needed,” a smile in her voice.
“I have a blanket and everything—”
“We have two beds!” Ireena laughs, “And I wouldn’t ask it. I’d much rather you be cozy, especially after what you’ve been through coming to this land. I’m sure you need a decent night’s sleep.”
Emet smiles as he hears Ireena settle Evie into the room.
“May your soul find the ever-rising dawn of Lathander’s light,” Roshan whispers.
His weathered and scarred fingers sprinkle the last of the salted patterns atop Kolyan’s quiet chest and he voices the final line of his prayers. Roshan’s words ignite something in the body’s core beneath the patterns of salt and he feels it bloom in his own chest. A pulse of heat radiating off hot desert sands and warming his bones. It is the presence Roshan has felt beside him ever since he found his faith at the end of his chains. A presence that has been cold ever since he found himself in these death touched lands. But now it returns.
His god has returned.
Roshan sighs deeply, clutching the warmth in his chest to hold it close forever though knowing that it will rise and set as the sun within him. It is always strong when he uses his gifts, a blazing heat that burns within his heart and hands, igniting his tongue in divine power. And it is a gentle warmth when his gifts are not needed. The affection of a lover that warms the soul and keeps it aglow.
The heat settles into the coziness of a cat curling up in a sunbeam and Roshan knows his faith has been proven. His god’s favor has found him even in lands where the sun is choked into submission by the dark and it’s warmth is little more than a shallow grave drowning beneath a river’s cold waters. But his god is here. He feels him now.
A dawn light falls over Kalyan’s body though there is no open windows nor sun to cast it. The rays descending from the darkened ceiling, breaking through from the heavens to answer his prayers. It fades all too soon and slips away like a vision in the night. But Roshan knows his prayers are answered. Kolyan’s remains are sanctified and Lathander has found his faithful servant once more.
“Thank you for finding me again, my lord.”
Roshan sits back on his knees and watches with reverence as the last of the ritual’s dawn light slowly fades. But the vision twists as his eyes catch on Kolyan’s wounds. Dark scars cutting deep into the man’s pale flesh vanish to further horrors beneath his clothes. The wounds weep in the light as though the congealed blood has thinned again and the heart has found its beat.
Roshan blinks and the vision is gone. The wounds dry and blood dark with coagulation once more. He rubs his eyes. The wounds remain old. It has been a long day…perhaps it was simply his eyes.
Roshan rises from his prayerful kneel.
“I am done—where has everyone gone?”
He is halfway out of the sitting room when Ireena quietly descends the stairs.
“Was it successful?” She asks, hope suspended in her voice.
“The body should be okay for about ten days.”
She breathes in relief, “Thank you. That is a weight off my shoulders. Ismark will be pleased as well.”
“Better than having you kill your own father if he rises again.”
That was probably not the best thing to say, he realizes too late.
“Yes, that—that’s for the best,” Ireena stammers. “I can show you to your room, if you’d like.”
The old stairs complain as much as Roshan’s feet as they climb. He takes his time, leaning on his shepherd’s crook with each step and Ireena slows to match his pace. His feet may truly ache, but that is more because he has spent the better part of two days walking. It has nothing to do with his age. He is only thirty-two after all. But Roshan has learned many things in his life, and one of those lessons is that if you act old, people will treat you like you are old. And they will never guess how quickly you can move. He will laugh the day he dashes around Ireena.
The young red haired woman studies Roshan curiously as they climb the old steps and the not-so-old old man realizes she must have seen the sadness in his eyes when they first met and seeks its source now. It is obvious she wants to ask, but Ireena does not do so with her words. The nobles of Calimshan were the same. Politeness overrules many things among nobility.
Roshan simply smiles warmly at her, a smile he knows does not shine in his eyes when he looks at her. Ireena reminds him of someone he misses quite dearly and the sweetness of seeing a young woman so similar to her is tinged with sorrow’s bitter taste.
Ireena leads him down the right hall at the top of the steps.
“Evrrot has taken this first room, but there is another just there past it.” She points to the open door down the hall.
“And where is your room?”
“First door on the left,” she points down the opposite hall. “I’ll be staying with Evie.”
He hums to himself. The distance is more than Roshan would like if any threat were to visit this dear girl in the night. Evie may be in the room with her, but he is not certain of the angry girl’s abilities in a true fight. He worries her hiss may be worse than her bite.
“And Evrrot is in this one?”
Ireena nods, “I’ll be just downstairs if you need anything. Dinner should be ready in a couple hours.”
The lovely girl descends the old staircase and Roshan knocks on Evrrot’s door. A loud sigh comes from the room before the door opens. The tiefling raises his brow, the picture of a man who has been interrupted doing something of the utmost importance in his very empty room with nothing to occupy him. Except himself, Roshan supposes.
“Do you want to room together, friend?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Roshan half turns to go, “Is it not better to be safe in numbers?”
“I wanna sleep by myself.”
Evrrot closes the door in Roshan’s face.
“Okay.”
Roshan does not let Evrrot dampen his good cheer in the slightest. His lord has led him to his purpose, guided him from the cursed forest to a town with answers, led him to Ismark and Ireena, blessed him with the power to sanctify Kolyan’s body, and returned to him again as the sun returns to the land every dawn. This is a good day.
And if anything should happen in the night, he trusts his lord will wake him. Either that or the sounds of screams.
Evrrot shuts the door in the old man’s face.
Does he want to share a room—of course he doesn’t to share a room with the old badger! That doddering old fool chasing his godsdamned “holy” feather is why Evrrot’s stuck in this cursed shit hole and the priest has been stepping on Evrrot’s heels ever since. The others are no better. Tailor—how else would the fucking giant find clothes to fit—and Thorns were dragged by their weird trinkets too, no matter what lies they told him. Arcane focus and heirloom or some shit. Not the worst lies. Not the best.
He should know.
The best lies hide the truth by using it. And the best liars can tell a man he picked up the wrong sword from weapon collection and make him believe a hilt stuck in a scabbard full of rocks is his while you walk away with a new blade to sell. Tone, emotion, plausibility. All of these are necessary. Threads was close calling that amber shard an arcane focus. Evrrot suspects there’s a small bit of truth to that, but the man tried to sound too casual. Casual in the way someone who’s just had their diary picked up tries to say it’s just a book they’re not particularly enjoying in the hopes the other will lose interest and leave it before their secrets come spilling out of the pages for all the world to see.
And Thorns. Evrrot would’ve expected her to be a born liar with the way she acts and dresses. He can’t imagine a punk on the street would get very far without a silver tongue. Maybe he caught her off guard with the question. She had just been dragged into a new world by the very thing she wanted to keep secret, after all. Guess it surprised her too.
Evrrot surveys the bedroom he’s claimed for the night. It’s close to the stairs should shit go down, there’s only one window, and the planks across it look like they’ve seen the least amount of damage out of all the rooms. He checked. Evrrot suspects one good kick from the inside and he’ll be home free should he need a second exit. It’s a two story jump, but he’s dealt with worse.
At first glance around the room there’s little of interest. But first glances often miss quite a bit and Evrrot isn’t the type of man who likes to miss things. Missed things turn into bad things that can be quite dangerous for one’s health—like when there’s an explosive rune carved into a jewelry box if you don’t have the key. But on occasion, missed things turn out to be quite beneficial when found. That’s why a bit of impolite prying can turn up some pretty interesting secrets. The kind that can be weaponized at the right moment. And the best way to hide those is with magic.
Evrrot’s never been particularly adept at magic. He can’t exactly spit out spell after spell like those wizardy sorcerous types, but he has a few tricks of his own. Tracing a brief sigil in the air with the force of what little infernal arcanum burns in his blood, the sigil ignites like embers in the air and flashes in his eyes. The dark brown burning to hellish gold as the room unfolds around him in faint colorful auras.
If there’s anything here hidden by magic of any kind, it will light up like a faerie bonfire of colored light in his arcana infused eyes. The spell only lasts ten minutes, but that’s more than enough time for someone with his expertise in a room as small as this one.
He glances around with the eager itch of excitement in his fingertips..
Fuck.
There is absolutely nothing. Not a single trace of arcane aura anywhere. That’s not exactly uncommon, but it catches him as a bit strange. Were this a tavern or an inn, sure. The owners would never waste their money on enchanted things that could be stolen by guests. Were this the home of some poor sod off the street, it would also make sense. They can never afford anything beyond the food in their bellies. But a rich man’s house? Even as faded from wealth and high society as Ismark and Ireena have become, he expected something to catch his spell even if it’s no more than a little enchantment on the windows to keep the draft out or some small spell to make sure the bed is never cold.
Evrrot plops himself heavily on the side of the bed, his ass sinking several inches into the plush layers and bending his tail uncomfortably. He shifts it without thought as one born with a tail does after all these years. How the other races exist without a tail, he doesn’t understand. What must it feel like to not have a counterbalance? And how do they not confuse each other when there’s no expression in their tails while they speak? Anger isn’t just furrowing one’s brows and making fists. There’s fiery anger, irritated anger, cold anger and the tail is how he’s always read which he’s dealing with. It’s hard to read tailless folk sometimes, but he’s gotten better over the years.
Bored and hungry, his tail taps an irritated rhythm along the soft covers. Evrrot is about to leave and see if anyone’s made food yet when his eyes drift to the small night table beside the bed. A tarnished candlestick catches the dripping wax of the freshly lit candlestick Ireena lit for him. Next to it, tucked beside a fancy paperweight, sits a small book—a journal likely seeing as it holds no title along its cover or spine.
He snatches it up and flips through the pages back to front. A habit he picked up in his line of work. People are more likely to hide the best bits near the end or on the backside of pages. Most of the pages are crisp and blank. Disappointing. The only thing of interest is a list of names near the front. None of them are familiar but they all sound very Barovian based off the names he’s heard so far. Lot’s of -vich’s and -yana’s. Several of the names are crossed off, but a small group circled thrice over snags his attention in passing.
Oleg, Mirasov, Svetlana, Liliana, Ivanna.
All of them ending in Lansten.
Evrrot files the names in his mind incase they will be of interest later and tosses the book back on the night table. There are still several minutes left on his magic detection spell, so Evrrot goes about checking all the usual places people hide their secrets. And when he finishes with the room, he sneaks out and finds the places not welcome to him.
The rich always have secrets.
#dark fantasy#gothic fiction#gothic fantasy#curse of strahd#strahd von zarovich#barovia#d&d campaign#dnd vampire#vampire fiction#ireena kolyana#curse of strahd ireena#cos ireena#cos ismark#ismark kolyanovich#ismark the lesser#my fiction#my writing#tales of no one
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Alek Gwilym in our Curse of Strahd campaign:
We found Strahd's journal in-world, so of course we all read I, Strahd by P. N. Elrod.
We were all pretty taken with Alek Gwilym. But wtf happened to him after he disappeared? (The module apparently doesn't even include him. So our DM took some creative liberties.)
It's so complicated. It's great, but... yikes. It all begins with Vampyr, of course. Vampyr is an evil entity that was able to escape its prison within the Amber Temple by tempting Strahd into the deal that changed him and locked down Barovia.
Alek overheard the ordeal. Strahd ended up killing him, drinking his blood, and locking his body in a closet. Later, Strahd discovered that Alek's body had disappeared.
This is how our campaign addressed what happened next:
Vampyr took Alek's body to use as a puppet. He altered the body to look like a Dusk Elf, and somehow replaced people's memories/knowledge of Alek with... Rahadin. Rahadin has that screamy madness mind thing because it's Vampyr pulling the strings there, and Vampyr is a powerful old entity that snacks on despair. Trying to peek into that mess would drive you crazy.
Okay, so that's Alek's body... and a better role for Rahadin than just a weird Renfield stand-in like he seems to be in the mod book. (I was told there's a part where he eats toads? For like, no actual reason?)
What about Alek's soul? Does it get recycled or something?
In the Amber Temple, there's a clockwork robot guy. He's chained up and broken. We ask him what his name is and he just says "Pain." But we find out it's Alek. It's Alek, tortured and broken and in this weird form, but Vampyr hasn't been able to eat away at his soul like he has with other Barovians.
We find out Alek's soul is protected (to a degree, anyway) by the Traveler. The Traveler is the only deity actually truly present in Barovia, because they're Neutral and travelling is literally Their Thing. You can't keep the Traveler out of anywhere.
It was a really cool thing to find out, because I'm playing a trickster cleric whose patron is the Traveler. It retroactively gave me a cool in-game reason for my absolute craving to find Alek and get him back into the story. Like the Traveler was nudging my cleric toward him.
So, we discovered "Rahadin" is actually Alek's body. We found Alek's soul. And we are on friendly terms with the Abbott near Krezk, who is outright a Celestial entity.
I was wondering how exactly to get Alek's body out of Vampyr's control. How to get Rahadin out in the open again, and how to fight something that was clearly out of our depth...
But I'm happy to report that we did manage it. We are now (finally?) officially on Strahd's shit list for "murdering" his steward, and we're cut off from the towns now, but... Worth It. We're nearing the end game anyway.
As of now, we've brought the pieces of Alek to the Abbott, and asked him if he can put Alek back together. He said it'll take about a week to do it right. (A horribly long time to wait in-world at this point, but again... worth it.)
Alek Gwilym will be resurrected.
My hope is that he will help us defeat Vampyr. That's right. Not Strahd. We're not fighting Strahd. We're going at the root of this thing. We're taking on Vampyr. Honestly, I'm hoping (betting) we can (with Alek's help) get Strahd to fight Vampyr with us. Because Vampyr has been screwing Strahd over since the beginning of all this, too. In his weakest moment, he was driven to murder his most loyal ally. He never gets his "heart's desire". He's as much a victim as the rest of Barovia, despite his power.
It's time to undo what should never have been done.
Vampyr's reign began by Alek Gwilym's death. It will end by Alek Gwilym's life.
#i sure hope that sounded as cool as I thought#curse of strahd#creative liberties#alek gwilym#i strahd#vampyr#amber temple#stralek#the traveler#combining characters#strahd von zarovich
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Session 74 - The Last Fight
Wish I had time to draw some art here, but alas, Dwarf Fortress has captured my attention for the weekend and I have work to catch up on. :(
I usually wait a few sessions to do a summary but I wanna share how this one went because it was entirely unexpected and I fuckin’ loved what happened.
spoiler alert: the ship was saved. :)
Continuation off of this.
So the party, after fighting a number of vampire spawn, arrives at Ravenloft. They (and the players) have a few moments of reminiscence as they wander the halls, and they head to the cathedral assuming that’s where Strahd has taken the pendant containing Ireena’s soul. He’s not there... but he IS towards the back, off the balcony. They catch his shadow outside and follow him.
The setup:
Note: the orange is a wall of force that Strahd pre-casted, because of course he did.
The party go back and forth a bit with him. Strahd remarks that the party “had a downgrade” as they’ve replaced Luther/Arialoth (in his words, “an attractive redhead and a sexy tiefling”) with Kjosev and Yolihuali (”some kind of tree hobo and a giant lizard”). The party is at this point not fucking around, demanding to know where Ireena is. He tells them Tatyana’s safe, and that he’s going to free her.
He then pulls out the necklace containing Tatyana/Ireena’s soul... and crushes it, freeing her, before stomping on it a few times for good measure.
Once Tatyana’s free, they can’t really, in good faith, put her back in Ireena’s body. Ireena’s effectively dead. The rest of the party knows this, and reacts in abject horror.
Except Ellerian. Who makes a command decision...
... to cast wish.
One of the simpler things Wish can do without completely fucking up is “undoing a single recent action.” That’s what Ellerian was banking on. All he wished was to go back a round, right before the moment Strahd smashed the amulet.
So it does. The pendant reforms. It flies upwards, back into Strahd’s hand. And everyone kind of stands there as time rewrites itself, confused for a moment. And then initiative starts.
Everyone rolls initiative, knowing that, essentially the moment Strahd goes he’s going to obliterate that amulet again. The party spends about two inspiration trying to get Kelogul’s initiative higher up. Sadly, it doesn’t work...
... But luckily for them, there’s a giant blue elf in the party who does get to go first, and is exceptionally pissed/scared of his wife permanently dying.
So Rahadin tries to run up to Strahd and actually runs face-first into the Wall of Force. Thankfully, dusk elves are essentially reskinned shadar-kai in our game, so he just... teleports past it. He disarms Strahd of the amulet, taking it.
But there’s a bit of a problem. Strahd is physically stronger than Rahadin. He knows that when it’s Strahd’s turn, he’s just immediately going to take it back. There’s no way to keep it away from him in combat without leaving Ireena at risk.
... But Rahadin is also standing about 10 feet away from a balcony that, quite famously, is about 900 feet above ground. That Tatyana once jumped off of to escape Strahd.
Anyway long story short Rahadin uses his remaining 10 feet of movement to run to the balcony and jump off with the amulet, removing himself and Ireena from combat.
The party catches up with Strahd at this point. Ellerian’s weakened from the wish, taking backlash damage every turn, but he manages to utilize scatter to teleport everyone behind the wall of force. Yoli uses her corona of light ability to create an aura of sunlight to ensure he can’t just regenerate. And Kelogul kicks the absolute piss out of him, with Kjosev serving mostly as healer/support.
I used the same stat block I did when the party first fought him, meaning that when the man reaches about half health he transforms into a monstrous version of himself with flight. It isn’t long before he transforms, and he keeps sic’ing waves of bats on the party. Trying to position himself to use his AoEs better, he flies over the edge so he can hit the entire group.
Kelogul’s turn is up. The man casts a spell to give himself wings and fly over to Strahd. Me, being, y’know, a sane DM -- I expect him to just have used flight to slap Strahd a little bit while he’s in the air.
No the player flies over to Strahd, grapples him, then goes, and I quote, “Alright, perfect, I want to try to use my remaining movement to divebomb him into the terrain.”
I point out that since he’s used most of his movement getting to Strahd, he’d only move about 15 feet -- which isn’t enough to divebomb anyone. I tell him that to drop effectively, he’d probably have to dismiss his wings.
So he goes “ah. then yeah dismiss my wings.”
I then have to double-check grappling rules to see what the fuck this means for Strahd, since grapple reduces your movement to 0 and now Kelogul is rapidly plummeting 500 feet a round. I decide fuck it, it’s funnier this way, and there’s a phase 3 fight anyway.
So Kelogul basically leaps off the balcony, grabs Strahd, then just DROPS.
It takes two whole rounds for the two to hit the ground. In this time, Kjosev, Yoli, and Ellerian also all jump off the edge of Ravenloft and use slowfall immediately before hitting the ground. Everyone plummets 900 feet into the enormous mass of bones at the bottom of the pillar stone.
Kelogul takes about 66 damage from the fall. I tell him that he’s not escaping a lingering injury for falling 900 feet, because “just” 20d6 damage doesn’t cut it. We use Maxwell’s Manual of Malicious Maladies for our lingering injury rules, so I tell him to roll on the bludgeoning table...
... and it’s... a black eye. Which I think is fucking hilarious. Man suplexes Strahd 900 feet and all that happens is the dude takes less damage than Strahd deals per round with his basic-ass attacks and gets a black eye. That’s appropriate for a level 20 martial. So I tell him a skull bounces up from the impact and hits him in the face, giving him a shiner.
Phase 3, at this point starts. I had plans for Strahd to merge with the bones of Argynvost for the “final” phase, so they get to fight a blood dragon. Cliche? yes. Cool? also yes. I did NOT, however, have plans for them to LEAP OFF GODDAMN RAVENLOFT AND SUPLEX STRAHD. So I have to actually put the combat session on a brief pause to go find another battle map and reposition everything.
But I get everything running, and Strahd turns into a weird blood dragon who immediately opens up combat by halving the party’s maximum HP.
The fight is pretty gruesome from that point forward. Ellerian is taking backlash damage every round he casts due to wish. Healing isn’t as effective, and the party is running out of resources. Kjosev summons a lightning storm and a star field, in one of the first times he’s actually useful as a damage dealer. The party depletes the dragon’s HP... up until the last sub-100, which takes forever, as they’re trying to play defensive at that point. The dragon’s tail fucks up the party, and it’s to the point that the party is at legitimate risk of dying from exhaustion (note: we play with rules that make it so if you go down and are brought back up in combat, you earn a level of exhaustion. So you can be killed if you yo-yo too much).
Ellerian decides in the end that fuck it, it’s better to put pressure on Strahd even if it means he goes down. He casts one last ice spike and takes enough backlash damage to knock himself unconscious. Yoli’s got like 10 hp. Kelogul delivers the final blow, crushing Argynvost’s skull, and the sunlight from Yoli’s corona ensures that Strahd simply doesn’t return to his coffin. Once again, the sun shines in Barovia.
... The party drags themselves up. Yoli contacts Rahadin, asking him where he went. He tells her he’s “at a place Strahd never goes.” The party manages to track him down by heading east and the trail of blood he’s left.
... They find him at a place that I had actually written for the party to discover in the original campaign, but they never did. The reincarnations of Tatyana’s bodies had to go somewhere. One of the thoughts I had was that Rahadin had been the one to “dispose” of them for a distraught Strahd, taking them to a small spot in the woods east of Ravenloft. Each of the 14 reincarnations has a gravestone. Rahadin used to upkeep the graveyard himself. But with him gone, its overgrown by now.
Dude’s leg is shattered beyond usability (he did not fair as fortunately as Kelogul did on the injury table), but he’s alive. He asks the party if Strahd is dead. They tell him for the time. He apologizes for being more helpful, but tells them that at least Ireena is safe, showing them the amulet he’s been clutching onto this entire time.
The session wraps up with Ellerian casting sending to contact an old friend. Well, okay -- FIRST Ellerian casts sending and his HP is so low that he actually knocks himself unconscious. Then after Kjosev heals him to bring him up, he casts sending to contact Ezmerelda, who remained behind in Barovia because she was convinced Strahd would return. She is their only surviving friend. She is in absolute disbelief, questioning why the hell they even came back... but she agrees to meet them again.
And that’s the end. Next session will likely be the last wrap-up before the players begin the Legacy campaign (i.e. the campaign starring their kids) at level 1. It’s been wild that this is effectively the... soft-end of a campaign that’s gone on for 3 years, all the way from 1-20. I don’t think it’s quite hit me yet, lol. But I guess it continues on still -- the players will still be playing in the same world, just as their kids. 16 years will pass, the world will grow and evolve, and they’ll get to start as baby adventurers again. I’ll have to ask what kind of campaign they want and begin planning.
either way what’s most important is:
1) the ship sails on my friends (once they save Ireena -- a pretty easy feat at this point)
2) strahd got suplexed
#palidoozy rambles#d&d#from the mists#i legitimately 100% believed that the party would not be capable of saving ireena#my players did too#it was only one of them that#apparently like the night before went#NO I DON'T ACCEPT THIS. I'M GOING TO FIGURE A WAY TO SAVE HER#and he did
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The Reason for This Insanity
My current players staged a coup against their previous DM and traded him in for me, someone who has never DMed before but has a passion for gothic shit. During this past summer, I had a few friends come to me asking if I could DM for their Curse of Strahd campaign. I knew their DM, I had actually played with them as a guest character one session, and I fully understood their reasoning. So of course I said yes. We've had two sessions so far and I think it's insane enough to make a blog dedicated to it. For some background on the PCs, they're below the cut!
My players and their characters are insane. They each have secrets but only one of them uses Tumblr and he said I can share everything about his character. If one of my lovely players is reading this..buzz off. You'll find this shit out soon, I'm sure. Gordon Cobnabbit- He's a depressed, alcoholic gnome bard with what the player calls 'shitty DID.' Their previous DM had gotten him killed in the Death House which made him absorb all of the souls inside of the house. The player's current goal is to have enough to make a guess who board and it's really funny. (if wanted, I can probably make a post about the souls trapped in this pathetic gnome jester) Eira (Kiera)- She is an undead 7-foot-tall seventeen-year-old who was dead for twenty years. Eira lost all/most of her memories from before her death, but she knows that Ratka killed her. She's a part of the Vistani, with Madame Eva as her grandmother. She also carries a fucking undead head, like a madman. Jem- A poor religious tiefling, low-key rejected by her church. Her parents abandoned her to a church of the Morninglord where she was constantly put down because she was a tiefling. She despises fighting and the idea of causing someone's death. Jem constantly is overcompensating by trying so hard to be happy and get people to join her church. The girl needs a therapist. Seneryx- Holy shit ya'll. Seneryx has a lot of issues and is the one who has the most secrets. The player also is obsessed with Curse of Strahd/ Strahd point blank so he has so many ideas about how to make the module better so of course I agreed. Seneryx was born in Barovia as an unwanted dhampir. He was dropped off at the Abbey of the Dark Order where he was raised to worship Strahd and kind of be an angsty prick. He's constantly fucking and low-key in a romantic relationship with Strahd. The party thinks the Order wants to take down Strahd and that his goal in the campaign is to kill Strahd. It's very much not.
#curse of strahd#dungeons and dragons#ravenloft#strahd von zarovich#strahdaddy#Abbey of the Dark Order#bard#vampire#dhampir
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Of course @kat-therines-blog! I didn't think most people would care as it's a very OC specific side quest, but let me elaborate under the cut! (Minor spoilers for Curse of Strahd).
So, our Warlock's patron was one of the entities trapped in the amber temple. He didn't know at the beginning, as he had amnesia ever since he ended up in Barovia.
One of the special powers his patron gave him was the magic missile attack. But it turned out that every time he used it, a tiny part of his soul was ....sucked out of him with it. We only really put 1 and 2 together when it was too late and boom, soul gone. For a while we just went on like this, but of course Barovia is a dangerous place and having one player that you can't revive at all was freaking us out lol
Enter Patataj and his great idea to ask his friend Senna for help. Senna is an Aasimar sun god in training and she's always looking for followers (Patataj is the only one so far, and more in a 'supportive friend' kinda way rather than being an actual devout follower. She helped him escape when he was captured by orcs that one time).
Senna is my DM's character from an other campaign - so obviously she couldn't really be in the game per se, but her and Patataj were in contact through sendings and it was agreed that we could perform a ritual and with enough luck she might be able to rip the warlocks soul away from the being holding it and making her the new patron instead.
We went to the lake in Kresk, where Patataj's connection to Senna was strongest, and did the ritual in there.
Essentially we had to battle some lesser nightmare and other minions and survive for 10 rounds. Sadly, Gunther (the warlock) failed literally all the rolls against those attacks that permanently reduced his HP - and eventually, in the last round, his HP went down to 0 - without Patataj able to heal him back up or anything. And so we lost.
Now Patataj is upset for failing Gunther and he's also cross with Senna for not being able to hold onto the soul (though it is not really her fault at all and deep down he knows that of course).
Meanwhile Rahadin showed up for emotional support and hesitantly admits to Patataj that he was also kind of looking into a similar ritual and is quite pleased to see that it is potentially possible. Though right now he wants to work together with the group to prevent the entity that has Gunthers soul from escaping its prison at the amber temple, which now seems quite likely.
All this while we just try to save Kresk from starving and a werewolf from freezing!! Patataj has a lot on his plate I swear.
#sigh#the struggle is real#DnD#thrum rambles#also the only reason Rahadin shows up like this is because Patataj has been dating him for the past....1.5 years of this campaign lol#but I think everyone following here knows that...I suppose
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Image credit: Image: Wizards of the Coast
Last week we defeated Strahd and lifted the Curse from Borovia. His scrying is no doubt how he learned we were in the Amber Temple. Thank the gods that Ret spied him at the bridge that led from the mountains to the low hills. It was a massive bridge, likely 20ft (~7 meters) wide, but quite long and flanked by two huge statues I guessed were golems. Thanks to Ret we were able to retreat and sleep under the protection of a Leomund's Hut. I had near to no spells left in me. Also thank the gods that Strahd somehow did not discover where we slept. A simple Dispel Magic would be enough to dismiss it, and it also offers to protection from attacks beneath the earth.
The next dawn we faced off against Strahd. As I feared, he revealed the statues to be golems under his control. Arnynn charged forward at once because of course he did. I swear that elf has a death wish. I rushed in to keep him from finding a grave ending immediately. Gwen evoked up a wall of fire on the golems, and Elric laid into them with his 10 deadly coins. I'm not quite sure what the human was up to, except I did see him doing some monkey flips and jumps.
I had cast Sehanine Moonbow's Circle of Power and immediately recognized how pivotal it might be in this fight for possibly our very souls, so I cast a Sanctuary upon myself. I haven't ever cast a Sanctuary upon myself before. It was enough to stop the golems from attacking me, even Strahd himself (thank Goddess).
Elric did a fair amount of counter-spelling. Strahd used the same deadly coin spell that Elric uses, against Elric! We kept him from death. But Arnynn. Poor Arnynn.
The evil vampire Count descended from the tower and in a flash laid into our proud demon-hunter, nearly tearing his soul right out of his body. If it hadn't been for Gwen's Moonbeam...
But we did it. I've left out a lot, but we did it. And now... now we rest.
#d&d story#dnd#dnd campaign#dnd shenanigans#ttrpg podcast#dnd podcast#dnd stuff#podcast#thosenaturalones#demon slayer#druid#curse of strahd#strahd von zarovich#dnd strahd#golem#cleric#sehanine#selune#vampire#vampires#tortle#butch's blog
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Azalin Reviews Darklord Adam
Domain: Lamordia Formation: 575 BC (the actual date various in different sources, but I was there to witness its formation, so take this date to be the most accurate) Power Level: 💀💀💀⚫⚫ Sources: Ravenloft Gazetteer Vol 2 (3e); Domains of Dread (2e); I, Strahd the War Against Azalin (Novel).
Based on rumors, Lamordia went through significant changes in its latest rendition, but this week I shall review it as it once was and tell the tale of Darklord Adam and the constant harsh weather that plagues “his” domain. The settlements of this land are constantly assaulted by deadly blizzards and frigid air coming from the Sea of Sorrows in the winter and infestation of insects and insufferable heat in the summer. I do not recommend visiting, especially given how adverse the entire populace is to magic. I am positive my late father would thoroughly enjoy it, however.
Everything about Lamordia is based upon structure and scientific reasoning set within a utilitarian society. The people have a scientific explanation for everything despite the obvious supernatural phenomena that occurs all around them. They are adverse to any type of magic - whether it be the far more superior arcane arts or the divine. This disbelief is so tightly held that the land itself is known to suppress those that attempt any form of casting. Though, I have it on first hand accounts that this effect does not always occur.
It is highly dangerous for those who deny the existence in the arcane to essentially practice it. I’m surprised Lamorida hasn’t imploded in on itself yet, for Dr. Victor Mordenheim’s science clearly surpasses the realm of the supernatural. Given the nature of the domain, you would think Mordenheim would be its Darklord, but he is not. His creation, a flesh golem of rare independence, is the true Darklord of Lamordia.
Let’s dive in a bit to the tale of these two idiots. When Mordenheim and his wife, Elise, were unable to conceive a child, he devoted himself to the study of life and death; above all, other ways in which life could be created. I can...understand that inclination. It is important one has an heir to carry out one's legacy and rule. Of course, he went about it like a blind fool with no sense of the magics he was tapping into for he denied their very existence.
Adam was the result of 13 years of labor which he spent away from Elise. Moredenheim created Adam to appear as a perfect physical specimen. And upon first blush, I suppose one could say that is true. He is muscular yet lean with long black hair and I am told that sort of thing is appealing to some. However, close up he is a mockery of beauty like a horrible painting gifted to a King by a so-called artist.
Made up of pulsating arteries and tendons seen just beneath the thin bits of grey flesh, Adam is disgusted by his own appearance. Interestingly, when my little scholar interviewed Adam he told her that Mordenheim made him but another source provided him with his “soul”. So, it seems that Mordenheim’s science only brought him so far and it was likely the powers he denied that truly brought life into Adam.
Elise was unsettled by Adam’s appearance and despite her discomfort her husband decided to adopt a girl to act as a playmate for Adam. That seems like a very bad parenting decision and coming from me...well, that says something, doesn’t it?
Adam became obsessed with Elise and wanted nothing more than her acceptance and approval. Accounts of what transpired on the night Lamordia appeared on the border of Barovia differs between Adam and his maker. They both blame the other, but in the end whether Adam was a murderous villain or a victim attempting to gain acceptance, his adopted sister fell to her death after an encounter with him and Elise was mutilated.
Death would have been kinder for Elise, but Mordenheim keeps her alive through “scientific” means. Her heart beats through the working of machinery alone and he constantly switches her limbs and skin out in attempts to receive her, but only accomplishes keeping her in constant pain. If the foolish man believed in Divine or even the Arcane and not dismissed those practitioners of both, he could have healed her condition. I myself have been known to use such magics to prolong my own life when I was a mortal man.
Mordenheim’s monstrous creations roam Lamordia, but despite the obvious arcane nature of these creations, the people and the Doctor himself still dismiss the arcane. They will not accept it, just as they will not accept Adam. And this is the curse the Dark Powers bestowed upon Adam, to never find the acceptance he so hopelessly craves. To live alone on an island, over-dramatically named “The Isle of Agony” as he plots against his creator. When my little scholar interviewed Adam he said that Lamordia was Mordenheim’s even though it shouldn’t be and that they were “all his children”.
Adam is tied to Mordenheim and devotes his existence to making the Doctor’s life as miserable as possible, like the overgrown rebellious teenager that he is. Though, this is quite easy seeing as the Dark Powers bond the two together so that Adam experiences Mordenheim’s physical pain and the doctor experiences his creation’s angsty teenage ways.
As flesh golems go, Adam is one of a kind with many immunities to mundane weapons and certain magical energies. Still, without any arcane mastery of his own, a skilled wizard could make quick work of him. Though his curse is interesting, it makes his tie and rule over his own realm obsolete. As such, I will give Adam 3 skulls for this review and Mordenheim does not even get a skull. I despise those that practice the art without respecting it and those who do so without realizing it? Utter fools.
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Tumblr plays Ravenloft (1)
They have come again tonight—more of those who would seek to destroy me, more of those who think they are doing some worthy service for the world by seeking me out in my own home and trying to put an end to me.
Don't they know? Don't they listen to the silence of those who have come before them, never to return? Are the rewards so great for destroying Count Strahd von Zarovich that they pay no heed to the dangers?
They came in with foolish confidence tonight. I heard them as they rode across the drawbridge into Ravenloft itself.
Of course, their confidence is utterly misguided.
This time there is a fighter and a girl. The fighter is a paladin—one of those strange beings who seems to be apologizing for his skills as a fighter by also trying to be a cleric. The girl looks like a fighter, too... but there's something about her that says she is not a natural fighter. That's good. Women are meant for the gentler arts, particularly a beautiful one such as this one. Perhaps I will take the time to teach her to use her charms as they were meant to be used…
Mikhash says he thinks the woman is Ireena. But Mikhash is a fool, and I take no stock in his foolish words.
It has been a while since such as they have come to Ravenloft. I have had to go out into the countryside myself in order to gain nourishment for my soul. But I should sup well tonight, or perhaps tomorrow night—whenever I have finished with this game. Those who come are so young. Let them at least be useful...
Enough of such thoughts for now. I must go now and prepare...
Turn to 10.
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I posted 2,027 times in 2022
265 posts created (13%)
1,762 posts reblogged (87%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@heywizards
@serenbach86
@curiousstrawberry
@drhu0806
@magnetklaue
I tagged 1,879 of my posts in 2022
Only 7% of my posts had no tags
#critical role - 261 posts
#elden ring - 240 posts
#art - 130 posts
#yes - 125 posts
#personal - 123 posts
#dragon age - 115 posts
#cats - 90 posts
#mass effect - 64 posts
#spoilers - 56 posts
#long post - 52 posts
Longest Tag: 117 characters
#also talked to him about why silencing the one female character? and he answered that she will not be mute in the end
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
I commissioned the absolutely talented @echollama to draw my Tiefling girl Dahlia and she turned out so stunning <3
Some background on her:
Formerly called Love she was raised as a pleasure servant and didn't go outside much. She was content with life for a good few years, made some friends, lived in relative comfort. Love was sold after a few years and before she reached the coast of her new home, her ship was swallowed by the ocean. Before dying, a devil named Razal rescued her and made her his Warlock, promises of power and magic and freedom included. She is now adventuring through Tal'Dorei with a Triton bard at her side and trying to fit in and learn the customs outside of her own experience.
She's bubbly and friendly and a bit naive, because this whole doing what you want thing is new to her.
69 notes - Posted March 26, 2022
#4
Strahd impressions from today. Player got me a little Strahd
71 notes - Posted July 10, 2022
#3
Unless of course, thou shouldst take the crown?
Fandom: Elden Ring (there will be some story spoilers)
Characters: Blaidd x female Tarnished
Rating: Explicit (it is shameless smut)
The Tarnished and Blaidd meet in Caelid.
AO3 link
Part one
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You’ve taken refuge in an old hut. Hidden beneath cliffs and the endless red wastes of Caelid, you’re sighing a breath of relief. The path to Redmane castle is dangerous and filled with nightmares, which will haunt your dreams. You’ve seen people claimed by the scarlet rot, slowly losing their mind and life, and all you can offer is a quick end to their suffering.
And yet, there is Milicent and you're hopefully able to save her. A small act of kindness in all of this.
You’ve washed off the dirt and grime of your path and close your eyes for a brief moment.
Finally some rest. Your shoulders are stiff and your feet hurt and every piece of your equipment carries traces of the rot. It has not been your best day.
Soft, golden hues of reclaimed grace shine through a window that has been barred with planks. It’s a point of safety and your wounds are closed and your immortal soul stronger after a day of fighting.
And you’re not alone, which is so out of the ordinary that your stomach is in knots.
He’s too broad for the chair and hunched awkwardly on the creaking wood. His hulking sword leans against the wall and his cloak covers most of a once comfortable bed. It’s strange to see him without his armor and just in some linen shirt, almost casual and relaxed.
Blaidd watches your movements and the air between you is thick and filled with unspoken things. You rub your neck and try to understand what is going on between you. You haven’t seen each other since Siofra with your paths leading you into different parts of the land.
You’ve become much stronger, but not when he is near you and you can’t control the thoughts running through your mind. All of them seem so depraved.
You look for anything to talk about, anything to quieten your mind. “How long until we reach the castle.”
“Hard to tell. I’m sure the Festival won’t start without us though. We’re the main attraction.” There is a dry humor in his voice, which helps to quench some of your own doubts about the goal of your journey and all the unknowns. But you hope that one day it might be easier to read the expressions on his face and the subtle nuances in his tone.
“I still fear what is expected of us.”
“Using teeth and claws to win against a demi-god that has gone mad with the rot?”
You rub the bridge of your nose. “Hmmm, nothing out of the ordinary then? I vividly remember Godrick and Rennala and that hasn’t been much fun.”
Blaidd shrugs. “Not for us, yes. But who else is trying to put the Lands Between back together again? We have to start somewhere.”
To be fair, some weeks you are not sure what and why you are fighting for. They have banished your kind so long ago and you need to carve out for a place for yourself again. You follow your own train of thoughts as you feel the mood shift slightly. It’s in the way he watches your every movement, how his eyes never leave your body, and how he tries to find a comfortable position in the chair.
This time, there is no immediate danger. You’re clean and well rested and hunger stirs in your body. Maybe it’s longing for a quick escape of your dreary day and of the death that awaits you every waking hour. The need to feel more, someone warm and as eager as yourself. Your last encounter only left you with longing and a desire that shines too bright in your own darkness.
You slip out of your clothing, feeling a draft coming from the thin walls. Blaidd’s eyes match your hunger, but there is a feral note in his gaze. For a brief moment you wonder how it’d be to give in to this and ask him to not control himself. All he’s ever been is friendly, open, loyal to a fault. The thought of him letting his beast take over and just use you for his pleasure is frightening and exciting at the same time.
Maybe he guesses your thoughts or catches a hint of it, because it seems to get warmer in this little hut.
“Tarnished…” A low growl erupts from his throat and you notice the outline of his cock pressing against his breeches.
It’s an invitation.
You touch him once, twice, through the fabric and he closes his eyes and arches his neck. But you’re not patient enough to play a game of teasing and flirting and open his breeches. Blaidd helps with pulling them down his knees and his cock is freed.
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94 notes - Posted March 16, 2022
#2
Around 4 am husband woke up, produced small annoyed noises and then proceeded to roll into my arms, because he wanted to be held ... now my arms are dead, but it was so adorable.
109 notes - Posted April 10, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
I woke up and looked at this
1,444 notes - Posted August 20, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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This 2.5 year campaign is about to end, and as things boil down to the final act, I become unbearably nostalgic.
The Curse of Strahd is a module. It's a prefab adventure designed to give you a decent challenge, a despicable villain to hate, and a template of standard horror elements.
Not ours.
Three years ago, my DM asked with a nervous voice if I would be comfortable playing the damned soul of Strahds affections, Tatyanna von Zarrowich. He promised me that I would be spared from the truly horrific themes that can so easily accompany this module, but reiterated that the love triangle was crucial. I accepted the assignment.
He spent countless hours creating characters, maps, and reading materials curating an incredible multiverse level story built on the skeleton of Castle Ravenloft. And I have never experienced a game quite like it.
Over the course of two and a half years, I have watched Odette go from a naive witch, to a terrifying chaos sorceress, to a beacon of damnation and defiance. She pulled the soul of her husband, Strahd's brother, from the lake of Hell and imbued him to his own blade. She stepped through the mirrors of time to unlock every past life, to gain perspective on her eternal torment. She has become one with her deaths, aware of her heart, and wise to every move the corpse of a king ever made against her. And now, as it comes to an end, the only way to end is in Checkmate.
To stop the heart.
To die forever.
But to my men, who I leave behind, I will always be grateful for your sacrifice, your love, your hard-hitting ego checks, your spicy fart stews, and your laughter. But most importantly, your laughter.
Saying goodbye is hard.
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