Act 3 Scene 2: Coffins and Crowns
Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2026 8:58 pm
Act 3 Scene 2: Coffins and Crowns
Kyballion propped his feet in a nearby chair, leaning back in the tavern booth with a relaxed air; one hand on a tankard, the other around a raven-haired beauty. It really wasn't fair, he mused silently. When he turned on the charm, it was just inevitable... so he had convinced himself. He took a short pull from the ale, pausing in his recounting of past heroism to the stunning woman beside him. She was svelte, graceful, and hung on every word of his tales. And why shouldn't she?! It was all true! Well... mostly.
The warm common room was packed with the sounds of merriment as the other patrons went on singing and laughing, dicing and dealing cards. A pretty blonde waitress stopped by to deliver a pair of whiskies. The lady beside him nuzzled and nipped at his neck, probably jealous. Ah it was tough to be so charming, but all he could do was grin and bear it. Sitting up long enough to reach for the whiskey, she pulls him back gently; fingers lacing through his hair and muzzle still burrowing against his neck. With a chuckle he downs the shot and moves to face her. Fingers tighten in his hair preventing the movement. Sharp pain crushes against his shoulder and throat, strangling the rising scream so that only a gurgle escapes his lips! The familiar sound of flesh tearing hardly registers against the excruciating sensation as his throat is torn open! A blood-soaked muzzle leers at him hungrily from the canine face of a bipedal wolfwere! Frantically he searches for someone, anyone to render aid! A sense of despair falls as the patrons go about their entertainment, utterly oblivious to his dire plight...
..
.
Kyballion's eyes spring open as he claws at his own throat, desperately trying to wrench free from the jaws of certain death! Fingers find a cloth tightly wound, and with effort he manages to untangle the bedsheet wrapped around his neck. Unfamiliar surroundings gradually trigger memory, and slowly the night before comes back to him... the travel to a distant land, the wolf-woman, the vampire and the horrors at the other inn... Dawn leaks in through the shuttered windows of his room at the Broken Wheel, a chill persisting in the air.
----------
Sir Karl Mordrane of Sularia held his guard, scanning the maze of alleyways in the chilly night. Damp fog rolled like waves across the ground, knee deep like that unnatural black mist in that unholy cavern… back when his father's sword had vanished. His grip tightened on the hilt, but this mist was surely different. Sounds echoed unnaturally in the night... crashing crates and barrels, howling of wolves, the cry of carrion scavengers… and occasionally, screams. He had lost track of the others some time ago, and in the
Oooh ho-hoo! You're a feisty one! Last time wasn’t enough for you, eh? it said in a mocking tone. Heh… you'll make a good enough servant… The agony of twin fangs punched into his neck as his strength began to wane. His body shuddered from the dark energy; his power, his life, his very soul wicking away like wax drawn into flame… a flame dark as the void itself. The creature paused, wet lips brushing his ear slickly with his own blood. I will drink every last drop of your life force, my friend... it whispered. But fear not! You will not be destroyed… Once you are shed of this crude mortality I will hide you away. You will be born anew as my vassal.. a most devoted servant, utterly unable to resist my commands. A cruel chuckle rises deep in the vampires chest. And your first order will be to rid the world of those you have been protecting… a fitting celebration of your new circumstance don't you think?! The fangs slid rough back into place, his spirit fading as it was replaced by fathomless cold…
..
.
Blearily Sir Karl forces his eyes open, struggling to shake the haze of sleep from his mind. Bitter cold numbs his body as he awakens in the inn, somehow slumped against the wall beneath a heavy wooden shutter not fully closed. Dim dawn and frigid air rolled in, the blankets and bed in disarray from fitful sleep.
----------
Mira’s arms encircle her sleeping apprentice, chin atop the waitress’ head, as her mind drifts along the edge of dreaming. The blanketed bed was comfortable enough, given the current company, and her arms hugged the blonde’s shoulders in a gesture of security. The bard glances down at her companion, fingertips brushing golden locks from her eyes, smirking at the burgundy-hued stain at the corner of her mouth. Her mind went briefly to the toppled bottle of Meekulbrau on the floor nearby, now empty . She gazed contentedly at Sabrina, so still and deep in her own dreams. As if in response to the thought the younger woman shifts, turning to face away from the redhead but quickly wiggling back to press her body against the taller woman.
Her lover’s back chills her, as if she had been standing in the bleak night. The window…? she muses, but a quick glance brings confirmation of a fully latched and tightly fitting shutter. Mira begins to rub and massage the arms and shoulders, seeking to stimulate a bit of warmth. Should ask for an extra blanket in the morning… her idle mind offers. She slides the silken strands away from the slender neck to gain better access, but freezes at the sight. Once flawless skin lies piqued and swollen with a pair of perfect puncture wounds. The flesh around is grey and lifeless, and the chill of her apprentice’s body sends a shiver down her spine. Motionless, even lacking the rise and fall of breath, bear testament to the dawning realization. Sabrina stretches idly like a cat relaxing on a windowsill, her lips parting to bare marble-white fangs of infinitesimal sharpness… With a smooth motion she rolls, hugging the bard tightly around the shoulders with a strength nigh impossible for one so slender. Ivory points drag against her throat as her lover murmurs through muffled lips. Mmm.. I need a drink… maybe some more… red…
..
.
Mira jerks awake with an involuntary scream causing the sleeping Sabrina to scramble and claw wild-eyed from her own slumber. The waitress clutches at her, nails scraping skin in shock and terror! What?!?! Gods, is it BACK?!?! she squeals, desperately, trying to watch every direction at once. Slowly the rosy fingertips of dawn peeking around the shutters bring her mind to the present moment, awake in her room at the Broken wheel. Glancing around she finds Elsa’s things neatly folded to one side, but the Halfling is nowhere in sight.
----------
Jerry trod the cobbles with a singular purpose, to find that creature and destroy it, once and for all. The sun hardly peeked above the city’s far wall, but there was some little time before true dark fell. She and the others had spent the better part of the day searching for the fiend… the monster… her father. No. she corrected herself, Not her father. The man she had loved and known her whole life… this thing was NOT him… though it had his memories… his quick wit… his knowledge of her and her habits… Jerry strode faster, boot-heels making a quick clack-clack-clack that echoed from the walls of the nearby houses and shops.
The group had been very thorough searching the Old Kartakan last night, but they come up with nothing… well… nothing relevant to him. And there was no sign of him at the Meistersingers keep… nor in the guard towers high on the cliff. What a waste of time that had been! So much time getting permission, traveling up the counterweighted lift, searching, coming back… It was a good check, she admitted, but as night drew closer it seemed an utter waste. Delays this morning had been frustrating as well, people dragging their feet… Pyros getting distracted. Now night was nearing and they had spread out, searching almost door to door...
The Mystaran shivers involuntarily at what horrors he might commit tonight; retribution for his defeat at the Broken Wheel. The butchering of locals had been gruesome, but it was nothing compared to the havoc he was truly capable of… Merrick trailed her nearby, keeping watch. The Elven man check the clock tower every few minutes, now and again calling out the time amid her musings and searches. A hesitant noise, odd like he was stifling some comment, elicits a slight of her head. Schooling herself to patience, she turns to witness a terrifying display. Stumbling backwards against a shuttered shop her dark-haired companion clutched feebly at his ruined throat, shredded and foaming with airy blood. The instant she saw, she knew… even with healing power there was little chance to save her partner.
A force descended upon her like a crumbling building, crushing her heavily to the stone-cold cobbles and driving the wind from her lungs! With a sneer the creature pinned her, limbs arms trapped beneath her body, helpless in her struggle to rise or even breathe. I did tell you, didn’t I? the abomination crooned in her ear. I promised that you would watch him die… I was hoping to make him your first, but… He’s not nearly good enough for my little Jerry-Berry. the vampire snarls in the dying man’s direction. Hooked claws sink into her scalp, wrenching her head back painfully and elongating her slender neck; still spasming as it begged for air. You’ll come around, in time… But now, we can be a family again! I know you understand what’s about to happen… and soon, you’ll be a good girl just like when you were young. Dutiful… the creature mocked with a wicked grin, cooperative... glittering fangs pricked through the skin with a liquid smoothness, Obedient.
..
.
Jerry pushed with all of her might, numb arms tingling as they awakened, shoving herself away from the headboard. The ache in her neck receding only marginally as she freed herself from the awkward sleeping position. Pale dawn filtered around the seems of the heavy wooden shutters, peered pitifully into her room. Beside her Merrick lay, hands clutching at his own throat as if trying to keep it in one piece. Struggling gasps escape his lips as he seems to be choking himself in his sleep!
----------
Pyros snuck stealthily up the creaking stairwell of the Old Kartakan Inn, a serious look for once on the Kender’s face. They had killed Ontash! There had to be other clues about… there just had to!! True to his nature, he hadn't told anyone where he was going… well, anyone except Cross. Cross was his lookout! Cross was a good lookout, and Fenrir was outside too! Why between the eagle-eyes of an Elf and the… uh… raven eyes of Fenrir, there was no chance something could sneak up on him! They had found Akriel's room, and the secret meeting room, but that other room, there was something wrong about it. Not wrong like buildabunchacagesandtorturepeopletodeathinthemforsportormaybeinformation kind of wrong, but wrong-wrong, like it didn’t belong. The secret-in-a-secret room with the lowdown no-good monster-mimic-ing-a-chest and a bed so badly booby-trapped even Uncle Tass couldn’t take a nap in it!! Well… maybe uncle Trapspringer… he would just spring the trap and then snake his way between the spears! It probably wouldn’t be comfortable… but he could do it.
Making his way to the top of the stairs his nimble fingers began testing the wall where the secret door had been. Where was that thing? Dagnabbit, it was here somewhere… The sound of a door opening behind him causes the Kender to freeze like a squirrel being spotted. Mind racing he prepared one of his absolute best and most creatively innocent-sounding excuses. The words died on his lips as he turned to find a dark figure looming over him. The hulking form of a wolf-man with fur like midnight towered fully three times his height! In a blur the beast was upon him, pain stabbing into his chest and back as feral jaws began to brutally savage him!
..
.
Pyros sat bolt-upright, aching from where he lay on one of the solved blacksmith puzzles. His ribs protested, but he quickly recognized the early morning light as it poured through the half-open shutters. Nearby Cross tossed on his pallet on the floor as if fending off some nightmare of his own, and Fenrir was nowhere to be found…
----------
Esker stalked the misty forest, the subtle sounds of his shield-sister not far away in the fog; also hunting the creature... his brother. Aching wounds throbbed in time with his heartbeat, stinging oddly and giving off heat like an infection. Maybe it was just the adrenaline fooling his mind... He hefted the silver handaxe, prize of battle, from the Sliver of Moon... his death was no loss, having caused all this... Silver had proven far more effective than even Iscind’s magical sword. He hefted the axe again. Silver... not the best metal for a blade. It had dulled quickly in battle... normally he kept his gear razor sharp, but less than a dozen strikes and it had begun to lose its edge… now it was more like hitting those things with a club...
How many had there been now? Four? Five? And they were yet to find the thing that had once been his brother... The myrmidon heard his fellow ranger stop and looked around to see what was amiss. Faint points of amber reflected eerily in the mist in pairs... Eyes... Dozens, surrounding them of course, in the manner of a coordinated pack... the beasts had hunted them by scent easily in the mist. Slowly one pair of eyes began to rise, farther and farther until they hovered more than a pace above the head of a tall man. So… not just wolves...he mused. A second, a third, a fourth pair rose; then two more just in front of him as the mist began to clear. Snarling the familiar monstrosity’s predatory gaze bored into him, canine mouth rumbling in a deep but raspy voice. You will serve me, brother... and soon you will be as these others are… unable to resist my command. Become the Wolf! Give in to the Beast within you!! In a blur the figures fell upon them, frenzy of teeth and fur and claws…
..
.
Esker gripped the small chair beside his bed like a shield, his main hand going to his knife as the beasts fell upon him in his dream. Eyes gradually began to see his surroundings for what they were… his room at the Broken Wheel… Light made lines about the heavily shuttered windows, indicating that dawn had finally broken outside…
----------
Iscind walked through the pale moonlit forest, her ice-blue eyes scanning the deeper shadows for signs of danger. A dark shape passed silently overhead before lighting on a branch nearby. A raven, proud and sleek and large as an Eagle. Gloamy eyes glimmered in the night, regarding her with stoic patience. The hour draws near, shield-maiden, and the All-father is waiting. A rasping voice ‘spoke’ with an ethereal echo in her mind. With a great stretch of ebony wings the corvid takes to the air, once more sailing deeper into the night. The ranger’s ice blue eyes follow its path by the pale glow of Máni’s charge.
Silently she followed, footsteps in tune with the wild and the night. Here and there along the way, the raven settles on a crooked limb to wait for her to catch up. The third time, those eyes of twilight caught her gaze again, and the voice in her head called once more. We draw near, but you are not ready. The corvid shifts its feathers, grooming itself as if preparing to meet its Lord. You cannot serve, as you are now. First you must remember. With a bob the avian launched gracefully into the night, gliding easily ahead and leaving her to ponder.
Life was too interesting to spend it looking backward, and regrets were only thorns with no purpose… Was there something she had forgotten? It didn’t seem so… A missed opportunity? A fallen foe stalking her step? Whatever it wanted her to remember, she could not bring it to mind… Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword as she crept onward. Curiosity burrowed in her mind like a vole in a garden. Whatever lay ahead, it couldn’t hurt to take one little peek… victory went to those who dared, after all. With patient, cautious feet she slipped skillfully past the silent sentinels of oak and fir and spruce, until a light like a great bonfire. Lurid light licked the long gangly limbs blurring her view, filtering the fire from afar. Gingerly she drew closer, little by little until the scene came into view. An altar of stacked stones spread before the bonfire, a grimy man in a horned headdress hovered over a figure strapped to the slab with thick leather tethers. The shaman held a shimmering silver blade aloft, bringing it down on the darkened shape upon the altar. The familiar scream of her shield-brother cut through the night air like the crash of an avalanche of ice! Eagerly the Shaman jammed his hand in the wound, drawing forth length upon length of Esker’s innards, steaming in the frigid night. A great cacophony of crows called out like a thunderous cheer as dozens of the birds descended to partake of the fresh offerings. With a shrieking cry, the gloam-eyed raven burst from the brush nearby, flapping and flailing towards Iscind’s face to drive her from her hidden space!
..
.
Abruptly the ranger startled awake, the unfamiliar room gradually finding a place in her memory. The Broken Wheel… A sudden clattering rattled the shutters as if something outside clawed and clamored to come in…
========
It is now Thursday March 13th 736 BC (Barovian Calendar)
All injured parties gain 1 hp
Casters pick your spells for the day
All DM copies of PC sheets have been updated with new xp totals
Harmonian Language:
The Harmonian language skill grows pretty slowly, only 1% per game day according to the module. It does take a while, but that is partly by design to help the PCs feel 'out of place' according to the text. That said, a few players have mentioned it and I have been thinking about it a lot lately, especially with the slower pace of play-by-post.
In order to account for this but keep with the intent of the module, I have decided to essentially double the current value for each character and up the rate to 2%per day. This will give the characters a better chance of communicating with locals while still keeping ir low. Even so, those who speak Elven are able to talk to most shopkeeps/ business owners and a certain segment of the population since Elven is the trade language with their neighbor Sithicus.
Let me know what you folks think about the little nightmare segments; if you are enjoying them or if they are starting to get a little repetitive or hackneyed.
Kyballion propped his feet in a nearby chair, leaning back in the tavern booth with a relaxed air; one hand on a tankard, the other around a raven-haired beauty. It really wasn't fair, he mused silently. When he turned on the charm, it was just inevitable... so he had convinced himself. He took a short pull from the ale, pausing in his recounting of past heroism to the stunning woman beside him. She was svelte, graceful, and hung on every word of his tales. And why shouldn't she?! It was all true! Well... mostly.
The warm common room was packed with the sounds of merriment as the other patrons went on singing and laughing, dicing and dealing cards. A pretty blonde waitress stopped by to deliver a pair of whiskies. The lady beside him nuzzled and nipped at his neck, probably jealous. Ah it was tough to be so charming, but all he could do was grin and bear it. Sitting up long enough to reach for the whiskey, she pulls him back gently; fingers lacing through his hair and muzzle still burrowing against his neck. With a chuckle he downs the shot and moves to face her. Fingers tighten in his hair preventing the movement. Sharp pain crushes against his shoulder and throat, strangling the rising scream so that only a gurgle escapes his lips! The familiar sound of flesh tearing hardly registers against the excruciating sensation as his throat is torn open! A blood-soaked muzzle leers at him hungrily from the canine face of a bipedal wolfwere! Frantically he searches for someone, anyone to render aid! A sense of despair falls as the patrons go about their entertainment, utterly oblivious to his dire plight...
..
.
Kyballion's eyes spring open as he claws at his own throat, desperately trying to wrench free from the jaws of certain death! Fingers find a cloth tightly wound, and with effort he manages to untangle the bedsheet wrapped around his neck. Unfamiliar surroundings gradually trigger memory, and slowly the night before comes back to him... the travel to a distant land, the wolf-woman, the vampire and the horrors at the other inn... Dawn leaks in through the shuttered windows of his room at the Broken Wheel, a chill persisting in the air.
----------
Sir Karl Mordrane of Sularia held his guard, scanning the maze of alleyways in the chilly night. Damp fog rolled like waves across the ground, knee deep like that unnatural black mist in that unholy cavern… back when his father's sword had vanished. His grip tightened on the hilt, but this mist was surely different. Sounds echoed unnaturally in the night... crashing crates and barrels, howling of wolves, the cry of carrion scavengers… and occasionally, screams. He had lost track of the others some time ago, and in the
Oooh ho-hoo! You're a feisty one! Last time wasn’t enough for you, eh? it said in a mocking tone. Heh… you'll make a good enough servant… The agony of twin fangs punched into his neck as his strength began to wane. His body shuddered from the dark energy; his power, his life, his very soul wicking away like wax drawn into flame… a flame dark as the void itself. The creature paused, wet lips brushing his ear slickly with his own blood. I will drink every last drop of your life force, my friend... it whispered. But fear not! You will not be destroyed… Once you are shed of this crude mortality I will hide you away. You will be born anew as my vassal.. a most devoted servant, utterly unable to resist my commands. A cruel chuckle rises deep in the vampires chest. And your first order will be to rid the world of those you have been protecting… a fitting celebration of your new circumstance don't you think?! The fangs slid rough back into place, his spirit fading as it was replaced by fathomless cold…
..
.
Blearily Sir Karl forces his eyes open, struggling to shake the haze of sleep from his mind. Bitter cold numbs his body as he awakens in the inn, somehow slumped against the wall beneath a heavy wooden shutter not fully closed. Dim dawn and frigid air rolled in, the blankets and bed in disarray from fitful sleep.
----------
Mira’s arms encircle her sleeping apprentice, chin atop the waitress’ head, as her mind drifts along the edge of dreaming. The blanketed bed was comfortable enough, given the current company, and her arms hugged the blonde’s shoulders in a gesture of security. The bard glances down at her companion, fingertips brushing golden locks from her eyes, smirking at the burgundy-hued stain at the corner of her mouth. Her mind went briefly to the toppled bottle of Meekulbrau on the floor nearby, now empty . She gazed contentedly at Sabrina, so still and deep in her own dreams. As if in response to the thought the younger woman shifts, turning to face away from the redhead but quickly wiggling back to press her body against the taller woman.
Her lover’s back chills her, as if she had been standing in the bleak night. The window…? she muses, but a quick glance brings confirmation of a fully latched and tightly fitting shutter. Mira begins to rub and massage the arms and shoulders, seeking to stimulate a bit of warmth. Should ask for an extra blanket in the morning… her idle mind offers. She slides the silken strands away from the slender neck to gain better access, but freezes at the sight. Once flawless skin lies piqued and swollen with a pair of perfect puncture wounds. The flesh around is grey and lifeless, and the chill of her apprentice’s body sends a shiver down her spine. Motionless, even lacking the rise and fall of breath, bear testament to the dawning realization. Sabrina stretches idly like a cat relaxing on a windowsill, her lips parting to bare marble-white fangs of infinitesimal sharpness… With a smooth motion she rolls, hugging the bard tightly around the shoulders with a strength nigh impossible for one so slender. Ivory points drag against her throat as her lover murmurs through muffled lips. Mmm.. I need a drink… maybe some more… red…
..
.
Mira jerks awake with an involuntary scream causing the sleeping Sabrina to scramble and claw wild-eyed from her own slumber. The waitress clutches at her, nails scraping skin in shock and terror! What?!?! Gods, is it BACK?!?! she squeals, desperately, trying to watch every direction at once. Slowly the rosy fingertips of dawn peeking around the shutters bring her mind to the present moment, awake in her room at the Broken wheel. Glancing around she finds Elsa’s things neatly folded to one side, but the Halfling is nowhere in sight.
----------
Jerry trod the cobbles with a singular purpose, to find that creature and destroy it, once and for all. The sun hardly peeked above the city’s far wall, but there was some little time before true dark fell. She and the others had spent the better part of the day searching for the fiend… the monster… her father. No. she corrected herself, Not her father. The man she had loved and known her whole life… this thing was NOT him… though it had his memories… his quick wit… his knowledge of her and her habits… Jerry strode faster, boot-heels making a quick clack-clack-clack that echoed from the walls of the nearby houses and shops.
The group had been very thorough searching the Old Kartakan last night, but they come up with nothing… well… nothing relevant to him. And there was no sign of him at the Meistersingers keep… nor in the guard towers high on the cliff. What a waste of time that had been! So much time getting permission, traveling up the counterweighted lift, searching, coming back… It was a good check, she admitted, but as night drew closer it seemed an utter waste. Delays this morning had been frustrating as well, people dragging their feet… Pyros getting distracted. Now night was nearing and they had spread out, searching almost door to door...
The Mystaran shivers involuntarily at what horrors he might commit tonight; retribution for his defeat at the Broken Wheel. The butchering of locals had been gruesome, but it was nothing compared to the havoc he was truly capable of… Merrick trailed her nearby, keeping watch. The Elven man check the clock tower every few minutes, now and again calling out the time amid her musings and searches. A hesitant noise, odd like he was stifling some comment, elicits a slight of her head. Schooling herself to patience, she turns to witness a terrifying display. Stumbling backwards against a shuttered shop her dark-haired companion clutched feebly at his ruined throat, shredded and foaming with airy blood. The instant she saw, she knew… even with healing power there was little chance to save her partner.
A force descended upon her like a crumbling building, crushing her heavily to the stone-cold cobbles and driving the wind from her lungs! With a sneer the creature pinned her, limbs arms trapped beneath her body, helpless in her struggle to rise or even breathe. I did tell you, didn’t I? the abomination crooned in her ear. I promised that you would watch him die… I was hoping to make him your first, but… He’s not nearly good enough for my little Jerry-Berry. the vampire snarls in the dying man’s direction. Hooked claws sink into her scalp, wrenching her head back painfully and elongating her slender neck; still spasming as it begged for air. You’ll come around, in time… But now, we can be a family again! I know you understand what’s about to happen… and soon, you’ll be a good girl just like when you were young. Dutiful… the creature mocked with a wicked grin, cooperative... glittering fangs pricked through the skin with a liquid smoothness, Obedient.
..
.
Jerry pushed with all of her might, numb arms tingling as they awakened, shoving herself away from the headboard. The ache in her neck receding only marginally as she freed herself from the awkward sleeping position. Pale dawn filtered around the seems of the heavy wooden shutters, peered pitifully into her room. Beside her Merrick lay, hands clutching at his own throat as if trying to keep it in one piece. Struggling gasps escape his lips as he seems to be choking himself in his sleep!
----------
Pyros snuck stealthily up the creaking stairwell of the Old Kartakan Inn, a serious look for once on the Kender’s face. They had killed Ontash! There had to be other clues about… there just had to!! True to his nature, he hadn't told anyone where he was going… well, anyone except Cross. Cross was his lookout! Cross was a good lookout, and Fenrir was outside too! Why between the eagle-eyes of an Elf and the… uh… raven eyes of Fenrir, there was no chance something could sneak up on him! They had found Akriel's room, and the secret meeting room, but that other room, there was something wrong about it. Not wrong like buildabunchacagesandtorturepeopletodeathinthemforsportormaybeinformation kind of wrong, but wrong-wrong, like it didn’t belong. The secret-in-a-secret room with the lowdown no-good monster-mimic-ing-a-chest and a bed so badly booby-trapped even Uncle Tass couldn’t take a nap in it!! Well… maybe uncle Trapspringer… he would just spring the trap and then snake his way between the spears! It probably wouldn’t be comfortable… but he could do it.
Making his way to the top of the stairs his nimble fingers began testing the wall where the secret door had been. Where was that thing? Dagnabbit, it was here somewhere… The sound of a door opening behind him causes the Kender to freeze like a squirrel being spotted. Mind racing he prepared one of his absolute best and most creatively innocent-sounding excuses. The words died on his lips as he turned to find a dark figure looming over him. The hulking form of a wolf-man with fur like midnight towered fully three times his height! In a blur the beast was upon him, pain stabbing into his chest and back as feral jaws began to brutally savage him!
..
.
Pyros sat bolt-upright, aching from where he lay on one of the solved blacksmith puzzles. His ribs protested, but he quickly recognized the early morning light as it poured through the half-open shutters. Nearby Cross tossed on his pallet on the floor as if fending off some nightmare of his own, and Fenrir was nowhere to be found…
----------
Esker stalked the misty forest, the subtle sounds of his shield-sister not far away in the fog; also hunting the creature... his brother. Aching wounds throbbed in time with his heartbeat, stinging oddly and giving off heat like an infection. Maybe it was just the adrenaline fooling his mind... He hefted the silver handaxe, prize of battle, from the Sliver of Moon... his death was no loss, having caused all this... Silver had proven far more effective than even Iscind’s magical sword. He hefted the axe again. Silver... not the best metal for a blade. It had dulled quickly in battle... normally he kept his gear razor sharp, but less than a dozen strikes and it had begun to lose its edge… now it was more like hitting those things with a club...
How many had there been now? Four? Five? And they were yet to find the thing that had once been his brother... The myrmidon heard his fellow ranger stop and looked around to see what was amiss. Faint points of amber reflected eerily in the mist in pairs... Eyes... Dozens, surrounding them of course, in the manner of a coordinated pack... the beasts had hunted them by scent easily in the mist. Slowly one pair of eyes began to rise, farther and farther until they hovered more than a pace above the head of a tall man. So… not just wolves...he mused. A second, a third, a fourth pair rose; then two more just in front of him as the mist began to clear. Snarling the familiar monstrosity’s predatory gaze bored into him, canine mouth rumbling in a deep but raspy voice. You will serve me, brother... and soon you will be as these others are… unable to resist my command. Become the Wolf! Give in to the Beast within you!! In a blur the figures fell upon them, frenzy of teeth and fur and claws…
..
.
Esker gripped the small chair beside his bed like a shield, his main hand going to his knife as the beasts fell upon him in his dream. Eyes gradually began to see his surroundings for what they were… his room at the Broken Wheel… Light made lines about the heavily shuttered windows, indicating that dawn had finally broken outside…
----------
Iscind walked through the pale moonlit forest, her ice-blue eyes scanning the deeper shadows for signs of danger. A dark shape passed silently overhead before lighting on a branch nearby. A raven, proud and sleek and large as an Eagle. Gloamy eyes glimmered in the night, regarding her with stoic patience. The hour draws near, shield-maiden, and the All-father is waiting. A rasping voice ‘spoke’ with an ethereal echo in her mind. With a great stretch of ebony wings the corvid takes to the air, once more sailing deeper into the night. The ranger’s ice blue eyes follow its path by the pale glow of Máni’s charge.
Silently she followed, footsteps in tune with the wild and the night. Here and there along the way, the raven settles on a crooked limb to wait for her to catch up. The third time, those eyes of twilight caught her gaze again, and the voice in her head called once more. We draw near, but you are not ready. The corvid shifts its feathers, grooming itself as if preparing to meet its Lord. You cannot serve, as you are now. First you must remember. With a bob the avian launched gracefully into the night, gliding easily ahead and leaving her to ponder.
Life was too interesting to spend it looking backward, and regrets were only thorns with no purpose… Was there something she had forgotten? It didn’t seem so… A missed opportunity? A fallen foe stalking her step? Whatever it wanted her to remember, she could not bring it to mind… Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword as she crept onward. Curiosity burrowed in her mind like a vole in a garden. Whatever lay ahead, it couldn’t hurt to take one little peek… victory went to those who dared, after all. With patient, cautious feet she slipped skillfully past the silent sentinels of oak and fir and spruce, until a light like a great bonfire. Lurid light licked the long gangly limbs blurring her view, filtering the fire from afar. Gingerly she drew closer, little by little until the scene came into view. An altar of stacked stones spread before the bonfire, a grimy man in a horned headdress hovered over a figure strapped to the slab with thick leather tethers. The shaman held a shimmering silver blade aloft, bringing it down on the darkened shape upon the altar. The familiar scream of her shield-brother cut through the night air like the crash of an avalanche of ice! Eagerly the Shaman jammed his hand in the wound, drawing forth length upon length of Esker’s innards, steaming in the frigid night. A great cacophony of crows called out like a thunderous cheer as dozens of the birds descended to partake of the fresh offerings. With a shrieking cry, the gloam-eyed raven burst from the brush nearby, flapping and flailing towards Iscind’s face to drive her from her hidden space!
..
.
Abruptly the ranger startled awake, the unfamiliar room gradually finding a place in her memory. The Broken Wheel… A sudden clattering rattled the shutters as if something outside clawed and clamored to come in…
========
It is now Thursday March 13th 736 BC (Barovian Calendar)
All injured parties gain 1 hp
Casters pick your spells for the day
All DM copies of PC sheets have been updated with new xp totals
Harmonian Language:
The Harmonian language skill grows pretty slowly, only 1% per game day according to the module. It does take a while, but that is partly by design to help the PCs feel 'out of place' according to the text. That said, a few players have mentioned it and I have been thinking about it a lot lately, especially with the slower pace of play-by-post.
In order to account for this but keep with the intent of the module, I have decided to essentially double the current value for each character and up the rate to 2%per day. This will give the characters a better chance of communicating with locals while still keeping ir low. Even so, those who speak Elven are able to talk to most shopkeeps/ business owners and a certain segment of the population since Elven is the trade language with their neighbor Sithicus.
Let me know what you folks think about the little nightmare segments; if you are enjoying them or if they are starting to get a little repetitive or hackneyed.