Of all the wild experiences since I've come through the fog, only the Moon-Time feels even close to my home. But why do I seek peace in a memory of what I wanted to escape? I should be rejoicing in the hot, yellow light that hurts my eyes and makes me squint so that every encounter with a pale skin traveler makes me appear moody, angry or aggressive. Even standing in it for a few moments can make me feel overly warm, dizzy, and weak. Sick even. But it's very nature is so different from all I know, should that not in itself please me?
It does not. So far in this strange land I have been lightened of my coin purse, all of my well tailored clothes, my better riding boots, all of my armored pieces and one night in a tavern, run out simply for not being pale and the bartender "doesn't serve my kind". As if I were an inferior male. The insult still stings. Since then I have taken care not to speak to anyone, not to trust anyone which is laughable as I didn't think myself a trusting being to begin with, and to sleep with one eye open.
For a branded murderess you'd think I would learn faster. Thankfully it seems none of these surface dwellers understand the judicial system of my home, and the hatred I met is based solely on my appearance. Silvered purple linings, I suppose.
The sky is just now beginning to lighten, the preface of dawn on the horizon, although of late it's been foggy. A blessed reprieve from the burning ball of light. Around me the wind rattles through branches, barren in what these surface dwellers call winter. With so much noise, how can they hear anything? Even the air insists on being loud. Already irritated, I gather my things, note that my gown is now frayed displeasingly at the hem, and notice my only remaining traveling boots are in desperate need of a cobbler. How far I have fallen in just a couple of weeks.
Grinding my teeth around whatever hard tack I have left, I return to my trek to find Barovia, the illusionist tarot card tucked into my belt. Was this then the beginnings of doubt? Why was I even here if only to be robbed, disrespected, and humiliated? But the thought of returning home was even more distasteful, and so I walked through the mists, barely making out the signposts at the road divisions.
I hear them before I see them through the mist, talking. Some of them more loudly than others. Someone mentions children and as the fog fades beyond them, I see a house and a rather slap dash group staring at two young and obviously frightened children. Before a full consensus can be reached, a pale-skinned woman charges up the hill and into the house, apparently breaking whatever bystander hold held the rest. Most moved along after her.
Initially I thought to continue walking . I have no care of groups and especially not in children either tame or frightened. But there may be clothing inside. Armor. A stray purse of coin. It's when I see another dark-skinned woman with quizzically short ears that I feel at least here my appearance won't hinder me. And if they provide me no service, it will be nothing to carry on. And so I follow them, shrugging if asked for more than a name. That's all they'll need to place on a burial marker anyway, if they turn out to be murderers.
Once inside I'm astounded at how quickly they tolerate my presence. I would not say I'm welcomed by any means, but I'm not immediately run through, and they have no qualms with showing their backs to me. I can see some are well outfitted, and hear the jangle of coin in some pocket or another. If they are foolish enough, I may yet procure funds, fresh clothes, and a decent meal. Very well then, on to solving the mystery of this house, or at least pretending to.
While the search is on, for what I didn't know or care, I made my way to the kitchen. My stomach was gurgling uncomfortably, and I thought to sneak something edible under the guise of investigation. But there was no luck, the food was rancid. Interesting choice to feed children, but I wouldn't necessarily disagree. Exploring the pantry yielded nothing, nor the cabinets until I noticed a hidden dumbwaiter. Small enough for a child, of which two stood just outside the front door.
I know providence when I see it, and was across the kitchen to the front steps in a matter of moments. There were a few curious looks as I seized the male child by the arm and began to haul him toward the threshold despite his resistance and pleas. I was unmoved, and demanded he comply as I needed to know where the dumbwaiter lead. As we approached the door and the remainder of the bystanders outside began to object, the boy vaporized. Disappeared. Where once I grasped an arm, my hand closed into an empty fist.
So these were apparitions. I turned in time to see the girl child fade similarly. Very well, I thought to myself, perhaps there will be another way into the depths of this large manse. Without so much as an apology, for why would I be upset at the loss of children is beyond me, I returned to the dilapidated house. Up the stairs I met once again with the woman who had been a catalyst to the exploration of this wretched place.
After a brief discussion we agreed to split our search between the two most obvious rooms first. Her to the left, myself to the right. I heard her footsteps as I searched beneath clothing, inside an armoire, and then began checking a desk with it’s multitude of drawers. The letter inside nearly fell into my hand, disturbed by the opening of it’s resting place. As I reached in to take it, to open it, her hands appeared and snatched the letter from my grip. What was this then?
After deciding it didn’t concern her very much, she handed it back to me, leaving me to feel much the way I did when my sister Charyn helped herself to my personal diary to read aloud my thoughts to our ladies-in-waiting. I glanced over it, disappointed to read that it didn’t seem to shed much light, but was a little interesting. Some dark pact. Some strange conspiracy. Those were my forte. I kept the letter visible so that anyone else may reach and read it if I were asked, and left the room to further avoid the thief.
The rest of the search seemed unremarkable. Empty rooms, dust covered linens, furniture breaking down from neglect over several decades. Nothing useful to me. Pity.
We climbed ever upwards, our feet landing in soft layers of debris and dirt that comes mysteriously from the outside world through minute cracks. Webs, falling wallpaper and long forgotten brick exposed until we found it; the staircase that lead from the attic to the sub-levels. Clever, I thought. Hide the lowest level entry in the topmost. Who would think to check there?
The long staircase descended into darkness, which to me was comfortable but surprisingly did not phase the rest of these mortals. The only one present I assumed was even vaguely at peace with the dark was a Shadar Kai named Traedis. There was another being that seemed to claim dark heritage named Alucidel, but his blathering on about some lost paternal figure made me tune him out until it became a buzzing drone.
Down we went into the depths of this haunted mansion until we came to a chamber in which alcoves were carved. Each held an interesting artifact. Bags of bird feet (like bats but with feathers that flew in the sun and avoided the dark), little statues of either unnamed or long forgotten gods, and what appeared to be semi-precious stones. Gazing on one, I realize I must have looked overlong at it as Alucidel picked it up and claimed it for his own. That mistake was mine, I should know better to avert my longing for any object I desire.
The chamber let out into a cavernous space, one which made me question the structural engineering that went into it’s creation. With such a heavy house above, how did it not collapse? Was it a sound as the builders seemed to have faith it would have? Before I could contemplate this further, my comrades — be whatever they were — were performing great leaps to the center dais on which appeared to be a raised, flat alter. The kind used for human sacrifice.
‘Alright’, I thought to myself, ‘my kind of worship.’ I paused, kneeling down to rummage through my pack for something that might be better suited here as a weapon when I heard voices. On looking up from what had only been a brief interlude to search for a book, I now saw figures lining the edge of the crevasse which was enveloped in darkness like a moat around the center dais.
As I scanned them each and tried to determine what they were saying, I noticed on the dais the pale woman and the teifling were struggling over the body of the dark human. That was when the chant of the ones around us suddenly made sense. “One must die.” And it appeared to be a struggle as to which one it must be.
The dark woman had already laid her body on the alter and attempted to stab herself into exsanguination, but Alucidel had stopped him in an effort to... save him? To sacrifice himself instead? I have to say it wasn’t well thought out as a plan, and now the pale woman was leveling a cross bow on Alucidel to prevent him from, well, in all honesty her motives weren’t clear. In fact, no one seemed to be making much sense in their actions, and so I stood poised on the edge of the entryway to watch.
As they battled themselves and each other to death, a large form erupted from the darkness below. A large seething creature of roiling flesh and rotting appearance, with the disconcerting sounds of a baby wailing within. Well, this secured my desire to never have a child, and to avoid them as if they were the plague. The grotesque creature swung about the cavern and from our sundry vantage points we attempted to neutralize the threat it posed to our well-being.
The battle raged on until by some miracle of Lolth it was defeated and relegated back to it’s hellish grave. The sacrifice on the altar was no longer necessary as the walls and ceiling began to crumble. The entire cavern was caught in a quake that brought dust up front he ground to combine with pebbles and rocks from the high roof. Up the staircase it sounded even more horrific, and we all turned to bolt from the manse.
The details remain fuzzy even immediately after our escape. The more we struggled to free ourselves of this demonic temple disguised as a home, the more we began to understand that it was set up more like a gilded trap. Enchanting interior design transformed into dangerously bladed, free wheeling pendulums. Floors that had been solid moments before gave way. Stairs became slick ramps of a deceptively steep angle.
It was only after barely escaping that we took toll of losses and damages. The dark woman, who’s name seemed to begin with an ‘Oh’ sound was laid on the ground before the house. As it crumbled and drew inward to it’s destruction, she breathed her last, a warrior to her final moment. What had driven her to try and sacrifice herself? Why now has Alucidel thought to honor her death when he chose to ignore her initial sacrifice?
The final indignity came when he severed her head from her body, stuffing it unceremoniously into the trunk her once full-bodied form had carried. He then picked up the trunk and placed it on his back in some horrific parody of a knapsack. I’ve not an aversion to the more brutal realities of life, but even this was hard to stomach upon witnessing.
And so we left that place as it tumbled into the ground, swallowed by whatever ancient curse had befallen it’s former occupants. We were one less, and I vowed to keep my eye upon this group. They were not as they seemed, and each clearly had their own justifications, right or wrong, for being here. As we trudged along I inquired inwardly whether or not the head in the trunk would be dishonored in her current state. Would she want vengeance?
I know providence when I see it, and was across the kitchen to the front steps in a matter of moments. There were a few curious looks as I seized the male child by the arm and began to haul him toward the threshold despite his resistance and pleas. I was unmoved, and demanded he comply as I needed to know where the dumbwaiter lead. As we approached the door and the remainder of the bystanders outside began to object, the boy vaporized. Disappeared. Where once I grasped an arm, my hand closed into an empty fist.
So these were apparitions. I turned in time to see the girl child fade similarly. Very well, I thought to myself, perhaps there will be another way into the depths of this large manse. Without so much as an apology, for why would I be upset at the loss of children is beyond me, I returned to the dilapidated house. Up the stairs I met once again with the woman who had been a catalyst to the exploration of this wretched place.
After a brief discussion we agreed to split our search between the two most obvious rooms first. Her to the left, myself to the right. I heard her footsteps as I searched beneath clothing, inside an armoire, and then began checking a desk with it’s multitude of drawers. The letter inside nearly fell into my hand, disturbed by the opening of it’s resting place. As I reached in to take it, to open it, her hands appeared and snatched the letter from my grip. What was this then?
After deciding it didn’t concern her very much, she handed it back to me, leaving me to feel much the way I did when my sister Charyn helped herself to my personal diary to read aloud my thoughts to our ladies-in-waiting. I glanced over it, disappointed to read that it didn’t seem to shed much light, but was a little interesting. Some dark pact. Some strange conspiracy. Those were my forte. I kept the letter visible so that anyone else may reach and read it if I were asked, and left the room to further avoid the thief.
The rest of the search seemed unremarkable. Empty rooms, dust covered linens, furniture breaking down from neglect over several decades. Nothing useful to me. Pity.
We climbed ever upwards, our feet landing in soft layers of debris and dirt that comes mysteriously from the outside world through minute cracks. Webs, falling wallpaper and long forgotten brick exposed until we found it; the staircase that lead from the attic to the sub-levels. Clever, I thought. Hide the lowest level entry in the topmost. Who would think to check there?
The long staircase descended into darkness, which to me was comfortable but surprisingly did not phase the rest of these mortals. The only one present I assumed was even vaguely at peace with the dark was a Shadar Kai named Traedis. There was another being that seemed to claim dark heritage named Alucidel, but his blathering on about some lost paternal figure made me tune him out until it became a buzzing drone.
Down we went into the depths of this haunted mansion until we came to a chamber in which alcoves were carved. Each held an interesting artifact. Bags of bird feet (like bats but with feathers that flew in the sun and avoided the dark), little statues of either unnamed or long forgotten gods, and what appeared to be semi-precious stones. Gazing on one, I realize I must have looked overlong at it as Alucidel picked it up and claimed it for his own. That mistake was mine, I should know better to avert my longing for any object I desire.
The chamber let out into a cavernous space, one which made me question the structural engineering that went into it’s creation. With such a heavy house above, how did it not collapse? Was it a sound as the builders seemed to have faith it would have? Before I could contemplate this further, my comrades — be whatever they were — were performing great leaps to the center dais on which appeared to be a raised, flat alter. The kind used for human sacrifice.
‘Alright’, I thought to myself, ‘my kind of worship.’ I paused, kneeling down to rummage through my pack for something that might be better suited here as a weapon when I heard voices. On looking up from what had only been a brief interlude to search for a book, I now saw figures lining the edge of the crevasse which was enveloped in darkness like a moat around the center dais.
As I scanned them each and tried to determine what they were saying, I noticed on the dais the pale woman and the teifling were struggling over the body of the dark human. That was when the chant of the ones around us suddenly made sense. “One must die.” And it appeared to be a struggle as to which one it must be.
The dark woman had already laid her body on the alter and attempted to stab herself into exsanguination, but Alucidel had stopped him in an effort to... save him? To sacrifice himself instead? I have to say it wasn’t well thought out as a plan, and now the pale woman was leveling a cross bow on Alucidel to prevent him from, well, in all honesty her motives weren’t clear. In fact, no one seemed to be making much sense in their actions, and so I stood poised on the edge of the entryway to watch.
As they battled themselves and each other to death, a large form erupted from the darkness below. A large seething creature of roiling flesh and rotting appearance, with the disconcerting sounds of a baby wailing within. Well, this secured my desire to never have a child, and to avoid them as if they were the plague. The grotesque creature swung about the cavern and from our sundry vantage points we attempted to neutralize the threat it posed to our well-being.
The battle raged on until by some miracle of Lolth it was defeated and relegated back to it’s hellish grave. The sacrifice on the altar was no longer necessary as the walls and ceiling began to crumble. The entire cavern was caught in a quake that brought dust up front he ground to combine with pebbles and rocks from the high roof. Up the staircase it sounded even more horrific, and we all turned to bolt from the manse.
The details remain fuzzy even immediately after our escape. The more we struggled to free ourselves of this demonic temple disguised as a home, the more we began to understand that it was set up more like a gilded trap. Enchanting interior design transformed into dangerously bladed, free wheeling pendulums. Floors that had been solid moments before gave way. Stairs became slick ramps of a deceptively steep angle.
It was only after barely escaping that we took toll of losses and damages. The dark woman, who’s name seemed to begin with an ‘Oh’ sound was laid on the ground before the house. As it crumbled and drew inward to it’s destruction, she breathed her last, a warrior to her final moment. What had driven her to try and sacrifice herself? Why now has Alucidel thought to honor her death when he chose to ignore her initial sacrifice?
The final indignity came when he severed her head from her body, stuffing it unceremoniously into the trunk her once full-bodied form had carried. He then picked up the trunk and placed it on his back in some horrific parody of a knapsack. I’ve not an aversion to the more brutal realities of life, but even this was hard to stomach upon witnessing.
And so we left that place as it tumbled into the ground, swallowed by whatever ancient curse had befallen it’s former occupants. We were one less, and I vowed to keep my eye upon this group. They were not as they seemed, and each clearly had their own justifications, right or wrong, for being here. As we trudged along I inquired inwardly whether or not the head in the trunk would be dishonored in her current state. Would she want vengeance?
