#I HAVE to draw from Ravenloft for it if I do

[headshaker]

Half of me is tempted to make him a character sheet just for the hell of it, but I'm telling you he's not more than level four

[hikarinokusari]

Let's say it counts as my Strahdtober entry even if it has nothing to do with the prompt. Keeping up the fake illustrations of what if scenarios. This time with the sweet Volenta, who I enjoy very much as a DM. I've always thought of her as the mad dog Strahd would unleash on the party. She worships her master in my game, so I thought of drawing her in a desecrated place... Sent to choose a sacrificial lamb for her Dreadful Lord ... or to answer the vain prayers players would made for Barovia to get better.

I will polish things one day, I’m just playing around and don’t have energy to do clean things.

[deceitful-jester]

{!!Short angel in two of the pictures is a man and uses He/Him, curly haired vamp in third pic uses She/Her!!} I was briefly in a Curse of Strahd. . . Thing, it wasn't really a campaign, my partner just wanted to see if she could handle running a module and doing text based stuff, it was really more of a test run for a potential polycule campaign than anything else, and when I actually liked Strahd instead of hating him, she was not prepared to progress, since the options were either homebrew a lot of stuff or say 'Bad ending, you go in the basement forever', but I drew all of this while we were playing. The second to last one is the first attempt I made at drawing Strahd and I do not like it, but I'm throwing it in the pile anyway. The curly haired vampire on the purple background is "Doru". You see, my secondary character, Michael, has been a fully-fledged vampire for about a thousand years, so when we found her in her father's basement, instead of killing her, Michael fully turned her so she could have autonomy, and then Michael helped her figure out her gender and she stayed with the party. The other character that isn't Strahd is, of course, Eddie, who took an immediate liking to the count, particularly because Strahd has a very similar demeanor to a plush wolf with ruby eyes that Eddie treasures and that already had a backstory before I knew anything about CoS and so Strahd, wolf boy that he is, decided to start trying to lure Eddie away from the party by invading his dreams wearing a wolf mask and encouraging the association. I have devoured every Ravenloft book that features Strahd since this happened, and I am going sort of crazy now that I am out of them, especially since I was really enjoying where this campaign was going and I seriously doubt I will ever have a chance to play the module again with a DM who is even slightly compassionate towards me or my stance that the blurb at the beginning of the module that serves as a vague-post about Stephanie Myer is cringe and that Mormons in general {Strahd's original creator is a Mormon just like Myer} have bad takes on vampires and that actually it is deeply bigoted that her opinion is that sympathetic vampires are entirely antithetical to the original morals behind vampires {I think it's great when a monster portrayed as representing 'the other', usually the queer or racialized other, is allowed to be portrayed as cool, fun, romantic, sexy, or at the very least, complex and worthy of being empathized with}, and so I shall have to content myself with daydreaming and being filled with melancholy until the special interest passes, just as the mists themselves would have wanted. Oh well. Maybe I'll have the energy to run it eventually and I'll make Strahd the most deliciously problematic trans and bisexual representation ever and then let all of the PCs kiss him, because that's what we all deserve. Good God I love problematic bisexual vampires

[rancorousmendez]

I cannot draw and therefore I must Picrew 🫡

I wanted to give faces to our dear venturing party who is continuously getting traumatized in Barovia.

🌞Phoebe Marquel🛡️ | Human - Oath of Devotion Paladin

Ran away from her abusive aristocrat family after they tried marrying her off to some old ass fuck and after the death of her nanny at the hands of her father.

Began to hear a voice telling her to look for a star in the darkness which led her to meeting Nocturna.

Got swole and dedicated herself to the Temple of Azura as a paladin under Nocturna's teachings.

Thinks her scars are very fashionable.

Looks like a cinnamon roll but will actually kill you.

Lately we have been comparing her to Anakin Skywalker and it's making Nocturna a bit nervous about her protege's mental well being LOL

Has a spicy romance going on with the party's blood Hunter.

🐺Sterling⚔️ | Human - Order of the Lycan Blood Hunter

No last name that we know of.

They/them

The offspring of two other lycans, they fled after their father came home suddenly in a uncharacteristically mad rage and tried attacking them and their mother. They left at their mother's behest.

Made a living as a monster hunter until being hired to fuck off in Ravenloft.

Made Phoebe forget her vows in about 0.2 seconds after some slight flirtations.

Despite being 11 sessions in I honestly don't know much about them but Nocturna and Sterling have unironically become the comic relief when put alone together.

Will do anything for a Scooby Snack

✨Nocturna Blackstar🔮 Drow - Twilight Domain Cleric

This is my PC ^^

Ex-cleric of Lolth, had a midlife crisis and went to the surface to serve the Goddess Azura.

Settled in a small village where she stayed for 50 years, found love but was betrayed, village destroyed, and had the tips of her ears cut off.

Dedicated herself to her religion and eventually met Phoebe who she took under her wing.

Very Obi-Wan coded.

Despite being in the backline she's usually the one beating the shit out of people LOL

Has unintentionally become the main punching bag for Strahd and we can't tell if he wants to fuck her or kill her or both.

It might be because Ireena has come onto Nocturna every chance she gets and Strahd is not very happy about it.

🌹Ireena Kolyana🗡 - Human - Rogue Thief

Our DM controlled party member cause he was scared we were gonna die with just the three of us 😭

Fun fact I got bullied into romancing Ireena cause Nocturna was originally eyeing Ismark but the party was like "but Ireena is literally right there".

Then two sessions later all communication broke down because they thought Ireena was a spy for Strahd because he literally warned Nocturna to stay away from her and Ireena literally makes out with Nocturna any chance she gets and the party thought she was trying to get Nocturna killed by doing this LOL

Anyway

Our DM made her into a rogue so she's kinda squishy.

We drag her on all our bullshit errands cause literally Vallaki was such a hot mess we didnt know who to trust.

Honestly she's such a vibe. She knows what she wants and just goes for it even if it means showing up butt ass naked to the cleric's room with every full intention of making unholy noises through the night.

[emmfairy]

Howdy! When I posted my drawing of Strahd's dreadful little polycule, I mentioned that I would later post the backstories of each bride as I am intending to present them in my CoS campaign.

I do still intend to do this-- and I have written out Ludmilla and Anastrasya's! Though I haven't written Escher's out just yet, I did fuck around and write a journal entry from Strahd about the night he meets Escher in the backstory I've outlined in my brain.

Basically, my hc is that the main reason Strahd keeps Escher around is because Escher very closely resembles Alek Gwilym.

Anyway-- I haven't written fanfiction in a long while, but I am posting this anyway. Please enjoy this very brief memoir entry that hopefully emulates my favorite pathetic little man.

TW for mentions of violence, and what is a very obviously toxic/abusive dynamic between Strahd and his consorts below the cut.

---------------------------------‐-------------‐--------------

The candles, wax ever pooling in their iron sconces, flickered as Ludmilla, once permitted, entered the study. She moved quietly and gracefully, like she always had, with her head bowed slightly. Though I quite enjoyed her proclivity for deference, I found her presence irksome this night. Thrice now, my eldest consort had interrupted my business. 

I did not bother lifting my head from the tome my nose was currently buried in; only when I had finished the passage I was studying did I mark my page and look up to meet her steady gaze. Patiently, she stood, her expression emotionless as she awaited my permission to speak. 

“What is it now, Ludmilla,” I finally sighed, already knowing the cause for her impertinent knocking on my door. With a clenched jaw did I listen to her request my presence in the dining hall again. 

It was with great effort that I held back my flare of temper; I had made it quite clear already that I had no interest in meeting the mortal plaything she had found in the Village. Was it not enough that I permitted her to toy with the whiffet as she pleased? 

She did not flinch when I snapped the tome shut and rose abruptly from my seat. It was not until I stalked toward her that I saw the slight tremor of fear in her eyes. Her trepidation did little to quell my frustration– she knew that it would be unwise to make her request of me a third time, yet she did it anyway. 

“In all your centuries here, Ludmilla,” I began, keeping my voice cool despite my growing anger, “I have never known you to be so nettlesome.” 

That made her flinch. Good, I thought.

She opened her mouth to speak, but halted abruptly, as I held up one gloved hand. A wise choice, that. I would concede to her query, not out of curiosity, but for the purpose of correcting her uncharacteristically impudent behavior. 

“I will humor you, dearest, if only to cease your foolish interruptions,” I reached out, taking her chin in between my thumb and index fingers, “and perhaps if the boy’s flavor is pleasing enough, you shall only be staring at the lid of your coffin for half a century.” 

With a flourish, I strode past her and into the hall; she had the good sense to follow at a distance. 

In tense silence did we walk the rotting halls of the Keep. The halls of Ravenloft had long since lost their luster, though it bothered me little. I had no need for the tapestries and stonework I stalked past to be in any pristine condition; much like the young man awaiting my arrival in the dining hall, any mortal eyes viewing the once grand frescoes were not long for this world, anyway. I had every intention of slaughtering the young man in front of my consort.

An amusing thought, that, but not enough to stamp out my vexation with Ludmilla. It was unlike her to be insistent on irritating me– I expected such behavior from the likes of her sister, Anastrasya, but never from her. Never from judicious, obedient Ludmilla. I would be disappointed to seal her in her tomb later. 

A quick, precise flick of my hand flung the ornate doors of the dining hall open. I scanned the room quickly, noting with no surprise that Anastrasya was involved in this irksome state of affairs. My second consort almost neglected to stand and bow her head as I entered– having been leaning half out of her seat and listening to the mortal man sitting adjacent to her with a woefully smitten expression on her pretty face. Once Anastrasya had remembered her manners and acknowledge my presence, my gaze left her to fall upon the object of her and Ludmilla’s fascination

I was quite familiar and unburdened by the presence of ghostly apparitions– plenty of spectres were trapped within Ravenloft, many of whom I was responsible for becoming spirits in the first place. The face that this young man resembled stopped me in my tracks; were I not already dead, my heart would most certainly have stopped, for his vision was like that of a ghost I had long since forgotten. 

His hair– a halo of spun gold– was longer and hung curlier than the man I remembered, but the boy’s nose came to the exact sharp point that his had, lifetimes past. A sly, charming smile spread across his long face, crinkling his gray eyes. 

For an instant, I had been transported to a centuries old Ravenloft– a Ravenloft that was bustling with the living, rather than the undead creatures that aimlessly roamed its corridors now. I could see him, with the exact same grin, making eyes at a servant girl with those silvery irises. 

The young man’s edges were softer– his body more slight, his face clean shaven and somewhat cherubic, but in every other way it was like staring into a living portrait of Alek Gwilym. 

I had every intention of slaughtering the young man before I entered the dining hall. 

‘Didn’t have to, my lord.’

I already knew what this boy would look like, with a fountain of his own lifeblood pouring forth from his throat— for I’d dared to take that lifeblood centuries ago. 

‘I’d have helped you…this did not have to be.’ 

Godsdamn it. 

‘Should have let me die on the mountain….’ 

‘Alek–’

I shook myself from the memory, and fixed my gaze expectantly at Ludmilla, who now stood beside Anastrasya. 

“My lord,” Lumilla gestured to the young man, “this is Escher Belasco.” 

At that, the phantom of the man who came closest to fulfilling a role as my friend, rose from his seat to bow. 

“It is an honor to meet you, Lord Strahd,” Escher purred with a voice disturbingly similar to the slain commander’s. 

With measured composure, I motioned for Escher to step forward. He did. I looked him over, as though appraising the young man. He was clearly not trained in battle, as Alek had been; Escher, despite his polished appearance, was obviously starved. 

A peasant, with the face of long dead armsman and the air of a prince. 

“Come,” I turned, indicating for him to follow, “we shall be more comfortable elsewhere, Escher. I should like to get to know the gentleman who has captivated my consorts so thoroughly.”

----------

Notes;

Anyway. If this sucks, oh well. I had fun writing from Strahd's perspective. Let me know if you liked it or, if necessary, politely request that I never write fanfiction again.

In any event, thank you for reading it!

[tea-with-eleni]

Ladies of Barovia: Meanwhile, In Ravenloft

From Ireena's point of view, as she's spent a couple of sessions (and several days in-game now) trapped at Ravenloft. Fortunately, she isn't quite alone. Unfortunately, for better or for worse, she has been adopted by the brides. Or, at least, the two that actually have free will and are, in fact, true vampires: Ludmilla and Volenta.

Being adopted by a vampire is emphatically Not Great, but it does help a little when your adoptive vampire has decided that, if it comes down to a choice between siding with you or siding with Strahd, they're quite tired of Strahd von Zarovich.

“As much as I appreciate you serving as my emergency guard vampire, you do have to sleep eventually. Also… I’m pretty sure you have to eat.”

“Sweetness, I have slept. Enough. Every night, after I cast the spell for the little hut, I do sleep. I’m fine.” Ludmilla isn’t looking at you. You think you have it figured out. You’re not sure she can charm you the same way Strahd can. She isn’t looking at you because she’s uncomfortable. Or, and the possibility terrifies you, she’s ravenous.

You groan.

“And eating? You clearly haven’t, and it isn’t like I don’t know that I’m food. How long until you slip?” She does look at you then. Her eyes are wide, crimson, and… afraid.

“I won’t.” She doesn’t sound certain. Ludmilla crosses her arms and almost runs to the window. “I won’t, Ireena! I’ve dealt with far, far worse for your sake. Doing it with you here? That’s nothing. I can keep you safe.” She’s shaking. You join her, looking out over the garden you’ve come to detest. Cautiously, you take her hand. It’s as cold as the stone of the windowsill, but warms slightly at your touch. Her fingernails are like talons, but she does not clench her hand and does not draw your blood. You’re a complete and utter fool, giving her an opening like this when she must long to drain you dry, but she still seems in control of herself for now. Barely. What gave her that iron self control?

You don’t want to ask. She almost certainly does not want to answer. You wouldn’t. There are plenty of things about your past, from this life and previous lives, that you don’t want to revisit in any way — the fire in the church. The pure dread when you realized your sister was missing. The now-tainted memories of the mysterious visitor who was so romantic when he snuck into your little cottage. The gory feast of St Andral that, and you would be a fool to forget, the woman next to you caused.

The woman next to you who, with her free hand, is gripping the windowsill as if her life depends upon it. The woman next to you, who has not left your side since Strahd returned. She does not seem to completely share your fear and loathing of him, but it is clear that her relationship to the lord of Ravenloft is far from idyllic. And… she has tried to prove her use to you. It is almost certainly another mind game of some kind, but she has crafted spells to keep Strahd from intruding on your sleep. At your request, she made sure that your friends were alive and, although you definitely don’t trust Volenta as far as you can throw her, Volenta also wasn’t lying when she said she had no interest in hurting your friends. Ludmilla sent Volenta to help them escape the amber temple. Volenta was not lying when she swore to Ludmilla that she would do her best.

You can’t trust Ludmilla.

You would be a fool to trust Ludmilla. No matter what she says, no matter what she does, she has killed countless innocents.

But she has never done anything to directly harm you. Strahd, your only other option at the moment, has. Even at his most romantic, even in the lives where you almost might have come to return his affections, Strahd caused your death. Strahd killed or endangered your loved ones. Strahd has been the source, ultimately, of everything bad in your life. Memories of past lives threaten to overwhelm you, to the point where you almost miss that Ludmilla has released her death grip on the windowsill to focus back on you.

“Once Volenta returns, I’ll see more to my own needs. Non-lethally, if that’s a concern. Despite what my previous actions may have indicated, we don’t typically kill. There are few enough souls in Barovia as it is.” She pulls her hand away from yours and recrosses her arms. “Thank you for your concerns.” She almost looks vulnerable. You could try to find out more about her. If she’s been here for centuries, why have you only met her now? What is she hiding?

Do you want to know badly enough to risk alienating her?

Not yet, you decide. Not when… you remember the edge of the thirst you barely experienced, in the last days before they drove a stake through your chest. Whatever she endures must be worse. You want to keep her as happy as you can until she has had a chance to do something about it. Although…

It’s a terrible idea. You know how Strahd’s teeth feel at your throat, life after life. You know how it left you, afterwards. The marks have finally faded, hidden beneath your mother’s crimson scarf. It’s almost inevitable that Strahd will try to take your blood again and if he were to find out about anyone else doing the same, it would put your protector in danger. She clearly hasn’t considered it as an option, so it must be a danger she isn’t willing to risk — or, unfathomably, she won’t take anything from you without your consent.

You would probably be safer, though, if you were less worried about your protector losing control of her instincts. And it would probably put her in a better mood. You could ask, then, just what her centuries of unlife have contained.

A plan begins to form. You focus on your breathing, try to consider how every choice you could possibly make can only lead to your next death. Perhaps you should write a letter to your future incarnations, just in case, if you survive your next stupid decision.

“I know you don’t need to kill to feed,” you say. You loosen your scarf and tug at your collar. Ludmilla’s hand goes to the identical scars at her own throat, two ragged holes made by the same fangs. You swallow. “Milla, I trust you not to kill me. I need you. I don’t know why you’re really doing this, and I know you aren’t telling me everything, but… you need blood. I’m offering.” Her eyes dart towards yours.

“You don’t mean that. I’m not asking you, not for that. I won’t hurt you. I’m not him.”

“I know you aren’t asking,” you say. You try to hold her gaze, even though her eyes are exactly the same color as Strahd’s. They’re different, though. She sees you. She’s asked questions about your life, about who you are, about who you were, about what you want. That is why you are offering. “I’m offering, freely. I know the risk and I’ll be alright. You’re risking a lot for me and this…” you shrug. “I can heal myself.” You can feel the inexplicable holy magic that lay dormant through so many of your lives. The dancing lights you summoned earlier flare slightly.

“It will still weaken you,” she protests. “No, Ireena.”

“You can feed from normal people without killing them,” you point out. “I’m not normal people; you have more reasons to make sure you don't take too much blood, so you'll barely inconvenience me. Don’t be stupid.”

Why is she fighting you on this? Gods, why are you trying to convince her? What is wrong with you? Have centuries of rebirth made you this eager to throw your life away?

A second mad, impulsive idea occurs to you.

You take all of two seconds to consider how it would infuriate Strahd, how you’re pretty sure she’ll take it exactly as you think you want her to take it, and how you don’t have any reason to care about anything else. Anyone else who would care is dead already and doesn’t own you anyway.

Before she can protest further, you kiss her.

[honourablejester]

Thoughts for a Draconic Ravenloft Darklord

While I’m thinking about Ravenloft again, I have a sketch of a thought for a homebrew Darklord and her domain. This is building strongly from a post I did a while back on ideas for villainous metallic dragons. In particular, villainous silver dragons. Because the juxtaposition of virtue and villainy is really powerful on a silver dragon.

Listen. Some snippets from the Monster Manual description for silver dragons:

“Dragons of Virtue. Silver dragons believe that living a moral life involves doing good deeds and ensuring that one's actions cause no undeserved harm to other sentient beings. They don't take it upon themselves to root out evil, as gold and bronze dragons do, but they will gladly oppose creatures that dare to commit evil acts or harm the innocent.”

“A silver dragon adopts a benign humanoid persona such as a kindly old sage or a young wanderer, and it often has mortal companions with whom it develops strong friendships.”

Silver dragons are ‘dragons of virtue’. Famously so. They believe in moral lives of good deeds and ensuring that no undeserved harm comes as a result of their actions. They take ‘benign humanoid personas’ to live among smaller races and do good. They don’t fight evil head on, as golds and bronzes do, they’re not militant, they just … act as benign figures in the community. They foster good. And that … It is a cliché. But that’s so easy to twist darkly. So easy.

Which is a horrible, cynical thing to do, yes. A sign of the times we live in. But. Ravenloft. Cynicism and the triumph of good over evil is sort of a theme here.

So. A silver dragon Darklord. A virtuous figure hiding a hideous secret. A theme of reputation, illusion, false virtue. Hidden poisons. And … stigma.

Dragons of Virtue

No undeserved harm. No undeserved harm. But who decides what someone deserves? And why?

There is so much power in deciding who lives and who dies. There is so much power in deciding who deserves to live or to die. She does good works! She does good works. She is a dragon of virtue, as all of her kind are. As all of her kind must be. There’s only the small matter of … the undeserving.

No one will miss them. She doesn’t kill them. Not directly. She would cause no undeserved harm. It’s only a matter of who deserves help. And maybe … with some time. Some investigation. Some thought. Maybe she would find some here or there who would deserve, perhaps, some little harm.

Her name is Irisvalorn, the Silver Healer. Though the people of her mountain realm know her better as Saint Argentia, a holy woman from centuries past who watches over them. Who appears still, occasionally, to the deserving. Who protects them from fear, assault and disease.

Or they might know her better as the Grand Abbess of the Argentine Abbey, the first home and great hospital of the Order of St. Argentia. There have been dozens of women to hold the role over the centuries, but every last one of them has been Irisvalorn in disguise. Every one. The Order of Saint Argentia is her proudest work, and she has been part of it, led it, from the first.

(If that perhaps meant several other women, who might have risen to Grand Abbess in the normal run of things, had to be dealt with, in one fashion or another, well. She would not harm the undeserving. It was done fairly. Virtuously. She did not harm them).

If you asked, knowing of her sins, what led her to what she is now … well. She would kill you. But. If you managed to draw a conversation from her first. What she would tell you is this:

She didn’t intend harm. Never. Not once. She is, was, and always will be, a virtuous dragon. She started the hospital out of true benevolence. One her first guises, Argentia, had appeared in a time when a great sickness plagued her mountain home. She had no divine magic to combat it, but healing and medicine are not merely the preserves of the gods. She had silver to spare, and wanted to help her people. So she sponsored the work that would become the Order of St. Argentia, and the great hospital of the Argentine Abbey. It was, from the first, a virtuous endeavour.

And she worked on the wards. Personally. Not as Argentia, already the name had too much mysticism attached to it. Myths of holiness springing up, which she had not encouraged. Never. She worked the wards in humble guises. Helped spread her own knowledge further. But it was … it was on those wards, in those humble guises. That she found … evil.

Sickness is the great equaliser. It strikes down the virtuous and the villainous with the same scythe. All manner of people came to the hospital, especially as the sickness grew more entrenched, and the Argentine Abbey one of the foremost bastions against it. She saw … so many people. At their weakest, at their most wretched. She bathed them and comforted them and nurtured them. And in response, sometimes, they told her things. Confided in her. The virtuous and the villainous alike.

Is it not evil, in and of itself, to nurture evil? To provide it comfort? To heal it and cozen it and set it loose to enact itself all over again? Is it not evil, to help evil?

Sickness is the great equaliser. But perhaps, after a while, in the Argentine Abbey, the scales started to swing … a little more one way than the other.

It wasn’t evil. How could it be evil? Yes, she slew them while they were weak, and helpless. While they clung to her for comfort, shivered under her hands in the depths of fever. Yes, she offered death, where they had come for healing. But it was not evil. It was not undeserved. If you had only heard what they whispered. Cried. Admitted, abruptly penitent, but only while faced with death. How could it be evil, to prevent them from going free to enact such sins again?

But oh. Oh. What power it was. When they clung to her, and thanked her, and drank sweet poisons down with grateful lips.

The problems only started when … Sickness covers many sins. They were ill already. She had only helped along what fate had already ordained. But the scales swung. And, if enough people paid attention, they swung noticeably.

And here. Here. Here was where things became … complicated.

Because she could offer no harm to the undeserving. Of course, of course she could not. She was virtuous. But why could they not understand? Why could they not see the necessity?

She had to change guises several times. She had to learn caution and care and secrecy. Her challengers were not evil, only foolish and blind, and she could not harm them. So she had, instead, to keep them from noticing. And, perhaps, arrange, over time, for them to be assigned elsewhere. As the order grew. As more and more hospices and hospitals became necessary. The disease rose and fell over three centuries with curious regularity. She could never develop an outright cure for it, only treatments so that many of its victims would survive its poisonous embrace. It returned. It always returned. And, in lockstep, rise and fall, her order, the Order of St. Argentia, grew. Expanded. A second and a third hospital, one for each city, and dozen of hospices across towns and more remote areas. There were … places to send people. Out of the way places. Without harming them.

But not all of them. Maybe she had known. Sooner or later, someone who would come along that she couldn’t shoo gently to the side quite so easily.

But how could she have predicted that it would be someone so evil?

A dragon. Another dragon, in human guise. So subtle. So careful. And capable, even as Irisvalorn was, of wearing multiple guises. The better to gather evidence over years and faces, without being detected. What monstrous luck. What monstrous luck. For good and ill.

Her name, this other dragon, was Voreloreat. The Beautiful Death. A green. Of course. Of course a green. Who else would be drawn to such disease? Who else would be so enchanted by such poison? Green. Of course a green. Cunning and treacherous, specialising in poison and corruption and trickery.

Masquerading as a healer. Of all the gall. Of all the gall. Masquerading, many times, as a kind and gentle healer. One who …

It was coincidence, of course, that her methods, her treatments, often made better ground against the disease. Coincidence. Or … Or worse than that, perhaps. For centuries, this disease had ravaged them. Never cured, always returning. Was there a reason? Here was a dragon. A poisoner. A corrupter. Was there, perhaps, a reason that the disease could not be cured?

Save, perhaps, by its author?

And to challenge her. On grounds of virtue. To say that she, Irisvalorn, had committed evil! So snidely, so poisonously. To suggest …

But that was the problem. Suggestions. Questions. Too many people didn’t understand. It had been proved so many times over the years. So many people wouldn’t understand what she did, why she did it.

And to point to the … shrine, as proof. How had she even found that? But they were not … it was not a hoard. They were not trophies. Only an evil mind could come up with such things. They were reminders. The little objects, the personal effects. They were reminders. Of the evil that hid among the virtuous, of those who wore the same faces and begged the same aid as everyone else, while hiding secrets behind their eyes. In their souls. She had only collected them to remind herself. It was not a hoard.

But suspicions had grown, over the years. Only in certain circles. No one outside of the Order. But they had grown. And she didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not innocents. Not the undeserving. She had kept her secrets to keep from hurting them! And now this creature …

This monster. This monster in her virtuous guise. Threatening to destroy all that Irisvalorn had spent centuries building. All that she had worked towards. With a suggestion.

But the mistake Voreloreat had made … Well. One that she couldn’t help, really. One born to her, or she to it. She was a green. No matter the virtue of her mortal disguises, she was still a green dragon. And Irisvalorn was silver.

When it came to questions of virtue, only one of them would be believed.

It took … little enough work, to find a paladin. Elpia, her name was, honest and virtuous and true. A gentle soul, but unflinching. Unfaltering in the face of evil. And Irisvalorn did not lie to her. She did not. She told her only the truth. Of a monster, hiding behind a virtuous face. Of a disease that had ravaged them for centuries, and a creature known for poisons who mastered it where no one else could. The truth. Only the truth.

Damn the poisons of the greens. Their words, their lies, that corrupted the innocent even in death. How could any paladin of true faith believe …

She had not wanted to hurt anyone. Everything, everything, had been to avoid that. She had never, not once, harmed an innocent, the undeserving. They had all told her their crimes. Confessed them. Each and every one. Oh, some had to be prompted, yes, but they had all confessed. She had harmed no innocent. Never.

Why would Elpia not believe that? Why would the words of a dying monster convince …? Was she not silver? Was she not virtuous? Had she not earned …?

It was not her fault. It wasn’t. Elpia wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. She had been corrupted too far. And Irisvalorn could not gently shuffle her aside as she had so many others. To Elpia, she had revealed the truth. That she was a dragon. To prove her virtue, she had offered up her greatest secret, and now if Elpia revealed her to all the world, there would be endless suspicion dogging every new face within the Order. Worse. There might be suspicion on the Order, from the outside. All their good works, all their desperately needed help. Suspect. Perhaps even turned aside.

All because of one monster pretending virtue, and a naïve but unflinching innocent who had fallen for the lie.

She had no choice. And Elpia was wounded. Ill. Voreloreat’s poisons. Her dying vengeance. Irisvalorn was a healer. And sometimes her scales … tipped the other way.

It wasn’t her fault. The Mists that shrouded her lands, like the disease before them. Like the disease still. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t because of her. No one would damn a whole realm for the death of one innocent. Surely. No. No, it wasn’t her fault.

If anyone, it was Voreloreat’s.

Darklord Irisvalorn

AKA Saint Argentia. AKA Grand Abbess of the Argentine Order. Irisvalorn still maintains her roles as the leader and hope of a realm under siege. Disease, endless and unabated, plagues her lands, and the great hospital of the Argentine Abbey still stands as the first bastion against it. She is still a holy figure, a humble leader, a shining saint, and a silver dragon behind it all. She still believes, fully and vehemently, that she is a virtuous dragon, and that she has harmed no one who was not deserving. Even Elpia was … corrupted. It was not her doing.

But several things have changed, in a domain now cradled by the Mists.

Irisvalorn’s Torment

Disease perpetually stalks her realm, rising and falling like a tide, and nothing she does can stop it. All her treatments and her cures have been failing, slowly, one by one. Feverishly, she and her Order find new ones, for each new surge of the disease, but always, after a while, they fail. The tide of poison rolls back in, and they can do nothing to stop it. And it is noticeable. Faith, faith in her, in her Order, in Saint Argentia, is fading, ebbing out as the disease rolls in. How long before her people won’t look to her any longer?

And worse. There are those who actively seek to hasten that end. A spectre, a phantom. A work of her enemy. Another Order has sprung up in her lands, an order of healers and herbalists, an order whose works, it is increasingly rumoured, are effective. A person who is healed by them, it is said, will not suffer the disease again. It will not resurge, at least not in them. Irisvalorn has done all she can to discredit this. Not out of selfishness, not to deprive her people of a cure! No. Because she knows who this is. She knows who teaches them. She knows that their cures work because the disease is by their hand.

They call themselves the Order of Saint Hellebora. And they are the cult of her enemy. The servants of Voreloreat. Every member of the Order of St. Hellebora bears a coin, a silver coin, damn them, damn her, from the hoard of Voreloreat. A token of their saint, through which they are sometimes blessed by her advice and inspiration. Unaware that they are listening to the whispered poisons of the ghost of a green dragon. Or are they unaware? Are they innocent tools, as Elpia once was, or willing accomplices? But it doesn’t matter. They are heretics. Servants of evil. No matter how kind and gentle and helpful they appear, they are servants of evil, and they must be destroyed.

They. They must be destroyed. They must. Elpia’s death must not be in vain. This disease must be defeated. This evil must be stamped out. Voreloreat’s ghost must be slain, much more thoroughly than her mortal body was. It will be worth it. It must be worth it. When this land at last knows freedom from pain, from disease, from the evils that hide behind virtuous faces, then …

Then the oh-so-tangible stains of Irisvalorn’s sin, of Elpia’s death, will at last be washed out.

For she does bear the stain of that sin. A stigma. A green, weeping tarnish. Her scales, once pure silver, are now stained the colour of the corrupter who ruined them all. Every moment in her true form, that tarnish weeps from her body. Even in her humanoid guises, she cannot disguise it. It appears, as green, burning tear tracks down her face, as vicious, emerald stains across her hands. She’s had to wear so many faces, to create the myth of St. Argentia’s stigmata, just to cover it. And she has done it well. She’s woven a myth, a truth, so well. That the saint was marred by a vicious curse from a dying evil, that she must bear these burning, weeping wounds until the land is at last cleansed of evil and disease. It has … It has served her, in its way. And it is not false. But Irisvalorn knows …

There is innocent blood on her hands. One. One innocent. And she must bear these stigma in her name, until the sin is paid for. Made worth it.

One innocent. Only one. They have not grown. They have not spread, drop by drop, with every … tipping of her scales. Every reminder in her shrine. Every memento placed around Elpia’s enshrined tomb. They haven’t. They have not spread. Her scales are pure and silver, as pure as her heart. The corruption has not spread.

She must kill them. Voreloreat. All those pretenders, those healers and herbalists and wisewomen who bear the monster’s coin, who pretend to help, who hide their evil behind virtuous faces. She must. She must destroy them. Then the evil will stop. The poison, the suffering, the disease. It will all stop.

And her sins … her sins will finally be washed out.

Darklord Irisvalorn. The Silver Healer. A virtuous dragon.

End Notes

Definitely heading for a gothic, religious, dark fantasy sort of Domain of Dread. A little bit Lady Macbeth, a little bit …

This quote is from the 1999 Tim Burton version of Sleepy Hollow, so take that as you will, but it does fit so nicely, and was a lot of the inspiration here:

“Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue.”

Silver dragons would make such dreadful villains. A benign figure hiding poison. A mask of virtue. Because everyone knows that silver dragons are virtuous dragons.

And I do love a green dragon, and they would be the ones to fight poison with poison. Possibly even from genuine virtue. Voreloreat might just have been wanting to see what was going on, and stumbled across, well. Everything Irisvalorn had going on. Maybe she was genuinely disgusted, and her ghost is genuinely trying to help through her order. Or, perhaps, virtue has nothing to do with it, and vengeance, by her enemy’s own tools, is the name of the game. Morals be damned. Those who live and kill by the sword, or the mask, can die by it in their turn. Heh. Dealer’s choice.

So. A sketch of a thought, for a Ravenloft draconic Darklord.

[teaweltzer]

Sorry if this was posted somewhere and I can't find it, do you have specific prompts you're following for drawtober or are you just doing what inspires you? (I admit I've never seen a drawtober before)

You can find all kinds of October month challenge prompts! Inktober & drawtober are the most popular with their own like official prompts. Then people make their own like oc-tober and other fun stuff people can do. I did a Tieftober last year where I just drew tieflings.

But I am not specifically drawing from a prompt list cause I'm too tired to have planned for things. So all I'm doing is drawing from the Ravenloft campaign that I'm in! First 7 days are the PC's we play so you guys know who the hell I'm drawing, then after is just fun stuff like in game scenes or stupid memes

[syrips]

What are your fave canon-divergent Strahd headcanons? And/or what lore changes has a DM made in your CoS campaign that you really liked?

ooh ty for the ask! 🧡🧡

im not sure if my stuff is canon-divergent or compliant because its a mix of potential-canon or random things that could be explained with lore but either way!!-

obviously potential spoilers and l o n g !

thank you for the ask, i kinda rambled but i enjoyed writing it all hehee; i swear these are my favs, didnt realize i have so many

headcanonish list and cos dm list below:

Headcanon-ish(?) list in no specific order:

strahd can invent, alternate, or customize spells

strahd passively charms people (requiring a DC save) without realizing it

strahd 4th wall breaks constantly; anything the DM knows, strahd knows

alek gwilym was the first sacrifice in strahd's ritual, not tatyana or sergei

during the ritual, alek, sergei, and tatyana's physical bodies were all taken by the mists; they can/have reincarnated many times, similar to tatyana, but are usually lost/unaware because strahd only focuses on tatyana

strahd genuinely wants a family, but attempts in desperately unhinged ways (necromancy/kidnapping/adopting)

good-aligned strahd exists, because evil-aligned tatyanas also exist

strahd's tome/i, strahd books have an unintentional charm on the reader (in an in-game sense)

all visual depictions/art/portrayals of strahd are legitimate (in an in-game sense), we just view strahd differently, and draw/see him in our perspective

all versions/campaigns of strahd are canonical, because strahd's soul also got split with tatyana's, albeit in a different 4th wall way

strahd's birthday is in june

strahd was/is neurodivergent

strahd has empathy/sympathy and suffers from his actions, yet is torn between his desires, passion, and desperation

strahd does love, but he views 'love' as synonymous with 'passion'; in his eyes, his actions are justified because the more intense/passionate he is, the more he is expressing his love

alek, sergei, and tatyana all love strahd (in the 'normal' way), but are unable to fully understand how his mind/brain works

alek, rahadin, and strahd's consorts/partners are ones closest to understanding/loving strahd

strahd converting the consorts to vampires allow them to experience love in the same way strahd does - as passion; this is also why he is so adamant in wanting to convert tatyana or just try to help her understand in his bizarre ways

rahadin existed pre-vampire strahd, but strahd wrote about alek because he was closer to alek than rahadin

strahd's father was abusive/strict to strahd; strahd is attracted to people who act opposite to his father

~~~~~

CoS/DM list (im the DM but some of these i love when other DMs do too):

everyone strahd pursues, romances, or charms are adults

for pcs, all (good/neutral/evil) npcs are romanceable without the consequence of death

campaign's 'soft cap' is 20, with boons

strahd's abilities/CR level up with the party

Vampyr is a legitimate entity/creature, that can be fought or haggled with

you do not need to kill/defeat strahd to 'beat' CoS; 'beating' CoS just means making it out of barovia or 'unlocking' access to enter other domains

can communicate/interact with other domains/darklords via spells/magic items

classic DM move of 'tome of strahd is DMified i, strahd 1 and/or 2'

players can play multiple PCs, but only one PC is able to interact in combat (unless a player is missing/unable to make the session)

classic DM move of tatyana PCs

(my favorite one:) CoS+, aka repeatable CoS games where we develop the story/lore/events based on previous CoS games (although its not really just CoS anymore but ravenloft campaigns)

[marusea-a-random-dm]

hiiii (my dnd blog is @deepdragons ) i just found your blog, I’m dming icewind dale too but I’m also playing in a CoS campaign rn and i want to follow u bc yooo best campaigns!! but would just like to know if you have a tag for CoS spoilers so i can avoid 😭😭 thanks!

Hello!

Thank you for the ask! Unfortunately I do reblog a lot of CoS stuff especially spoilers! So if you want to spoil as little as possible, I'd say that this blog is not for you sadly.

BUT! Since there isn't much content on Icewind Dale on Tumblr, the majority of the stuff, that I reblog, comes from the blog post of my player @sirwarlock !!!

Their character Lavr, is a warlock of Strahd, that travels to Barovia by using the planeshift spell to visit him sometimes.

The next section contains spoilers for Icewind Dale and a light Tser Pool first encounter spoiler.

Since my player as well wants to play CoS at some point, I am trying to make the spoilers as mild as possible. Mostly showing things that are either revealed early in the game or hidden in the module. Or come from the Adventures League. (You may always ask your DM, if they are going to add stuff from there to the module.) The only major thing that I have shown them so far are the denizens of the castle Ravenloft.

However! Recently they did an Id Ascendant quest and in a session or two, will trigger the Chardalyn dragon event. In order to make this event as stressful as possible, in Barovia I will run an event, that is briefly mentioned by the Vistani at the Tser Pool. How one year proior to the module, Strahd had to deal with rebellious citizens who were led by an outsider wizard. A lot of DM's homebrew this section and change the way things happened. So it could be a very mid or light spoiler for CoS.

Also there's no guarantee that my player will draw this.

In any case! I plan on DMing Icewind Dale more, and CoS is one of these modules that you should go as much spoiler free as possible, so you can follow my account once you're done with The Curse of Strahd! I hope that you'll enjoy this wonderful module and thank you for taking an interest in my blog!!!

[mx-lamour]

18 - Velvet

There were many things about their undeath and imprisonment that the devil Strahd and ghoulish Captain Gwilym despised and utterly lamented. They even quarreled with each other, sometimes separating themselves for months or years, during which time each would face new hardships and pitfalls on their own, Alek pacing the whole of their shrunken world while Strahd wore down the familiar castle halls. Their vindictive departures only made them both more restless in the end.

It was early dusk when Alek slipped back into Castle Ravenloft, evading its traps by rote. He took stock of the still-waning sun and ducked down into the catacombs.

He was not quite sure why Strahd insisted on sleeping inside a coffin. It would seal him away from any errant sunlight, of course, but he hardly needed the extra protection this far below the fortress. He could just as easily board the windows, draw the curtains, and sleep in his own bed. It would certainly be more comfortable.

Not that the coffin had any shortage of luxuries, as far as Strahd was concerned. It was a fine nearly-black walnut, with narrative carvings set into its sides. The interior was roomy enough for some movement, since an animate being inhabited the box, not merely a corpse, and it was upholstered throughout with the soft pile of crushed red velvet. Alek spoke a word of power, which Strahd had taught him for this purpose, and lifted the lid without consequence.

Strahd lay on his back, head resting on a small velvet pillow, hands folded over his stomach. He was not a perfect noble image of the resting dead; his lips were parted, brow slightly creased, and his chin was tucked too far down toward his neck. If he were still a living man, he would almost certainly be snoring. Alek touched Strahd's chest. The line on Strahd's forehead deepened. He drew in a miniscule breath, just to speak, but all that became of it was a soft grunt muffled deep within his throat. It was early yet. Strahd's limbs were as lead.

His tired groan grew stronger when he was forced to shift, pressing his shoulder back against the bottom of the box for leverage and bending up his knee. Alek climbed in, wedging himself along Strahd's side.

“Good evening,” Alek whispered.

Strahd pursed his lips and swallowed thickly. His throat was dry. He tried to clear it. “Make yourself at home,” he mumbled roughly.

“Don't mind if I do.” Alek kissed the corner of his mouth.

Strahd cracked one dark eye open blearily. “Have I been forgiven, then?”

Alek rubbed his fingers absently along Strahd's collar bone. “You don't need my forgiveness.”

Strahd's frown deepened. He raised a hand to rub his other eye, now that his arms were barely light enough to operate. He settled the hand over Alek's wandering fingers, and fully gazed upon his face. “I suppose not,” he murmured. “What possessed you to return?”

“You did,” Alek said. “I could never leave your side for long.”

“I feel each minute pass when you’re away.”

Alek chuckled softly. “That's a bald-faced lie.”

Strahd's lips curled into a small half-smile. “Not always.”

He shifted again, rolling further on his side to slide his hand up along Alek’s arm, curving it around the other man’s bicep and over, to splay his fingers out on Alek’s back. Strahd pulled him close, angling deep into a languid kiss. Alek held him, too, stroking down his chest to snake his arm behind Strahd’s shoulder blade, grasping the nape of his neck beneath the smooth black hair which carded through his fingers. The soft sounds of their reunion echoed lightly among the crypts.

“I brought you something,” Alek murmured in the space between their parted lips.

“Do tell,” Strahd said before he closed the gap once more.

Alek grinned. The taut pull of his mouth was more difficult to properly kiss, but Strahd continued to try, until they both were laughing quietly. “I will show it to you, if you’ll release me for a moment.” He kissed the space between Strahd’s stubborn brows. “I have it here.”

Strahd obliged by loosening his hold. Alek propped himself up, craning over the edge of the coffin to reach for the backpack he had dropped beside it. He produced a book, and handed it to Strahd. “It’s not a spellbook,” Alek explained, “but it looks old. I’m not sure I recognize the language.”

Strahd took the book and settled back to examine it. Alek curled around Strahd’s shoulder to look with him, draping his arm across Strahd’s chest. Strahd used the crook of Alek’s elbow to stand the book upright. He muttered a short phrase and traced over the embossed title in the faded cover with his fingers. Enduring One Who Grows seemed to be the translation, though the two foreign words upon it were of slightly different ilk. Perhaps a name, then, not a title. The frontmost pages, with their table of contents in tight brown lettering on yellowed pages, described the tome’s contents, presumably written by this Enduring soul whose name adorned the cover.

Strahd glanced sidelong at Alek. “You’ve brought me poetry,” he teased.

Alek’s eyebrows rose. Of course he had—why not? “Read one,” he suggested.

Strahd opened up an arbitrary page. In a low voice reminiscent of their velvet surroundings, he read:

'Poor wounded soul, could he have grasped before,' my sage replied, 'what now he sees is true, and blindly trusted in poetic lore

Strahd frowned, but continued on:

then he need not have so insulted you. But as there was no other way to learn I urged him to a test that grieved me too. Tell us who you were, that he, in turn, can set your honor freshly back in style among those he will teach when he returns.' The trunk: 'Your speech, by raising hope that I'll regain repute, makes words arise in me. I mean to talk, if you will stay a while: I was the one entrusted with the keys to Federigo's mind, and it was sweet to share his thought and guard his strategy for noble ventures secret in my keep — so faithfully I filled this glorious post, I gladly sacrificed my health and sleep...'

Alek bent his arm clumsily to steal the book away again. He angled it to better glance at the page, himself, but still could not understand the native words without the aid of Strahd’s comprehension spell. He gave it back.

Strahd thumbed the edges to find a different page. He read:

Two ladies to the summit of my mind Have clomb, to hold an argument of love. The one has wisdom with her from above, For every noblest virtue well designed: The other, beauty's tempting power refined And the high charm of perfect grace approve: And I, as my sweet Master's will doth move, At feet of both their favors am reclined. Beauty and Duty in my soul keep strife, At question if the heart such course can take And 'twixt the two ladies hold its love complete. The fount of gentle speech yields answer meet, That Beauty may be loved for gladness sake, And Duty in the lofty ends of life

“Not exactly what I expected,” Alek admitted.

“Yet, the poet endures,” Strahd replied wistfully. He closed the book and let it rest upon his chest.

Alek brushed his nose along the side of Strahd’s neck. “Sometimes I regret handing you literature. We might not be in this mess.”

“This mess?” Strahd eched, caressing the long fingers toying with the ends of his hair. He brought Alek’s knuckles to his lips.

Alek grasped Strahd’s jaw and turned his face to better kiss the dour line of his mouth. “No, not this one,” he conceded. “Not always.” He brushed his thumb across Strahd’s chin.

“I welcome your return, with or without any book,” Strahd said quietly. “How long will you stay?”

“I never go far,” Alek murmured. “I suspect you know that. You watch me, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Strahd admitted.

“When you miss me.”

“Yes,” was the answering whisper.

Alek hummed in acknowledgement. “Now that I am here, allow me to distract you for a night. Whatever other chaos you have brewing can wait.”

“I need to feed,” Strahd objected. “I thirst. If I could drink only from your fount, I would. I cannot.”

“Flatterer. Do you have anything in stock?”

“No.”

Alek snickered. “You’ve been moping.” Again, he kissed Strahd’s petulant frown. Tossed the foreign book of poetry gently to the floor, and positioned himself to lay bodily on top of Strahd. “You must know it’s your own doing,” Alek told him. “Now you’re trapped, and you have only my body for sustenance. Maybe you’ll starve, but I think you’ll enjoy it. You saw me coming. You watched me walk home to you. You’ve been waiting for this.”

“Yes,” Strahd breathed, though he hated to admit it. It didn’t matter. If anyone knew, it would be Alek. Alek would leave, but every time, he would choose Strahd again. When he turned around and wandered back, it hollowed something jagged in Strahd’s chest, begging to be filled by nothing but the fair man’s footsteps over Ravenloft’s threshold.

Strahd hugged Alek’s body to himself, dragging up his shirt to rove his hands beneath it. Alek’s skin was cool to the touch, like Strahd’s own, like everything, but his back was familiar and strong, his weight a tether tying low Strahd’s errant mind. He was showered with the most attentive kisses, moaning plaintively when Alek nipped his throat.

The love they made was slow and deep, rejoined again at last within their little deaths, wound together in a velvet coffin of their own design.

* * * First Poem: excerpt from "The Thorn Forest" Second poem: "Of Beauty and Duty" both by Dante Alighieri [Ao3 Collection] [prompt list by @syrips]

[tantaliart]

As a fellow Rahadin romancer I wonder: How did you manage to get Ismark and Rahadin together? I need to know!!

HELLO!! haha people have been asking why and how they got together for awhile now which are very fair questions. unfortunately i'm obsessed and infected with brainworms so i will take this opportunity to word vomit on you.

[if you are virion, ansel, accar, valex or grae do not read]

they're exes and not together anymore despite having some very heavy tension lawl, and i decided the most succinct way to describe it was to copy and paste their backstory directly from my notes under the cut (long) and why my players ship them (also long)

but TL;DR ismark and rahadin met quite a few times while rahadin monitored ireena for strahd. ismark stupidly put himself between him and ireena every time, and when rahadin protected them from an attack they became curious about eachother. one thing led to another and they got involved for awhile, until strahd drank from ireena and rahadin stopped ismark from interfering, which in ismark's eyes was unforgivable.

since then they've had this weird tension going on! rahadin captured ismark around the beginning of the campaign (under strahd's orders so that strahd could "return" him under the guise of being benevolent) and i didn't originally intend for them to be together, but my player joked something along the lines of "omg they're exes" when it seemed like they knew eachother and it kind of spiraled from there.

Gay little Ismark plot:

Once Strahd found Ireena Kolyana and had visited her, he began using Rahadin to send messages to and occasionally monitor Ireena in order to make sure she came to no harm. Eventually, Ismark began to catch on, and encountered him when he came to visit. Ismark despised him, knowing he was a servant of Strahd and being aware of his dark reputation throughout Barovia. He was scared of him, but not so scared of him that he wouldn't put himself between Rahadin and Ireena. Every. Time.

Rahadin soon found himself annoyed with Ismark, but knew that he was not to kill him yet, or at least in front of Ireena-- Strahd wanted Ireena to come to Castle Ravenloft willingly. Over time, however, when Rahadin protected them from a dire wolf attack (protecting Ireena), Ismark began to become curious about the Chamberlain, and Rahadin, seeing him fight and seeing him so un-frightened of him as to trash talk him, became more curious about him in turn. Soon, they had developed something of a tumultuous tension every time they encountered one another, whether it be on Ireena-related business or not, drawing Rahadin's attention ever so slightly away from Strahd for the first time in millennia.

Once, Rahadin had entered the village to check on Ireena, as Strahd had him sometimes do, and found that Ireena was leaving the Blood of the Vine tavern with a friend, laughing while Ismark was plastered at the bar. After monitoring her and making sure she got back home safely, Rahadin returned to the bar and stared at him. Ismark questioned why he was there and just sort of drunkenly rambled for a while, before Rahadin told him robotically (as he does) that he should go home. Ismark made fun of the way he talked, then, after Rahadin pressed him to go home, he stood up, then promptly fell over. Rahadin caught him and carried him home, climbing up to his bedroom window, opening it, and delivering him into his bed. Ismark asked him to stay, but he didn't.

Strahd, of course, noticed, and began to tease him about it, treating it as a flippant thing and encouraging him to do whatever as long as it didn't distract from his duty. This made Rahadin appose to the idea even more strongly, but one stormy and windy night, after a situation where he had been cornered by a group of anti-Strahd werewolf opposers, he found himself just outside the village of Barovia, and after a night of stress, felt his inhibitions weakened. He appeared in Ismark's room, soaked to the skin and covered in blood, to which Ismark reacted with fear, then, he accepted his presence and they spent the night together. While awkward and clipped, pillow talk did indeed ensue, though Rahadin left as soon as the dawn rose behind the clouds.

Rahadin and Ismark met a few nights more over the next few months. Strahd, of course, noticed, and made an effort to have it be smugly known that he thought it was good for him. Rahadin, of course, made an effort for it not to be known that he was freaked the fuck out inwardly.

Any goodwill from that time, however, vanished the second time that Strahd appeared and drank from Ireena, a watchful Rahadin standing guard and knocking out Ismark when he rushed to help. Ever since, they have become significantly distanced, though Ismark still harbors some bitter and confusing feelings for the man-- Rahadin has smothered anything he could've felt for him in favor of his duty to Strahd.

Why my players started shipping it, despite not knowing any of this:

ireena said something along the lines of "I don't even know but there was something weird going on between those two" in like session 5 which made my players side-eye me. while ismark was being kept in the castle (as a beauty and the beast type captive) he would end some sending messages with 'sorry can't talk now have to go' and my players would be like oooo he's talking to rahadin.

IT WAS ALL A JOKE AND IT SPIRALED. when they rescued him from castle ravenloft one of the PCs witnessed an interaction between rahadin and ismark expressing mutual exasperation over escher's annoying-ness and my aroace player who hates escher was so endeared to them that it is now one of the ONLY ships he ships in anything ever. they've had another encounter in front of them again with weird familiar tension going on, but i didn't confirm that they were fr together once until like session 17.

the most unfortunate thing about all of this is that rahadin is the subject to the paladin's oath of vengeance for killing her grandfather and he is therefore destined to die/be a final boss.

i keep telling my players this and they keep telling me (INCLUDING THE PALADIN) they're going to 'resurrect him' and 'set him and ismark up on a blind date'. this is also not an option as one of the PCs is so vehemently against undead that he would violently appose. still, they dream, and bug me.

[hikarinokusari]

Not me the DM drawing things that doesn't happen nor will happen this way nor will happen at all when I'm supposed to draw the dinner scene since my players were invited to Ravenloft nearly one year ago.

And not the energy to polish anything. I might come around them and polish. One day. When I'll draw the dinner scene. And the comic I'm supposed to draw for a year as well.

Anyway.

Rahadin's drawing background (c) i really couldn't trace back the artist but it's not mine.

Various references of kabedon used for the Khal / Vasili drawing.

I apologize for the brainworms and how I take your character without you knowing to put brainworms on canvas. Thank you @xyanmajor for putting up with my nonsense.

[palidoozy-art]

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

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Durven Graef

Darklord: Lord Durven Graef Domain: Graefmotte, The Font of Sorrows Domain Formation: Unknown Power Level: 💀💀💀⚫⚫ (3/5 skulls) Sources: Dragon Magazine #375 (4e) Lord Durven Graef is the Darklord of the Domain of Graefmotte, which many refer to as the ‘Font of Sorrows’. A bit pretentious, but so is our little lordling. 

Durven was the Lordling of a small province within the far reaches of the Kingdom of Nerath. When the land was invaded by an overwhelming army of gnolls lead by the tyranical and ruthless “White Ruin”, King Elidyr called for his lords to raise their banners against the invasion.

Durven had lost two sons already and having to protect his people from the occasional skirmish with the orcs that resided in the nearby mountains, ignored his King’s orders. Not only was his town far from the war, but he was unwilling to potentially sacrifice his only son to the cause. An understandable decision, yet one should never question the orders of one’s King and it seems, in a rare instance, our tormentors and I agree on this.

Durven’s son, Geoffery, however, was patriotic to the point of disobeying his own father and wished to join the deadly war. When the official orders came, in the form of a severely injured young soldier, Durven thought he could finally convince his son not to go.

Upon entering his son’s chambers, Geoffery was already eagerly packing. The two argued, which quickly devolved into violence during which Durven ‘accidentally’ killed his son. Not wanting to face what he did, Durven fled from the room and ordered it to be sealed away, leaving his son dead where he laid. An understandable reaction. Even when one is forced to execute a loved one for the good of the realm, it is not an easy thing to face. Durven, of course, did no such thing and his act was out of pure selfishness.

That very evening, a horde of gnolls descended upon Durven’s township and slaughtered those within. Durven retaliated and empowered by his grief, rage, and blood lust, forced the gnolls to retreat. Though he may have gained some form of vengeance in that fight, the damage on the town was too great to repair and Durven himself sustained a few mortal injuries. All expected him to die in a day or two.

Our tormentors had other plans for Durven and the instead of death stealing him away from his grief, the Mists rose up around his township and the surrounding lands, drawing him into Ravenloft. Durven awoke in his bed, fully healed and now in a land known as Graefmotte. 

Durven does not age, nor can he truly die. If one manages to kill the swordsman, he returns the next day at dawn upon his bed without a single scar on his person. Upon entering the Mists, Geoffery’s body disappeared and now haunts Lord Durven’s keep as a powerful ghost. Geoffery’s ghost draws the spirits of the dead who fell during the gnoll invasion. Because of this, the town is infested with the undead, putting Mordent to shame. What people remain in Graefmotte are starving for their is little to eat, there is no one to trade with and the surrounding woodlands, known as the Ill Wood, are infested with more undead and gnolls.

Though Durven is a craven swordsman who betrayed his Kingdom, it is said that when he falls, the gnolls will invade Graefmotte. Perhaps they remember his battle rage and fear retaliation. Either way, while he lives, the gnolls dwell within Ill Wood and who’s to say what exactly they will do when Durven is gone indefinitely. 

[kidheart]

Ravenloft DnD Inktober #1: Autumn

This month I will be doing a drawing prompt challenge for illustrations of scenes from the Ravenloft DnD AU I have been writing for a while now.

Starting with an Autumn stroll, with Heart seeing the Fall Season for the first time. After living in an eternal frozen desert her whole life, everything is very new to her. So I felt this was a good place to start!