#Valley of the Unfortunate Undead

[juddgeeksout]

Three d6 Tables for Books in the Mörk Borg World

I read over the Bare Bones Edition, rolled up a character and liked what was made. I am intrigued, bought the book and an adventure called Regicide because I liked the name of it. During a lunch break I jotted down three d6 tables for creating fast books from the world. Art assets below by Perplexing Ruins. 3 d6 Tables for Mork Borg…

[remcadll]

Gen obsessed with how.. *dead* your Jason's color pallete is. Like, that's corpse pale right there. Not a spec of blood left flowing in there (also father Todd's skin being full of color in comparison is a nice touch)

THANK YOU I love making him look a bit ghoulish. Guy who's not supposed to be alive but yes he is. no he isn't <3

[grim333z]

Aurora ~

Carl x gn!reader

Word count : 8417

{this is so very towl inspired}

TW: brief mention of a suicide attempt, blood-loss, scars, usual twd gore.

Angst with an itty bitty bit of fluff

[I just kinda died for you

You just kinda stared at me

We will always have that chance

We can do this one more time]

You only had one goal at this moment in time, clearing the camp of walkers, their god awful rotting figures nearing in on the camp, nearing closer to each and every community you'd fought with everything in you to simply just keep up and running; the bridge you'd spent the past three months on a direct route to each community, oceanside, Alexandria, the kingdom, hilltop, the sanctuary. And Walkers simply couldn't be the thing to take it all out, take everything you'd fought and lost so many for.  Your heart thrums in your ears as you scramble to find something that  could help, your fingers fiddling around to find the smooth polished wood of the handle of your gun, sitting in its worn leather holster dangling from your hips; perhaps it was the sheer adrenaline running through you causing the fiddling.

The moans from the dead whom should be buried echo in the trees around you, the groaning and stumble of undead feet ringing through hardened soil. You spot a few lone stragglers far off in the distance, their rot darkened and decaying flesh blending in with the trees. It had been so long since all of it started you'd yet to grasp the reasoning behind why they're still standing, surely they'd have rotted or starved over the years, but hell you still didn't know why they even started standing in the first place. 

The smell of damp moss, soil and long-rotting flesh pierces your nose, still fumbling for some clue on how to drag yourself out of an unfortunate situation, till the faint nickering of a tied up horse rings some where in the distance. Scrambling to your feet, heaving yourself up on a log bench, stumbling towards the source of the noise. The animal could've been surrounded in the horde, part of you knew you it was more than likely a pile of half chewed flesh and organs awaiting. Still you cling to the small glimmer of hope lingering within you that the horse was still living, it was a start. 

They were called walkers for a reason, they walk. On a horse going at a steady pace you could easily lead the mass of dead somewhere far enough away to at least deal with later, with time to formulate a plan, gather the masses to assist in whatever needs to happen. You'd diverted plenty of hordes before, they had some kind of...migration pattern? seemingly surrounding the community's during early autumn and migrating off during the spring, albeit in a smaller group. Over the past few years most of the groups had grown accustomed to how the walkers behave, finding longer trips easier in winter when their movements pull to a halt each time they freeze, ending buried beneath snow and ice till they thaw in the warmth of a January sun.

The growls grow louder...like the horde is seemingly getting closer. Then you spot it, you'd taken the wrong route, having stumbled upon one of the more unsteady bridges, large metal rods poke out from where they'd warped and broken over years of unmaintained usage large chunks of brittle concrete fall into the river below. The horse lets out a sound of something that can only be described as fear, before the cold searing pain of metal violating through flesh rings through your body. No longer looking down at the pale path around you, though the sky, the warm sun beating down on your face hot against your skin, before the growling once again hits your ears. 

The cold crimson of blood graces your hands as you feel for the wound, part of you cant even fathom if its even really their, or if the heat and your lack of water is playing tricks on you. But know, the sight of your hand dripping in none other than your own blood, seeping into the cracks and valleys of your hands. Your eyes will themselves to look down, to be met with the sight of a thick jagged piece of shrapnel sticking itself out of your side, surrounded by a mass of throbbing flesh. You knew it was never a fantastic idea to pull a what you'd been stabbed with out, right now that piece of metal was keeping a fair amount of blood inside of you. Though met with a horde of nearly a thousand walkers you decide dealing with a gaping hole was an issue for later, and avoiding being eaten alive a more pressing issue at the moment. 

The rumbling of the horses hooves are long gone by now, just the hungry wines and moans of the undead, the drumming of their feet, dragging on the floor as they walk. seemingly refusing to rot. Your eyes dart around the environment, searching for something to almost hoist you from your compromised position...without causing anymore damage; the task feeling practically impossible. 

The vibration of feet against ground draws closer as the thrum of your own heartbeat raises in your ears, fingers fiddling with your belt having spot a rusty piece of metal sticking out from above you, wincing as your adrenaline fuelled movements jostle the wound awkwardly. Having paused for a breath you throw the  belt up to the jagged piece of metal, watching the worn leather loop over the top of it. 

Inhaling deeply through your nose you pull yourself up and off the metal which had violated its way through your throbbing side, the sudden movement and blood loss sending you dizzy, a sharp nausea raising in your throat as you try and pull yourself together. Swallowing down the sick feeling, unsure if its the sheer adrenaline running full force through your veins or the fact you're actively bleeding out. The sweat on your skin has suddenly grown heavy and your eyelids are all too aware of their desire to close, and your willingness to keep them open. 

Trudging along the paths in hope to make it back to the camp to at least patch yourself up. You manage to keep up a pace to go just faster than the hungry masses behind you, god knows where you're leading them, full circle would be worse than never ever starting. Though a distraction, diversion really could buy you some time to inform someone from some community that you're fucking dying surrounded by a horde.

Then you spot it, the same pale white horse you'd been perched upon before she'd decided to throw you onto a piece of sharp metal, chewing grass beside a small worn down shack, grinding each blade between her teeth like there's nothing to fear. 

You huff in relief, horses were faster than nothing. Lumbering over to the horse and pulling yourself up fighting back unconsciousness. The red stains the horses coat as you lurch forward, deciding holding yourself upright and facing the dizziness simply wasn't worth it. You feel the blood ebb from between where you'd been fighting to almost hold it inside, seeping from the shallow valleys between each finger. Your fading sideways vision of your surrounding ripples and flows in and out darkening as you feel your eyelids grow heavy. You keep telling yourself not long now... not long till what exactly? you're not sure. Death? perhaps or help? forcing yourself to simply keep going, it was the least you could put mind to doing. 

Slipping from conscious, you see the prison? far off in the distance, the group sat around a small fire in the middle of a once walker infested field, chewing on something Daryl must've caught, You're in the circle but you're not seeing through your own eyes, Beth is singing, her voice doesn't sound how you remember it though, quietened by the distance and muffled, like theres some static buzzing constantly trying to drown it out. 

Though pulling you back to consciousness is the almost sweet earthy sent of rot is never ever far behind, the groans whom fade in and out of your mind, like your ears are giving you short reminders of what needs to happen. 

and you're back again, though knees pressed into the cold sharpness of gravel as Negan sings his speech, and yet you're looking at yourself, sat along side the rest of them, his words almost echoing around you. Then there's the hard crack of wood against skull. You blink... and you're once again surrounded by masses of walking dead, hunched over on the bony back of a horse as you stain its snow white coat with a cherry wine crimson. 

Then their it is, the camp... the tents soft fabric fluttering in the wind and the sent of a long put out fire stings the air still... You hoist yourself off the horse, watching the large animal head to where it knows its meant to be. 

The ground beneath your feet feels like its moving when you know its not, the feeling of cold damp sweat forcing the fabric of your clothes to stick to your skin. Theres a strange fuzzy feeling in the ends of each limb, and a weird static feeling ringing like its near enough to be right next to you or far enough away to be humming continuously in the distance. 

Then someone calls your name, fuzzy and muffled by the sudden pounding in your head and your astute knowledge that you're in some serious shit. 

Your own head feels heavy on your neck and the blood has yet to cease its stream, pulsing from you with no intent to stop. You can't figure out who's called your name, their voice muffled and distorted by what can only be chalked up to as your blood loss. Each breath that goes in is deep and heavy but never satisfying to what you need, like you cant keep up with the pace your heart is beating at. 

Then theirs more voices, and it's unclear if its one persons words echoing in your mind or that of several peoples, hell who knows if you're even actually hearing it. The source of the voices is soon spotted to be a huddle of sort of familiar faces, on the bank across from the bridge, looking up at you, as you stumble over your own feet, staggering around like you're not far of joining the huddle of walker friends behind you. 

Shit the walkers, you huff in before willing your legs to just fucking move, letting your feet fall to their own rhythm, your lips realising fast sucked in gasps after each movement. The shuffling of uncoordinated feet and never ending snarls thrumming behind your weak frame is more than enough to push you forward. You weren't dead yet, so you had to keep going. After making it this far, death quite simply wasn't on the table for you. Taken out by walkers was not the way you planned on going out. 

The opposite side of the bridge approaches faster than you expect it to, turning to face the sea of snapping teeth and rotting limbs. Knees feeling like they're inches from caving, sending you too the floor. A small lingering yearning for this to simply end sticks in the back of your throat. Wondering if giving in to the snarling jaws of the dead would be easier than pushing through, forcing your knees to keep you upright. You'd never wished for an easy route before though. Why start now? 

The dizziness somehow grows, your jaw hanging limp as you force more air into your lungs, feeling the saliva build in your mouth and your face grow pale and clammy, coughing out in attempt to rid yourself of the sickness building within. 

Looking around for some kind of solution... something to wrap your wound or divert the walkers, a flare to fire in the distance maybe or a bomb... you spot them, fallen from a cart on the bridge, the bright red coating lighting up light a heaven sent solution. Your fingers fiddle for the handle of your gun, hell going out this way was better than being eaten alive. Gripping the cold handle as your arms raise aiming at the explosives.

"What the fuck? what are you doing?" Carl...? Sure you'd seen people on the bank but had you been imagining them...? then it is again, his voice and you know for certain he's speaking to you. "Don't be an idiot..." He Yells, voice laced with a thick layer of panic as you tilt your head to look at him, the dizziness punishing your movement.

The boy looks over at you, being held back by both Rick and Michonne, fighting the two grown adults grip, like he'd nearly got himself killed to reach you. "Let me go, they're clearly hurt" His voice is strained and hopeless as he writhes in their grip, trying his best to yank himself from their restraint. 

"Carl..?" The word falls from between your lips, Shakey and pained. He wont have heard it, though he probably gathered from the look on your face as your lips fell ajar. 

You force your gaze away from him, back on mission. Pulling the trigger before you even allow a chance at second thoughts, The blow is hard and fast, hot against your already clammy skin. 

 You find yourself waking up once again in the same plainly decorated bedroom, the cold grey light pours in through the one small window, the same three wind turbines spinning as they have each morning for the past god knows how many years.  The gentle hum of the air con blowing cold stale air around the four suffocating walls. You'd never not felt like a Guinea pig being tested on or a rat in a cage; the freedom they pretend you have is an illusion. 

You haven't truly been in the moment since that day happened, each person you knew seemingly fading from memory till all you see when your eyes shut is the snarling teeth of dozens of walkers Infront of you and the cold metal of the trigger of your gun. The faces are the first to go, then the voices, its hard to match what someone sounds like when you can't imaging their lips moving as they speak, it wasn't one person at a time, more like chunks of memories, fading leaving the scenes empty in your head. 

Sat around a campfire you were sure someone else was sat with you, maybe a group...maybe someone singing. Or the end of a train tracks, there was a sign though the letters no longer form, and theirs just the cold ghost of a group you're not sure if you imagined or not, wandering around each empty community, no one to be seen. Just to wake up in the same place, do the same training, wear the same uniform and act the same. 7am wake up, 7:30 breakfast, 8am morning meeting, 9 am close contact training, 10am helicopter training, then back for lunch at 11 just to be swept back to the outer edge of the compound to plunge a hand designed spear into the mushy brains of roaming rotting hunks of flesh what were once humans. 

Each squelch of flesh and crack of skull, ticking off another one and another one till your last name ends up painted onto the brick wall with the top kills number written out next to it. A big 97. Most kills in this section. 

They knew what you were, what they had planned for you. Labelled as an "A". They had labels for their civilians, Bs and As. Bs are people simply trying to stay alive and are let into the community via the Consignment Program. Survivors who are encountered by the group are let in, though not for free, having them do janitorial work, clearing walkers to earn their place, However they killed As on spot, fearing their ability to organise and inspire a revolt, risking uproar in the community's. They lacked mercy, finding removing potential threats before they become threats easier. 

That didn't stop them from mischaracterising you initially, hell that was the only reason you weren't amongst the hoards of walking dead, listing you as a B. Unsurprising in the state you were in, bleeding out on a river bank. They figured you out not long after, pulling you into a secrete developing part of the Military. 

They called themselves the "CRM" or the "Civic Republic Military." a high tech community somehow hidden from any one else, you'd grown to know their dirty secrets over time. Bombing the city's near by, ending every community to discover them. No one could leave for fear they'd be discovered, cause some type of dispute. You'd tried to escape nearing on five times. Surprisingly they asked you to join the military They had plans for you, to pick and scrape at your flesh and mould you into the very leader they needed. 

Part of you couldn't grasp why they still want you around, you'd pulled some shit trying to escape over the years, nearly loosing limbs, pulling stitches from past attempts. Just to wind up back in your same room, staring into the same blank wall, feeling the cold of a shard of glass between your fingers and drawing it to somewhere with a surface level artery ; though never being able to will yourself to actually do it. 

So when you find yourself in the passenger seat of a helicopter, plummeting towards the ground. You don't panic, seeing it as an easy way out. You fall asleep each night wishing that explosion had taken you out, or that you'd let the dead sink their teeth into your flesh. Years without a familiar face, years without any closure. The people whom had ceased from your memories could be dead, their names unable to fall from your butchered tongue. Finding everything you do or say robotic, accidentally slipping into the mould they'd chiselled out for you.

Feeling the soil greet you isn't something that you dread, closing your eyes as you make impact, just to hit the ground and fucking live. Crawling out of the wreckage, huffing as you pull your frame from the mess of metal and blood. Lurching forward on your knees as you attempt to pull yourself into the moment, each event feeling like you're watching from a distance, like what happens wont really affect you. A numb kind of comfort though. You don't fear death, it can't be much worse than this, can it? 

You're blinking, you can feel the weight of your eyelids as they shut, and the sting of salty air from the river not far. and a person? In the corner of your eye, wielding a sword, some clearly very worn tilted back on a head of long almost curly almost wavy hair. The black mesh of your military required helmet blocks your view, not to mention how out of it you feel. The person is pulling the masks of each individual, slicing their throats. They're out here and have clearly been out here. No point in running, so you sit back, knees pressed into the hard rocky dirt, silently waiting. Theres no fear, no nausea rising in your throat, nothing. 

You see yourself, like you're looking down, hands limp against your side, each breath shallow and purposeless, the person moves from solider to soldier with a vengeance not to be messed with. Till their cold pale fingers have latched onto the bottom edge of the helmet, pulling it from your head, swallowing slightly as the cold looking, bloodied blade is raised.... and theirs no kingdom come, the cold sharp metal hovers just under your chin...before falling to the floor.

"Holy fuck-" Holy fuck... 

You look up, greeted by a familiar blue eye, peering down at your limp form, kneeling as if you're ready to go, like theirs nothing ahead of you. "Carl." You breath, and you're back in your own flesh and bone again, seeing from your own two eyes. a feeling foreign but not unfamiliar grows in the pit of your gut, rising up in your throat. Dirt and stone crunches beneath your feet as you hoist yourself up to his level 

"I- I found you..." He breathes, awestruck as he looks at you. He doesn't question your compliance to the blade, the lack of any fight or flight at the feel of the cold metal against your neck. He's too overwhelmed with joy to pay any mind to it, just looking into your eyes. His face is older, more adult, and he's not wearing anything over his scar, deep rippled flesh revealed to the world. "You did..." You hum, unsure on the right thing to say. 

Then his mouth is against yours, warm and welcoming, hands wrapping around your armour clad waist. The cold wet of his mouth moving against yours as if you were drinking dry the river Lethe, forcing the years of a yearning thirst for this to simple oblivion. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as he breathes you in, undisturbed by your changed form. 

Finding your finger tips laced in the warm gentle curls of his hair, the lack of a flinch when you accidentally brush over his scar fills you with a undiscovered warmth, almost pride. You're the first to pull away, sucking in a breath through your teeth as your head lands on his shoulder, "Carl..." You breathe, garnering your own name back, said in the same breathless manner. 

"How'd you find me..." You hum, feeling an overpowering longing to investigate him, ask him how is everyone? how he knew where to look? to just keep asking until he's too overwhelmed with words to form a response. "I- I don't know..." He breathes, not truly believing the luck behind it all. Your head draws back meeting his eyes. 

The look on his face must mirror yours. Years of longing to be in one another's embrace, too feel the gentle warmth of his finger tips as he absentmindedly traces your features. Or the hiss he'd make when you'd snag his hair accidently after you'd begged and bargained with him to play with it, knowing he'd never admit how he drank in the quiet intimate feeling of the warm pads of your fingers as they weaved small braids or dragged across his scalp. You'd never really put to mind how easy he is to need, to be around. 

Your name falls from his lips, pulling you from your thoughts. The whispered word relighting the burning embers you were sure had been buried deep within you, blown out the moment you'd woken up surrounded by white clinical infirmary walls, leaving you with nothing but ash and ruins. His gentle gaze dragging you from the depth of the hole you'd found yourself in, the hole you'd always intended to be a grave, now all you can see is life, nestled deep within his soft expression.

The moment is interrupted by the loud whirr of high speed helicopter blades, far off in the distance. You knew what they're here for. Destroy all evidence, rescue any remaining. It was simple protocol. However this gave you less time to figure out what to do with  Carl. He could run now or join you. And though you yearn for him, his embrace. He isn't fit for this place.

"You either run or do what I say." The words tumble from your tongue, he pulls back slightly nodding, his feet don't move more than a few steps away from you, awaiting your instructions. "They can't know I know you." You urged, a faint shakiness in your voice, prying its way through the cracks, he's made his decision to stay without knowing what they'll put him through. 

"Pick a new name, make up a story, act like you need to rely on someone... And don't call them walkers I call them that." His chest rises as he sucks in a deep breath of mid summer air nodding. You raise your hands, looking to him to follow. You pull your military appointed gun from its holster, aiming it at him. Hopefully setting the scene well enough for the military to believe Carl was just someone trying to survive. The raised lump in his throat bobs as he forces down the bubbling nerves with a swallow. The whirring grows louder as the helicopter approaches. 

You eyes meet Carl a couple days later, his slender frame clad in the usual brown and orange uniform, a Bs uniform. three embroidered inter-looping circles on the back. You pick up the pace slightly, the once heavy unform now weightless as your feet hit the ground in an attempt to catch up to him. 

Pulling him aside into one of the military's vehicle storage ware houses, situation yourselves between two large black CRM trucks, the type they hauled large amounts of artillery or food to different parts of the republic. He'd made it into the consignment program, unbeknownst to him, you had to pry at Thorne to let him in. "They're gonna put you on missions soon." He nods, silently awaiting a continuation on what said missions are; letting his pale pink tongue dampen his lip in thought, "We fly out to overrun chunks of land, clear and secure it." His eyebrows twist uncomfortably at your unusually methodical way of speech, every word seeming to just get the point across, plain and clear. Your expression falters slightly at this revelation, blinking before setting yourself back on task. Slipping a small, neatly folded piece of paper into his pocket. "Wha-" You sniffle pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before slipping your helmet back on and walking out. Re-joining the group of fellow soldiers headed off. 

Carl's left with the weight of your note in his pocket, and an overwhelming amount of confusion. Fingers just grazing the folded edge but unwilling to pull it out and read it, for fear he'll loose you once again. He spends the rest of the day meddling with the idea of reading it, sat in his tiny military assigned room, eye on the dark edge of a letter peeking out through the folded gap. He fears whats on the page, but the curiosity threatens to bubble over the surface. Leaning forward to snatch the paper of the desk, fumbling as he opens it out, gliding over each letter. 

"I can't go, but you need to. I have a plan but I won't be their to execute it with you. My bit is done, this is your part. Theres a boat, just down the river, slightly out of view and off any route, Theres food, water, a with the route to home. The guards change over at 4, there's a blind spot, but its only open for fifteen minuets max, in-between 3:50-4:05. Go then, Go tonight, they'll notice what I took is gone by dawn. You found me, but you can't stay and I can't leave. I love you." 

Scrawled in your messy handwriting and signed with your initials, he runs his top teeth over his lower lip as he scans over the words again and again, but he cant will himself to even put the thoughts to set your plan in motion. Slumping back against the firm barely worn in mattress, staring up at the blank white ceiling as he allows the paper to fall from his grip.

You wake up, the same as each morning, pull yourself back to your feet and go. There's no sign of Carl at breakfast, you take it as he did as you'd told him, he'd be gone, nearly half way back to Alexandria by now. You head back to your room as per routine, slip into your uniform and find yourself clambering into a helicopter, slipping the headset on before looking at Thorne, she states most the key info, where you're going, and what you're doing, clearing walkers on the outskirts of the city, she does however drop some info which peaks your interest, "They're taking a trainee in the other one..." Your eyebrows twist and contort in confusion at her words? A trainee? You let out a quiet mm in response, a quiet acknowledgement of her words not wanting to overwhelm her with questions, trainees were never put on missions like this. It was one of the riskier areas, worn down buildings with bits of metal sticking out, chunks of brittle concrete threatening to fall and unsteady soil, with roots ready to rip out the ground taking the rest of the tree with. Trainees were put on smaller missions, in clearings with just a few stray walkers. 

Looking out at the community as it grows smaller beneath you, the surrounding area lined with pine trees nearly two dozen deep and vast hills which seemingly stretch for lines beyond the horizon line. 

The stretch of land you'd be working on grows near, the faint movement through still trees makes you certain you're not gonna go back very clean, mentally preparing to scrub dirt and blood off your skin until it is red and raw. 

The loud constant whirring of the blades dies down as the vehicle lowers to the ground, slipping your helmet on as you clamber from the seat, there's another solider, and who you assume is the trainee, his uniform hanging off his frame like they'd given him one just close enough to fit. Seemingly unprepared for his debut mission. He slips the helmet off to look at Thorne and you as the Rules and plan for the Mission get reeled off, "G.Rimes, you're sticking with me. We can't have you getting killed on your first go, Group one is on walker duty, Group two on fence duty," Thorne states. G.Rimes? You hadn't looked at the trainee, he wasn't in your group, so he wasn't yours to deal with. It was a silent agreement between you and Thorne, you could both each handle your own. 

And their Carl stood, holding the helmet to his hip, making soft subtle glances at you. Blinking you force yourself back on task, telling your group what they're doing. "Group one is on walkers, we need to get in their weld up what we can, and replace what we need to, there's three breaches and I'm assigning two to each one, Me and smith on the first, Byrne and Lincoln on the Second and lastly Carlton and Gurira on the third, you each know what you're doing and you have each other for help. We all know protocol? So get to it." You affirmed, wracking off each word to ensure the mission goes smoothly, following protocol. Having to shove down every word that threatens to escape your lips in Carls direction, you had a job and you wouldn't let emotions overtake the importance of the task at hand. Though in the overwhelming anger you don't even grasp the fact he chose to not go home, to not see his family again, For you. He'd rather keep up the act of an innocent survivor, live under intense rules and protocol to simply just to be in your space. 

The mission goes as planned, each breach repaired and nearly every walker in the area gone. Theres a gentle nudge on your side, its Thorne gently trying to get your attention "The trainee want's a quick run through on how the helicopters work, he's really adamant to be shown... And look I would but Beale wants me in for a meeting about some promotion..." She rambles, before heading off. Not leaving you with much choice in the matter. Spotting Carl stood next too the empty helicopter, a faintly sad blank expression on his face. Watching you climb into the drivers seat, following you. 

"You don't want me here do you?" He asks but the contents of the letter you'd given him made the answer already clear. You'd arranged an escape for him, with the intent for him to take it. He knew there had to be a reason why you needed him gone, and a reason you hadn't told him. 

"I don't think its a good idea for you to be here." You state matter of fact-ly. Eyes focused on getting the two of you back to the main facility. He's chewing on his lip slightly, looking out at the solid concrete facility buildings, ant sized in the distance. "Why." He asks, blue eye staring at you with a new glint of longing lace in his sad expression. "I can't- Carl, you should've ran when I told you to." You huff, knowing that this was for the better. 

As the helicopter nears closer to the community he pipes up again, "At least show me how to use this thing, like I'd asked for." He spits, playing with the button on his holster. He'd been given a black, crm embroidered eyepatch, his fingers going to adjust the fabric, having grown used to not wearing anything over it. The twinge of insecurity he was sure was gone had weezled its way back into his mind, maybe the fact you refused to look at him, or the urgency behind getting him something to cover it up with. He's slowly starting to wish he'd never even bothered coming to find you. 

You start listing off the controls on the large dashboard in front of you, a mass of flickering lights, knobs and switches. He sits and pretends like he's listening, nodding and humming to your words, like he gives a fuck, in all reality he's buying time with you, formulating a plan on getting you both out of there. You're hovering over a sectioned off area, an old research building which got swarmed just on the edge of the river bank. There was intent to reclaim the building from the dead, expand the walls across to it. Though they never found time, and figuring a way to wall of a chunk of river without interrupting the flow while simultaneously not having any gaps was too much work for one research building.  "What does that one do." He questions, hovering over a button. "Carl, do not press that." You urge, you'd already told him what that one does and yet... he still pressed it, sending you both plummeting towards the muddy river bank. 

You feel him pulling you out with him, rolling onto the dirt as the vehicle crashes into the river. "What the fuck?" You yell, pulling yourself away from him, dragging your muddied form to a stand. Looking at him from the ground. His eyes staring up at you, a less than happy expression on his face. He sits himself up, wincing as a mud covered piece of shrapnel plunges into the palm of his right hand,  quickly moving it away. Looking down at the wound as it slowly starts too ooze red, its not deep, not deep enough to need stitches at least. 

"I'm getting us out, us. Both of us." He snarls bringing himself to his feet. "They'll come find us, they're probably heading out right now." You respond. "We'll tell them, it malfunctioned or something." He scoffs, heading away from the scene of the crash, towards the upwards slope. "All the reason to get going then." He states, starting to climb the bank, and you have no choice but to follow. He glances around before deciding to head towards the old research facility. "Its overrun." You state, though his pace doesn't slow. "I can deal with Walkers." He urged, slipping the gun from its holster.

The two front glass doors are locked with a black chain, the CRM's lazy attempt at keeping whatever's inside contained. "Carl." You scolded, hearing the click of the metal as he cocks the gun, before one deafening shot rings through the air, breaking smashing the smooth glass of the door. "What are you doing...?" You hiss, watching him duck as he slips through the door frame. "We need supplies, so I'm getting them." He clicks a torch on, looking around. 

Rotted walkers sit slumped against the walls, some almost skeletal, most of the dead are in old clothes, not a uniform, a clear final claw at survival before they let themselves end. Part of you chalks the down fall of this place up to starvation. The way windows and doors are boarded up, they'd fought to keep walkers out, not realising nothing else could get in. The bottom floor is empty, research rooms, beakers with brown dry blood encrusted to the bottoms and an open fridge stinking of rot, heading upstairs...its cleaner, obviously the accommodation floor. Bedrooms with the doors open, a few empty, some locked with "DEAD" scrawled across the wooden surface in spray paint. "Carl..? what are we doing." You ask, slowly feeling like any control you have over the situation slipping into Carls grip. "Some of these rooms are secure, supply's and stuff, these guys weren't attacked. Their downfall came from inside." He ushers, slipping into one of the larger bedrooms at the end, it wasn't really a bedroom, more a small apartment. Some kitchen utility's, a bathroom and a small bed. "They have power, I saw the solar panels. We could get our shit together here." He states, setting his mud covered helmet down on the counter. 

"My shit is together back there. and your shit is at home, in Alexandria." You hiss, watching him look for something to clean the oozing wound on his palm with. "My shit hasn't been together since I lost you." He hums, finding a half empty bottle of rubbing alcohol popping the cap and pouring it over the wound, "Fuck..." He hisses under his breath. Theres the hum of a long range walkie talkie ringing from your pockets, the muffled voices of two undistinguishable CRM soldiers, stating they've yet to find the wreckage and for you to respond in the event of your survival. 

"Give it here." Carl offers his un-injured hand out towards the device. "What..?" You say, passing it over.  He takes it, bringing it to his ear for a moment before letting it fall to the ground, hitting the floor with a bang before his boot meets the smooth plastic surface, a crunch and it's out. He'd lost his in the crash, and now you'd lost yours.  "What was that for." The crushed plastic glistens up at you from the floor. "We don't need to communicate with them." He responds, looking for something to wrap up his hand with. Though unable to find something. 

"We can't just let them win, this isn't life." He hums, searching the cupboards. 

"They won the moment they found me, Carl." You spit, stood unsure how to respond to both his words and erratic movements. 

"You can't say that." He utters, still franticly scrambling for something of use, moving on to the wardrobe, pulling out some non-uniform clothes. 

"I tried to escape, I can't. They'll kill everyone we love, They have to keep themselves hidden." You spit, "Remember, early on. When they bombed Atlanta. Yeah? That was this. They can and will take out Alexandria. "He turns at you, clearly not knowing the full extent of the CRM's capability's. 

"We can get their first, evacuate everyone. There's gotta be a way to make this work." He rambles. "We can't" You scoff, running a stressed hand through your hair. 

"I should've said I'd be at the boat, then maybe you'd have fucking listened and we wouldn't be in this situation." You spit, feeling an unfamiliar anger, bubbling deep inside you. He looks at you with an unreadable expression. 

"If you'd have just Fucking gone, then I could ensure you and Alexandria's safety. I'm doing this for you, not us. Their is no us anymore." He nods, running his tongue over his lip as he pulls himself together, gaining some form of composure. 

"This isn't you." He sates, looking at you blankly. "This isn't me how?" You bark back.

"What did they do to you, please..."He huffs, a longing for answers carefully laced in each word. "Carl, we should head back" You state, unwilling to put to words what they've done to you. "Then why can't you leave, do I not deserve answers? Its been eight fucking years and you can't even give me something, who are you?" his words are dripping with anger and hopelessness, he needs something, even a crumb of information. 

"We've spent years, loosing people. Loosing our homes and our lives, These people are powerful. and they trust me, I'm working towards a future while all you can do is cling to the past." Your eyes cant will themselves to meet his, gaze lingering on the smashed walkie talkie "What future is this." You feel his eye on you as each word drips from his lips. "I have to do this Carl. I have to." You cry, trying to express the importance of this too him. 

"So I'm going, I tried, I really did try. I found you, But I didn't find who I came looking for." He sates as the sound of a knife being pulled from a draw wrings out, followed by the slam of a door. Leaving you alone, in a cold empty room. "I tried, don't think I didn't." You call out.

Carl pauses in the hallway, feeling a twinge of longing tug at his gut, before turning back, pushing the door open, but unwilling to enter the room. 

"What did you try for? Did you try to join them? Did you try to find me? You're a prisoner and you can't see it. The doors open, take it. " He urges, feeling the desperation build inside him. You stammer over your words till you deem them worthless, standing and looking at him. 

"I don't know you, and I sure as fuck can't trust you. You're lying to me and most definitely yourself." He spits, on the fence about leaving, going home to his family. Or staying, just to see the person he loves distort into someone he'd never want to stay around. Though the look on your face changes, you'd never expected to hear those words from him.

"I can see you trying still, who I knew is still in their, you could've picked up that walkie talkie and told them exactly where we are, but you didn't." He fiddles with the cold handle of the knife in his hand. "You say you can't go home, but I don't think you can just go back either." He states, his voice softer than it was, like he knows something about you that you don't , hitting a nerve. He was right and you knew it, but still the past 8 years spent being drilled with this idea were hard to erase in one conversation. 

"I learnt how to die, while still breathing..." You breathe, realising he didn't plan on letting down, deciding it would just be easier to tell him why you've become the person you've become. "at the start, it was just making it to the next day and I'd have the comfort of my memory's. I'd dream about when we first found the prison, and the train tracks, finding Alexandria. All stuff from years ago... but it started fading, chunks of people gone, you were gone. and suddenly I was by myself in these scenes, and I started doubting if they were ever real." You look up at the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the quiet ding of a blade being set down on a counter, Carl doesn't dare interrupt you, silently encouraging you to continue. "Then, it was nothing. I couldn't see you, or the group or even the place, just the dead. I replay their mouths coming at me, and I can hear the moans, smell the rot. I'd hoped it was a sign or something. Every mission after one of those dreams, It felt like that was it, I'd miss step while clearing some walkers, and it would be it for me."

He inhales, giving you space, an open invitation to be vulnerable with him. "And sometimes I'd hope it would be, and then it wasn't to the point I nearly just did it myself, got sick of waiting. I didn't. And if I go with you, and I loose you again, what if I can't die again, I don't want to" You find yourself sobbing the last few words, unsure on where the hot tears falling down your cheeks came from. 

"So I wont let you lose me." He says, stepping forward, pressing a gentle thumb to your cheeks, brushing away the dampness. "And theres never not gonna be an us." He hums pecking your lips, gentle and sweet, like they'd always been. "We hunker down here tonight, we go tomorrow. Both of us, home." He breathes against your lips, unwilling to open his eyes as his lips find yours again. You pull back, "Can I take a look at your hand" You whisper looking down at it hovering beside you, "Not yet." He breathes finding your mouth again. 

You find yourselves intertwined in the small bed, his head limp against your shoulder as you gently clean his wound, more carefully this time. The soft orange glow of the lamp illuminates the darkened room and his skin, the callous on his fingers from the trigger of his gun, and the small scars where he'd nicked himself accidentally while sharpening his knife. Noticing he still has his eyepatch on..

"Thought you didn't wear one of those anymore.." You breathe gently, reaching to slip it from his face, throwing it into the pile of CRM uniform you intended on leaving behind. He lets out a gentle hum against the warm skin of your neck, his eye meeting yours. You finish cleaning his wound, wrapping it with an strip of an old shirt you'd found in the wardrobe. Letting your fingers slide through his over grown hair, feeling his breathing deepen as he dozes off against you. Not long followed by you, letting your head fall limp against the top of his. 

The morning starts of slow, awaking to the quiet shuffling of fabric as Carl clothes himself, finding a backpack hidden in one of the AC vents, having clearly spent a decent chunk of his alone time checking every inch of the bedroom for something of use. He smiles softly at you as you sit yourself up in the bed. Not long after going to find yourself something to wear, getting distracted halfway though at his lips against yours, "Carl..." You chuckle against his lips as his uninjured hand wraps around your waist, after a while of basking in it, you eventually push him off to finish getting ready.

The door clicks shut behind the two of you, a knife in either of your hands, taking out the stragglers left over from when you'd entered the building initially, finding two that look similar enough to each other slipping them into your abandoned uniform and setting them up to look  like they'd been eaten alive. Before finally dragging him into the cold metal elevator at the end of the corridor, and throwing yourselves against the far wall, watching as one of the mushy heads of a toppled over walker gets crushed as the two doors shut. "Jesus, eughhh-" Carl exclaims, turning to look at you. However you don't give him much warning before tugging him closer and slamming your mouth into his, at the innocent ding of the elevator making it to the ground floor. You're thrown back into the world you'd grown to know. 

Having to battle through a gaggle of a dozen walkers, before finding a Car parked neatly in the back. Carl slides into the drivers seat fiddling with the few multi coloured wires under the dash board before the engine comes roaring to life. He smiles at you, leaning over to kiss you. "Let's go home." He breathes against your flushed lips. 

Your fingers entangle themselves with his as he draws out the car park, the crunch of concrete beneath your feet, and his warm musky boyish smell, the knowledge that the CRM was long behind you.  

"G.Rimes? " You huff a laugh breaking the silence remembering the fake name he'd chosen "Carl." He glances at you momentarily, "What?" he holds back a smile, he knew what he was doing in the moment. "You could've been more creative...?" He nods, letting the laugh slip from his lips, his thumb gently going to caress the side of your hand, the empty road in front of you. You had a new start, a new chance to live. And live, not survive. Live. And you had all the intent to keep your fingers firmly linked with Carl for whatever the world decides to throw at you next. Or hell, what you decide to throw at the world. "Don't go blowing shit up when we get back, please" He chuckles, and you can't help but smile back. 

You take a moment to look at him, the way his eyelashes fall against the gentle flushed hill of his cheek and the way his mouth hangs slightly open with his glistening tongue poking out the corner as he navigates the surroundings, the soft warmth of his hand. His eyes still glistening as he stares out at the world ahead of him, the sun lighting up the green of the trees and the deep enticing brown of the far of hills, and the blue of the sky, revealing colours to you, you'd feared you'd never see again. Both love and terror graces his complexion, a fear for the future but the will to embrace it. You knew in this moment that you had no choice but to love him, any version of you that could've ley dead and buried back there. 

Looking out into the early morning sun, with the gentle breeze blowing in through a gap in a window, you knew your only goal in this moment was to go home. 

[sy-tech]

Alright, so as part of a private project to literally condense everything (Meaning lore and history) Castlevania related into notes for my own reference when writing fanfiction. (Or even just talking about the series because I feel like some of y'all will eviscerate me if all I knew was the Animated series...) I get to look through a lot of the old game manuels. Most the time any narrative that those old games had was in the manuel and not the game itself. (Kinda just how games back then worked because I know Fallout even did the same thing. Granted there still WAS a lotta lore in the game itself but there was a whole lot more in the manuals/books and such but I digress...)

Now most of these manual are just as I expected. Really fun and campy writing. More or less aiming to set up the reason why the game is happening however something about CV 3's manual- cracks. me. up.

Just in case the quality drops and you can't read it...

"The time is 100 years before Simon Belmont's birth. The moon burns red overhead and the black clouds loom large on the horizon. All is still and quiet. Only the call of a distant crow stirs the cold night air. Suddenly, thunder roars out of the Morbid Mountains and into the village of Warakiya. Like the yell of an angry giant, the terrible sound shakes homes and shops as if they were sapling branches. But no one blinks an eye. The village is dead calm. For all the people have fled after receiving warnings from the Great Beyond that Count Dracula has assemble a mighty army of evil, and they're poised to march up from the Valley of Graveyards to bury mankind in a Tomb of Terror. Unfortunately, there's no corner on Earth that won't be gobbled up by this bloodthirsty legion of Swamp Dragons, Slasher Skeletons and Forces of the Undead. The last line of defense is you, Trevor Belmont- the forefather of Simon Belmont and the origin of the Belmont Warlord Chromosomes. But your chances are slimmer than Jim. In fact, the only real edge you have over this fang sharpened freak is your power to transform into three different partner spirits: Grant DaNasty, the ferocious Ghost Pirate. Sypha, the Mystic Warlord. And Alucard, Dracula's forgotten son. Each of these spirits will confront you as you fight through 17 possible levels of never-ending fright, including the Haunted Ship of Fools, the Clock Tower of Untimely Death and Curse Castle. You must also possess the strength to wield the mighty Battle Axe and Mystic Whip, which were given to you by the Poltergeist King. So go forth young Trevor into the cold black night, where death lurks around every corner and evil lingers on every stone. And remember, if your courage and cunning are any less than magnificent or if you fail to choose the correct Paths of Fate, you'll be banished to the world of the undead, and zombies will rule until the end of time." - Pg. 4-5. "How to Play Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse"

Once again... if you can't read the text,

Trevor C. Belmont - "Trevor the infamous forefather of Simon Belmont- the mighty warrior who pulverized Dracula in Castlevania and again in Simon's Quest. Trevor has a number of oldie but goodie attack items that have been given to him by the Poltergeist King. These include the Mystic Whip, Battle Axe, Banshee Boomerang, Dagger and Sacred Water. Trevor is also the master of special items. Including a Pocket Watch, Invisibility Potion and the Rosary." - Pg. 8, "How to Play Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse"

Alucard - "As the son of Count Dracula, Alucard once tried to prevent Trevor from accomplishing his mission. However, he reached a point where he could no longer abide by his father's evilness, and is now looking for a partner to help him put an end to his father's wicked plans. A resident of underground tunnels, Alucard attacks with a Ball of Destruction, which he can also fire in three directions (if he captures a special power booster.) Alucard's primary strength, though, is his ability to turn himself into a bat. However, he cannot attack while he is airborne and will turn back into a human form if his wings are clipped by an evil enemy." - Pg. 8, "How to Play Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse"

Grant DaNasty - "Count Dracula used his sinister powers to turn this Pirate Captain into a ghost. And as one of Dracula's gruesome gang, he will attack you from the top of the Clock Tower of Untimely Death. However, if you can defeat this scoundrel, his spirit will join you. He's small, nimble and has a strong spring in his step, so he's able to jump up onto walls or ceilings and stick to them like glue. Grant's primary attack weapons are an axe and a dagger. Another of his weapons is his skill to scurry along hidden routes not accessible to Trevor. Unfortunately, both his body and ego bruise easily." - Pg. 9. "How to Play Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse"

Sypha Belnades - "Sypha, the Mystic Warlord of Warakiya, is also a vampire hunter who walks quickly and carries a big stick. Rumors of his death were spread throughout Eastern Europe, but in truth he was captured be "Cyclops", the one-eyed Ultimate Evil. Sypha uses his Warakiya Staff to attack. Other attack favorites of his include flames, frozen crystals and lighting bolts. With these, he can destroy evil enemies before they get close to him. However, his skin is very thin and blisters easily when blasted by grotesque enemy attacks. To score BIG, Sypha must attack before his enemies find him." - Pg. 9, "How to Play Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse"

This game did NOT take itself seriously in the manual. The text feels like someone had a list of keywords they had to hit for each character (They probably did) and the framing is so... campy. I ADORE it.

The look of the character too are just so... stereotypical too. For example, Alucard there? Like I knew that this was his original design but something about viewing an actual PDF of the manual with the corny description just made me smile. Smug bastard. Trevor and Simon basically have the same BarbianTM look. Grant was ripped from being a deckhand and Sypha is so covered it really managed to keep the fact she was a girl till the very end of the game when she lets her hair down. I both adore this and found a new gratitude for the later re-imaging of these characters.

Last little tid-bit is this incredibly classic monster art on page 20-21. They are so goofy! I'd see them in a Goosebumps book! I love it!

The link to the PDF used.

Also found this site that lets you play CV3 in a browser. Probably common knowledge for those of you that have been around for awhile but... I figure I should share it anyway. The only problem I had with it was the audio was a tad distorted.

I hope you enjoy as much as I did.

[anantplayingdnd]

Oh Hellos' songs and what Curse of Strahd Characters I associate with them!

Oh boy they are my favorite band of all time and boy do I have things to say.

Also this does contain spoilers, so if you're a player, maybe get your DM's permission before reading through this.

Ireena: "Trees" "Notos" "Dear Wormwood" "Exeunt" "Boreas" "Lay Me Down" "On the Mountain Tall"

Oh boy, it's quite a few, if I'm being honest. "Trees" is about her relationship with Izmark, obviously. "Notos" is largely vibes based, but it's a lot of freedom and being willing to fight against the circumstances you find yourself in, which is a major theme for her. "Dear Wormwood" like... come on. Do I even need to say anything about this? Strahd has been controlling so much of her life, and now she's realized who he is and how bad he is. The whole song is about rebellion against an abuser and making your own way, without their influence. Similarly, "Exeunt" is about... leaving. Running away. Saying you've had enough of the treatment you've endured and getting the hell out of there. "Lay me Down" picks up right where that leaves off, bold and determined to get away, if not in life than in death. It's her hope of one day not being trapped in the soul snowglobe of Barovia. "Boreas" and "On the Mountain Tall" are both a little more abstract, but I think Boreas relates to the periods of depression she's been through as a result of.. you know. Strahd. And as for "On the Mountain Tall" like.. tell me you can hear the line, "I know you want me to be afraid, I know you want me to love you," without thinking of her and Strahd.

Izmark: "Trees" and "Soap"

"Trees" is there for symmetry with Ireena, being a song about their childhood and how, for a little while, they were happy. "Soap" is one I just like, can't explain properly. Frankly it came to me in a vision, and sometimes I know a song fits a character long before I figure out why. I think what initially drew me to associating it with Izmark is the lyrics about having a softer side, but needing to become tougher to survive in the world, and trying to figure out how to make who you want to be compatible with who the world says you have to be.

Rahadin: "Pale White Horse"

I feel like there's little to say that isn't obvious. The Pale White Horse is the coming of death, something twisted and horrible that makes even the bravest cower in fear, and if that isn't Rahadin, I don't know what is.

Doru: "The Valley"

Doru hates being trapped in Barovia (I mean, they all do, but Doru really hates it). And because of how much he hated everything about the place he was raised, it made him very eager to follow someone who said they would lead him into something better. Unfortunately, that individual bit off a little more than they could chew in this brilliant attack on Castle Ravenloft, and that's how Doru ended up undead.

Strahd: "Like the Dawn"

One of my favorite things to do with Strahd is take things that are super cute and wholesome, like Adam seeing Eve for the first time and realizing how wonderful it is to have someone who understands him, and making it about how horrible and fucked up Strahd is. This song is normally really romantic, but I dare you, just go imagine Strahd singing this about Tatyana and come back to tell me how icked out you are.

Sykane (OC): "Eat You Alive"

I'll talk more about her one day, but you know that weird Dark Power who can let you reanimate the dead if they've only been dead for a few days? Yeah, she's the Warlock/Necromancer's patron :)

Ezmerelda: "Thus Always To Tyrants"

A song about bringing life back to a dry valley by overthrowing the corrupt tyrants that have destroyed it? Yes, obviously it's the most badass Vampire Hunter out there. (I also think that some of it, especially toward the end, that's in reference to Van Richten).

Ludmilla: "Rose"

My Ludmilla has been hiding who she is from everyone, including Strahd. She was once good friends with the party Druid, but under a different name. Also, the lyrics about appeasing your leviathan groom? Love will get you slaughtered? Ugh. I love her.

Kasimir: "Rounds" and "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb"

"Rounds" is a song I personally use a lot to help myself get out of depressive slumps, due to it's slow building and references to taking in deep breaths, learning how to speak again. In his playlist, this song comes just after everything Rahadin does to the Dusk Elves, and is him slowly trying to pick his life back up after unbelievable pain. "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb" is honestly a bit of wishful thinking on my part, since our Kasimir hasn't quite realized that he has the ability to change and grow from the many, many mistakes he's made. But one day, maybe he'll realize that he can be set free.

BONUS ROUND WITH NO EXPLANATIONS

Escher: "Danse Macabre"

Abbot: "Smoke Rising Like Lifted Hands"

Lady Wachter: "Hieroglyphs"

Volenta: "Torches"

Sergei: "Grow"

[goawaypopup]

Here's an AU I've had in my mind ever since reading the side books.

When he sets out into the continent in the original books, Lief is almost completely unprepared. The Shadow Lord's regime has cut off information flow between population centers, and Del's recorded history is almost all in the off-limits library, so there really wasn't a lot he could have done to avoid this. All he has is his memory of his father's copy of The Belt of Deltora, a vague little pamphlet that he keeps forgetting at bad times, and which helps not at all with dealing with the dangers of the continent itself.

Unless... Jarred chose a different book to steal from the palace library all those years ago.

Secrets of Deltora, an in-universe guide to Deltora's locales by Doran the Dragonlover, was also hidden away in that library. It was far more richly detailed and practical than The Belt of Deltora, and in its writing Doran expressed his distrust of the advisors and his fear that the Shadow Lord was preparing to strike - also containing a hint at the location of Withick's Belt of Deltora booklet in one of its illustrations. And it has a similar narrative recounting of Deltora's founding, the powers of the seven Belt gems, and their combined ability to ward the continent against the Shadow Lord. It would be an entirely plausible choice for Jarred if he had had some extra time to find and read it, and conceal it about his person (seeing as it was, in fact, extremely forbidden to touch).

If, growing up, Lief or his father managed to decode the secret message in Secrets, he would have lacked no information from not having The Belt, up to the urging to ignore the tradition of keeping the Belt locked up. Indeed, he would have a distinct advantage, knowing that the complete Belt was capable of waking and summoning the dragons, as well as all the travel advice and recorded dangers found elsewhere in the book.

What does this mean for him when he finally sets out to recover the gems?

This time, considering the question of which hotspot to visit first, Barda and, ahem, Lief's father are confronted with a very different picture. The elaborate, detailed descriptions of all the ways plants, bugs, snakes, and wild animals can kill you in the Forests of Silence, and the terrifying undead telekinetic armor guy, plus the sheer scale of how many places a gem could conceivably be in the three forests. Versus: nothing at all in the guide for the Valley of the Lost, which was the only site formed AFTER Doran's time. Just some rumours of a valley cloaked in mist. So it seems clear that Barda's bravado will not prevail with better information at hand - the entire journey is going to be in reverse.

Starting at the Valley may be for the best, as it is comparatively harmless for a party with their wits about them. Forewarned of the region's Grippers, they do not fall victim to any embarrassing incidents, though they might be shocked by the Jalis' absence.

Unfortunately for Lief and Barda, they will not have the aid of Jasmine or any mind-clearing gemstones this time. And god knows whether the Belt is still capable of burning the Guardian with 0 gems present - let's hope it doesn't come to that. But honestly, I think they could pull this off, with the assistance of their usual excellent luck. Especially if they manage to guess the name without completing the clues. This does mean... they're going to be thinking that Endon was a corrupted traitor the entire time. Oh boy! Time for Deltora to buck the bonds of monarchy entirely?

The diamond is an excellent first gem. Its courage will probably do at least as well as the topaz did at suppressing Lief's burgeoning PTSD, and its added physical strength will come in extremely handy for the fights ahead.

The Maze of the Beast will be much, much more straightforward with the Shadow Lord's forces not yet on alert. There will be far fewer Ols in the area and any that remain will be much less on guard against the duo. The whole ordeal with Tora and Dain and the Resistance and the pirates probably won't happen either, so rather than being shoved into the Maze, Lief and Barda can adequately prepare for it. They could ideally leave a rope ladder or something and avoid having to leave though the blowhole.

The Dreaming Spring is clearly described in the guidebook, along with its status as a much-needed source of scarce water in the north, so they're quite likely to visit it on the way to Dread Mountain. The incident that gained them the Kin's assistance, however, is unlikely to play out the same (the Rithmere Games have probably not occurred yet, Doom has not freed the Karn pod's captured finalists, and the Grey Guards do not pass this way for another while yet.) They might have to trudge through horrible cold woods for weeks instead of being carried by warm women.

Unless they had their own incidents with Doom, they won't glean anything in particular from the Kinrest and Dread Mountain writings. Despite Doom having been swept up in the changes in this timeline, it seems likely he's still in similar places at the same times. He could have been near Amethyst territory in books 1 and 2 prior to visiting Tom's shop.

Dread Mountain is where I'm going to leave it as having too many divergent possibilities to make a solid prediction. Jasmine and likely Prin are absent, the Lily nectar is absent, the Ruby is absent, there may or may not be Spring water for the using. If they happened to take the exact same path up the mountain, Lief is dead at the bottom of the very first gnome trap if nobody tripped him before he could step in it. There are roughly twelve hundred deadly poisonous arrows killing alternate timeline versions of them left and right. It's pretty rough.

From there, if they live, they're probably going all sorts of exciting directions away from canon. Perhaps the illustration of the Belt of Deltora in its proper order will clue Lief off that he's doing it wrong sooner. Perhaps Lief drops the book in Glus water, or didn't bring it with him, and has to start using his exceedingly unreliable memory for many more, more vital pieces of information. Perhaps the perceived perversion of the monarchy that Barda served so early on in the quest causes him to snap and throttle Lief with his bare hands. Perhaps, at some point, Doom will receive a smack upside the head and regain his memory, and remember about the kid he left in the deadly, deadly jungle over a decade ago.

But most importantly, this time they will have dragons at their disposal immediately if Lief manages to assemble the Belt correctly.

[c0rvidbones]

hello I love your art a whole lot!! tell me more about Wit (he's hot and evil and I require more juicy details) and Ruby (his design goes so hard) please?

oh my god hi i did not expect to come back to 20 notifs. (/pos) youve given me a much needed ego boost tonight thank you. is it bad i cant remember having ever posted ruby art?? ive only ever gotten One comm of him which is a crime, my violent martyr son should rly get more love than i give him 😔 but thank you for asking! buckle up this is gonna be a long fuckin post ♡ everything under the cut including relevant character art

WIT

behold, all art of wit i have including one i havent posted here bc i never actually finished it and the wip of him being a silly giggly boy. pls know i came up with him like MAYBE a month ago. two, tops.

SO wit is actually a what-if au of another oc of mine, his name is doodle. doodle (seen below) is a very robin-hood-esque oc, honorable thief and kindhearted, swashbuckler rogue that dual wields rapiers bc hes insane. but hes insane in like a normal way. he was a horrible child but he did grow out of it and its rare to see him w his hair down so pardon me making him look absurdly pretty in that one.

as you can see there are some (but not MANY) differences between the two. kid wit does have the starry hands/peets im just forgetful dont @ me about it djdjdj

ANYWAYS so the what-if of the au that wit is, essentially, little singular things didn't happen to people in that au world. it goes like so;

wit: never met his childhood best friend when he was a freshly injured orphan. was alone from the (elf) ages of 0-16. ended up studying magic (illusion wizard) since he didn't have someone to lean on for that sort of thing.

laika (wit's mom): never truly broke out of an archfey's madness curse. stuck with a very twisted version of the spell Tasha's Hideous Laughter burned into her mind. everything is funny and if it's scary? even funnier. she died briefly. shes back now, but still madnessed.

perseverance (wit's dad): never saved his mother from a death blow in the be-all end-all fight to save his home. was held back by someone who he thought was a friend, killed that person and then ultimately spiralled so hard that he became a lich. may or may not have accidentally killed laika.

something something one decision can change your whole life, me and my friend loved playing with that concept.

okay now that you know a lil lore/history i can dive into what wit is like.

as a kid (drawn with the short megafloofy hair) he's very mischievous and bastardly, almost always smiling or grinning but it's more to lean into the uncanny valley effect his eyes cause than out of any actual joy or anything. he doesn't Blink and he knows it unnerves people because he also has a freakishly high insight (i think its like a +9 or smth??? at level 9??). he loves to come up with fucked up spells, like. for example i saw a silly post on here the other day that was very jokingly having a wizard cast a spell of "10000 bricks until you die" but then i was immediately aware wit would (1) come up with that spell, make it functional, and have it unfortunately obliterate everyone that gets hit with it, and (2) he would call it Wit's Bricks which i think is fuckin funny. he would also come up with spells of like. cause heatstroke. boil all fluid in your body. FREEZE all fluid in your body. he's a little freak with extremely low empathy for those he isn't connected to with blood ties. that said, he's kind to his family (albeit very blunt and will call them out if theyre being stupid) and inquisitive. he DID look his dad in the eye when he met him for the first time and went "are you dead?" which. again, hilarious, but BRUTALLY blunt. he then called his dad cool because yes his dad is now a lich and therefore undead. he's a little freak but he's still a kid and that is ultimately his saving grace, what small child isn't a little freak.

as an adult (long ponytail) i get a feel of him being aro and using romance as a way to manipulate people. he's definitely still not a good person and far more stoic than he was as a child. also he most definitely maintains a constant illusion to make it seem like his eyes are always closed, which lends an air of mystery to the strange elf that seems to always be standing right behind every throne in every kingdom of faerun. i say this because i like to think he would become what's called a King's Wit, which is like a combo of royal advisor, court mage, and "guy the regent has insult other nobility since insults are beneath the reigning royal". he uses all of that to his advantage, gaining the ear and trust of every single person of noble blood that is part of any royal or ruling court, and he will bend and twist their choices so subtly that they won't realise he led them to ruin until it's already too late. which is his ultimate plan. he's STILL somewhat a robin hood style of character, but he takes it a bit further and with far less kindness to the nobility. he guts their coffers completely and every hoarded coin down to the last copper inevitably will land its way conveniently into the lap of the common folk. he does take a healthy chunk for himself - did you know being a wizard was EXPENSIVE in dnd btw? i didnt until i made wit - but most of it is for the local citizens. he does this everywhere he goes if he sees that it needs to happen. fucker topples kingdoms For Fun, because he never gets caught or credited with the ruin he leaves behind himself. he's awful. he probably still comes up with fucked up spells and he manipulates his way into wherever he wants to be. i love him.

---

RUBY

behold! @polterpumpkin drew my (not very) little guy for me! this is part of a greater set but this is the fully coloured one and arguably my fave bc it captures the absolute batshit energy ruby brings to the table.

ruby is a tiefling that was born in a lab. voluntarily, his parents participated in a sort of study that wanted to eval why it is tieflings could be born to non-tiefling parents. (both his parents are half-orcs, interestingly!) he participated in it up to a certain point, before he got sick of being poked and prodded and Watched. that's when he demanded to be released and, when he wasn't, both his parents helped him escape, unfortunately leaving his other two tiefling-born siblings behind in the process. both parents Died helping him escape, and he was embittered as is by the whole study bs, and then to have his parents die Saving him? it left him with this sort of hole he didn't know how to feel.

so he fills that hole with every vice he finds agreeable. he drinks, he fights, and he drinks again. he's a drunken monk, and one full of unbridled rage and a death wish. he isn't my happiest oc but he isn't my worst off (that would be talisman bloodhunter). he's constantly seeking a grand and worthy cause to die for, literally. he's a wannabe martyr, because he doesn't think he has anything to live for. no lovers, no friends, no allies, MAYBE a coworker or two on the occasion he's needed (he is so not needed most of the time, because it isn't often any job needs an angry monk tief to glare around the place). he has just those two sides to himself - party animal and underground drunk brawler - because he doesn't want to think about the pain underneath them both. he's tragic in a very human way, hilariously enough, but he's not a bad person. even if he's being dragged by the tail to do a job, he's ultimately going to be helpful and he ALWAYS keeps his team alive. he'll grumble about it but he'll do it, and if you thank him he brushes it off, muttering something or other about how it's just his job, don't Thank him for that. i think having a friend would Fix him but fuck if i know what would get past his thick skin 😔

i dont get to play or write ruby really, not for any specific reason other than the dnd games im in have been going for So long, and that i havent really been super inspired to write him. but i love him! literally my car is named after him! i have so many feelings for him and i hope one day i get to play/write him so he can be more fleshed out.

[entropyvoid]

OCs be upon ye

NIMUE

The old residents of the Withering Woods sometimes tell tales of the kind and giving Lady Nimue, the naiad of the lake that lies at its heart. This is a misconception - Nimue is more correctly labeled the naiad of the aquifer that lies beneath, connected through a twisting system of underwater caves. She is able to traverse them nigh instantaneously and emerge through any opening pool, and the elders nowadays warn others to stay out of the woods, and in particular, away from the waters, lest Nimue drag you down to the depths and drown you, at least, if you’re a normal person, and not some other variety of evil and malefic creature, they say. As the last surviving member of the woods’ former fae court, many blame her as the source of the woods’ present inhospitableness and anomalous state of eternal dying - although, no one can really recall what happened or how things came to be this way. Not even Nimue herself.

HAZEL

It’s far from uncommon for necromancers to turn themselves into undead when the time comes - but usually they take the form of something like a lich, or if failed, some lower grade variety of zombie. Hazel, however, had always wanted to be a vampire, and after many horribly failed attempts at convincing them to turn him, attempted to take matters into his own hands with a specially-crafted one-of-a-kind curse. His success was… middling. He has all the perks of vampirism, but at a reduced strength and at the cost of spending a lot of energy, with very few relatively mild drawbacks. Unfortunately for him, other vampires won’t go near him with a ten foot pole, which makes him feel a bit self conscious about his weakness as a pseudovampire. Hazel somehow manages to live a life of relative luxury in the abandoned village in the Withering Woods, and he likes to make scented candles, bath bombs, and sweets, and takes a nearly ridiculous amount of bubble baths. Though often sarcastic and sardonic, those who pass through the forest have found him to be a friendly and inviting host.

Abilities

- Immortality

- Night vision, heightened senses

- Faster and stronger than the average person

- Telekinesis

- Levitation

- Shadow manipulation

- Gets to eat normal food instead of blood, which isn’t really a power except in the eyes of other vampires, who are generally very jealous. He does need to consume extra iron and protein though, and he is particularly susceptible to anemia.

Drawbacks

- Sunlight makes him feel ill

- Thinks garlic tastes and smells nasty

- Zombies hate vampires like dogs hate mailmen. Like, uncanny valley mixed with competition. Which is a hell of a problem for a necromancer to have.

[liiacfleur]

The Undead Highlands

contains spoilers for unpublished chapters 6/7/8/9. don't read the indicated spoilers if you don't want to be spoiled about certain places and (vague) references to events that take place later in the story. ones that I would consider larger spoilers are labeled as (MAJOR SPOILERS) and the text has been crossed out. this will be updated again around chapter 9/10.

Capital:

Moonstone

Capital of the Highlands. A major port city carved into the sea wall with an affinity for mining, sheep herding, and artisan materials. The first established city within the Highlands, and the home of their leader, Kas the Banished. In the time of the Ancient Kingdom, it was the only city south of the wall that was able to hold off the Undead King's seige. Unfortunately, its residences subsequently starved to death trapped within the city, their bones only found by Kas and his army many centuries later.

Major Towns/Cities:

Moonsmouth Sanctuary

The first attempt at settling in the Valley of the Vanquished. With a population of several thousand, they were able to build homes in the trees around them after forming a spiritual connection with the sentient plant life. The village initially specialize in wood exports across the fledgling kingdom, and made occasional trades to established merchants from Hawkins. Eventually, they became a sought out trading post, and their economy expanded to include a variety of merchants and goods.

By 207 GC, they became the first established city outside of Moonstone, joined by a second later in the year, and a third on the west coast in 209 GC.

Loch Hellfire

(Minor Spoilers)

Built in the remains and rubble of a city from the ancient times, Loch Hellfire was built along the coastline at the outer reaches of the Bog of the Dead. Beginning as another outpost such as Moonsmouth, it was officially established by the Byers siblings when they went to study old tombs preserved inside the rubble. More resources were allocated to its construction thereafter.

By 207 GC, it consisted of nearly six thousand residences, specializing in magic, apothecary, and the training and soul tying of monsters found south of Moonlit Wall.

Dragon's Peak

(MAJOR SPOILERS)

Originally an abandoned ancient city on the western side of the continent south of Denfield and the Crescent Tower. After an expedition led by Robin and Steve in spring of 209GC, it was later established as a major city in the following years, culturally mixed between those of the Undead Highland and a flood of citizens from Denfield who possessed old magic. It became a sea trading port, specializing in mining, and held the most impressive military for centuries afterwards, consisting of not only highly skilled soldiers, but dragon riders as well.

Lesser Locations:

Cabin Near Mirkwood Tower:

(Minor Spoilers)

The site of Eddie's death in 202 GC. Sometime after the war, a single cottage, a water well, and a small orchard were constructed by Kas the Banished and his Arch Mage. In the summer of 208 GC, it was established as a small farming village, accompanied by a militia to guard the border after the court rebellion in Hawkins. They specialize in farming gourds and wheat, but eventually became the main exporter of cider south of Mulberry.

Cave in the Bog of the Dead:

(MAJOR SPOILERS)

Where Steve and Kas found shelter after Kas was injured fighting a Nightwalker in 208 GC. Location where Steve learns the more about Kas' undead nature and their ally-ship is officially established.

[dandelion-jester]

Rat Bastards Character Intro 1/??: Sepulcrave

Sepulcrave is the narrator of my project 'The Legend of the Rat Bastards' but not the main character, as it is based on a Curse of Strahd game I was a part of and is therefore a group effort. His intro is below the break :)

History

Sepulcrave was born Eliot Graves, the son of grave digger Edmund Graves in the small, sad village of Mirestone. He hated it there and when he was only 11 years old he ran away from home to find a better life. He changed his name as soon as he left.

For six years he wondered through Faerun, taking odd jobs as a common labourer and learning the ins and outs of petty crime. He slept in doorways, sewers, stables, and prison cells. He also acquired a large, black greatcoat which became his favourite thing he owned. At last, with an interest in wizardry, he made his way to Waterdeep to apply to medical school. He was admitted and so began a new era of his life.

He attended medical school for ten years. He was a brilliant student, always top of the class especially in surgical matters which he was most interested in. He also became friends with his roommate Beren Oak, a cleric of Lathander. Despite their differences in morality and interests, Beren and Sepulcrave became the closest of friends.

However Sepulcrave had a secret. He had become interested in necromancy. Despite its illegality in Waterdeep, he had become a talented grave robber and sold bodies from The City of the Dead (Waterdeep's massive necropolis) in exchange for writings on the subject and aid in his studies. Obviously, he had to keep this completely secret, even from his best friend because if there's one thing Lathander hates, it's the undead and necromancy.

Unfortunately, Beren wasn't as oblivious as Sepulcrave thought and although he didn't know what, he could tell that something was up with his friend. So one night, about a month before graduation, he followed Sepulcrave to the city of the dead and saw him rob a grave. Horrified, he told the city guard and Sepulcrave was arrested for grave robbing and suspected necromancy.

The university didn't want a scandal on their hands, so they bailed him out of prison and promptly expelled him. He was forced to leave the university without the doctorate he had earned. He did not know it was Beren's fault until Beren apologised to him. Needless to say, they had a fight and Sepulcrave stormed out determined that they would never see each other again. In the heartbreak of losing his only friend he decided that friends were not worth the pain they caused and he would never have one again.

Sepulcrave disappeared into the criminal underground of the large cities of the sword coast, never in one place for long but scamming and robbing people wherever he went, and slowly learning a little more necromancy. He only got more bitter as time passed. Until, ten years after he left university, 36 year old Sepulcrave attended a party, intending to help the host rob the guests. Instead, he ended up sent on an accidental quest into the valley of Barovia...

Description

At the start of the story, Sepulcrave is about 5ft 8, skeletal in appearance due to his constant proximity to undeath, with pale skin and long dye-black hair. He wears all black, most importantly his big black greatcoat and he wears a necklace with a silver crow skull on it (given to him at university by Beren). Imagine just, the shittiest goth you can. He also barely washes so he's disgusting, so like a crust-punk, but a crust-goth. Now add to that the worst personality, just a miserable, rude, bastard of a man who doesn't want to get along with anyone, until he turns on the charm and you start trusting him for some reason, even though you know its a bad idea. I hate him. He's horrible. Also he has no morals (he does really, he just hides them).

Themes, arcs, all that nonsense

Sepulcrave's story essentially revolves around him being forced into being a better person and also healing along the way and learning to trust people and love people again. He finds a cause worth fighting for, finds a group of people worth caring about, and a reason to try harder. He also gets really fucked up along the way, just supremely brutalised.

His identity also changes, which normally wouldn't be a big deal but because he's my dnd character he ended up going through the same experience I did. At the start of the story he is Aroace, although he doesn't really think about it, but later on he falls in love and becomes homoromantic asexual - the same change I experienced whilst playing him, so it's near and far to my heart.

So, that's my narrator. I have such big feelings about him and about his story, I hope you like him even though he's awful and weird and disgusting.

Tag list

@skyderman @withlovefromthecrowss

[the-laughing-lie]

Session 28

And here we are again, halfway to confronting Vordakai himself. Our dear protagonists’ first hurdle in getting there was finding a way across the canyon his island was in the middle of. After much brainstorming, they determined that the best—and perhaps only—way to cross would be to summon a drake and have it fly half the party while Ozzy flew across with Ella. Kalikke was left to guard the road leading there, incase there were any more undead monstrosities lurking in the Valley of the Dead.

As the party flew across the gap, they spotted two potential entrances to the stone tower. They also spotted a clutch of wyverns, swooping out of their cave to confront these trespassers in their territory. The party made it to the island just in time to prepare for the lesser wyrms to descend upon them. They held their own, and came out victorious, albeit a bit battered.

After healing and absconding with the wyverns’ treasures, the party decided which entrance to examine. Ella took her rope and climbed down to a hidden entrance halfway up the pillar. Then into the unknown they went.

Our dear protagonists found themselves in a foul smelling tar pit, with only a few outcroppings to get out of the boiling ooze. On one of these outcroppings, guarding one of the doorways out, was the undead form of Varnhold’s emissary. That makes two places with an undead emissary now. Well, it would have, if the former wizard hadn’t been overwhelmed by the party the moment they entered the room. With the biggest hazard out of the way, Ozzy took up ooze form and began breaking off stalactites to create stepping stones across the boiling pit. The party then decided to backtrack through the opposite door, to make sure nothing came up behind them. And for no other reason.

The first room they found had four Soul Eaters, which were drawn to Ozzy, as he was the only one who had given Vordakai his name. Despite this, they had to dogpile Ella to try to get to him. Still, one scrappy fiend got to him and clouded Ozzy’s mind with its mind-numbing touch. This forced Irena to burn their only restoration spell once the fight was over, or risk Ozzy not being able to spellcast when they needed it most.

Ella uncovered a chain of secret rooms, and within one mysterious room there were pictures of eyes on all the walls, all looking at one large eye with an indent in the pupil. They party determined it was magic, but currently had no idea how to activate it or what it would do.

The party also found a room with a number of frescos depicting different scenes of cyclops life, centered around a cyclops with a red orb for an eye, whom Ozzy suspects is Vordakai himself.

Further back, the party entered a room with two alters, and imagery of Charon, the Horseman of Death. Not even I have something fun to say about the Horsemen. Absolute mood killers.

Unfortunately, our dear protagonists did not notice that the door between these alters was trapped, set to flood the room with stygian fires should it be opened without a blood offering. The party bundled out of the room, dragging along Tristian who had gotten the worst of it.

Their troubles were far from over, however. They only got a small respite before they confronted the guard of these rooms, a Piscodaemon who demanded to know in whose name they entered this room. Ozzy tried to talk them into a better position, but upon refusing to speak a name the Piscodaemon attacked the intruders.

After recuperating from the encounter, the party entered the jail, and found the dreadfully still form of a centaur laid out in one corner. Thankfully, Irena identified her death-like state as a particularly bad paralysis. With a song of freedom, Ozzy was able to break the magical paralysis, returning Xamanthe to her senses. The young centaur thanked the party for their help, and told them what she could about the tomb and its inhabitants. The party left her to recover with a weapon in hand incase any of the tombs’ inhabitants find her.

The party then returned the way they’d come—triggering the stygian flames yet again, so Tristian returned the favor for Irena helping him last time. He also disabled the unholy magics powering the trap, rendering it safe for when they return to get Xamanthe.

And with nowhere else to go without backtracking all the way to the other entrance, the party crossed the tar pit once more and passed through the hall the undead wizard had been guarding. Down, down, down a long hall, to horrors unknown.

And now we join them once again, as the curtain opens, and the players take the stage.

[ghoulishnarrator]

UPSDV (Undead Postmortem Service of Death Valley) (Logo 1st Edition)

The UPSDV is a company that provides delivery and other questionable services. They started off delivering corpses to weeping families and other persons before eventually evolving to deliver everything from furniture, clothes, weapons, and even fecal matter. 

 Unfortunately, this company almost exclusively employs shitty drivers to deliver your shitty goods, to your shitty house for your shitty satisfaction. They are literal pieces of shit and will try to argue that you are a piece of shit as well, accusing you of all kinds of nonsense to convince you that their shitty behavior and shitty treatment of you is justified. If you ever say that someone they look up to, like their hero or some other toilet dwelling ruler of shit stains, is a piece of shit, they will indulge in a childish back and forth "no you're a piece of shit!" "No YOU'RE a piece of shit!" type arguing until someone holds up a mirror to them and they gaze into their own reflection. The drivers at UPSDV are the absolute definition of shit and they will try to gaslight you into thinking you are below, worst, or at the same level as them when they know thats a bunch of bollocks and if you're a self respecting, self aware, and somewhat intelligent person, you'd know its bullshit as well. Best thing you can do is take your delivered item and not engage in any type of conflict or shituation because they love "shituations".

If any one of these UPSDV drivers attempt to call you a piece of shit for any reason, just tell them that they are smelling their upper lip.

*information courtesy of Expo (Deathpo) Library Database of Information that you don't give a fuck about (and I don't care if you do or don't)

Shittiness aside, Their motto or slogan is: D.I.P or Deliver in Peace. 

Death Valley Ghools

Death Valley Comics 2019 - 2025

[ivuul]

CREATURES OF THE VALLEY PART 1: COMMON CURSED HUMANS AND YOU.

Creature Entry #1: Lesser Lycanthrope AKA Wolfman Habitat: All over the valley. Class: Cursed Human Threat: 2/10 "Lycanthropy is the most common form of Cursed Human, and comes in stages. Stage one: You feel a headache, and find yourself having a hard time focusing more often. Stage two: Your teeth begin to shift and even fall out, sharper yellowed fangs begin to grow, and you swear you hear a voice every now and then. Around this stage, you begin to grow more than usual body hair. Stage three: Your eyes begin to change into weird yellow glowing eyes, a common trait in Cursed animals. You feel pain all across your body as your bones begin to shift inside and even grow new portions, large claws rip out from your fingerbones. Stage Four: Your thoughts are no longer yours anymore, you hear another voice trying to and most likely will fully take over, you can't even remember the names of your loved ones, and even your own name starts to fade, Your own mind is nearly gone, and all that's left is an animalistic husk that only knows base instincts to hunt, kill, survive. Lesser Lycanthropes also show pack-like behavior similar to wolves, and will often hunt alongside a single Greater Lycanthrope if possible. Lessers are sluggish during the day, but are capable of sprinting around the average human run speed during the night. Unlike most cursed humans, Lessers are not weak to silver, could it be due to them still holding onto some humanity? Jasper's extra note: The stage descriptions came from what may be the only currently known "intelligent" Lycanthrope in the valley. Hans's Extra Note: Weak when alone, more dangerous in packs, but still on the weaker side as far as Monsters go, Aim for the head or Heart.

Creature Entry #2: Greater Lycanthrope, AKA Werewolf Habitat: All over the valley. More common in regions with less human presence. Class: Cursed Human Threat: 5/10 "The mighty Werewolf is a fearsome beast, they are considered the next stage of evolution over the lessers, but the time it takes for one to be created seems to be entirely random. Lessers have gone to Stage Five in a few hours, a few days, and even several months. Werewolves have rather sharp claws and can tear through armor with ease, Touching anything silver is enough to leave 3rd degree burns on the beast. They often lead groups of lesser lycanthropes, but can also often be found all alone. They rarely group together with other Greaters, the reason why isn't clear. They also prefer to hunt things that want to run. Jasper's extra note: They communicate through a series of strained howls, they definitely don't sound like normal wolf noises… Oddly enough, they have many different fur colors that seem dependent on the hair color they had when they were still a human. Hans's Extra Note: They know what silver is, and will do everything they can to evade it, its almost like they have a sorta danger sense for the stuff. If you can get at least two silver bullets into one, it will turn into a howling fireball and melt to death.

Creature Entry #3: Skeletal Lycanthrope AKA Wereskeleton Habitat: Drighlands, Graveyards sometimes, The Ash Caverns Class: Undead Threat: 6/10 "Sometimes a Werewolf just refuses to stay dead, and so the Wereskeletons stalk certain areas. It appears a werewolf's skeleton has a higher chance to reanimate if they had died from non-silver heat-related sources. Such as basic fire or heatstroke from the drighlands. They still produce human-wolf-like screeching noises despite the lack of vocal cords. they are considered only slightly more dangerous than the average Greater on account of them lacking any flesh to cut or shoot, and as such, lacking a weakness to Silver… They move rather slowly in the drighlands for reasons unknown, which makes them easier to outrun than their alive counterparts, Unfortunately they hunt during the day where they try to use the desert heat to slow down their prey." Jasper's Extra Note: Despite the creation of these abominations, the church refuses to halt the burning pits, the Ash Caverns below the farmlands are an infested den of Skeletal horrors. Its both fascinating and deeply upsetting that it appears to have a doubled skeleton, the werewolf bones just simply grew out of and in some cases, right over the human skeleton. The inside of its skull is filled with extra teeth, mostly human teeth, that seem to serve no actual purpose. Hans's Extra Note: Silver is no longer an option, but bones are easy enough to break if you have a strong enough weapon and can put your strength into it, This is actually easier than it may be, as it appears becoming a skeleton has caused them to lose a lot of speed Werewolves are known for. Smash them to bits before they can claw your eyes out.

Creature Entry #4: Dire Lycanthrope: AKA The Brutewolf Habitat: Primalgrove, Dreadwood Forest, Rarely in the mountains. Class: Cursed Human Threat: 8/10 "Considered the rarest form of Werewolf and also the physically strongest form of werewolf, the Dire Lycanthrope, sometimes called the Brutewolf by Fairgrounders, are an absolute abomination. Theorized to be the final stage of evolution for Lycanthropy, they are rarely seen and are also considered one of the largest reasons why no one tries to exit the valley through its Near impassable mountains. Dire Lycanthropes didn't start showing up into the valley until a full year after the curse started to become "normal" for the Valleygoers. They no longer make any noise that sounds anything like a human or wolf, instead just gurgling-like noises. They no longer eat and seem to starve to death after several weeks to a month. They seem to only exist to kill." Jasper's Extra Note: I've once heard a theory passed around by Fairgrounders about if the Curse is somehow "Alive", or at least somehow "sentient" and while i can't say i fully believe it, It disturbs me to think that these things could be potentially some sort of "response" to us Valleygoers learning how to overcome and kill the Cursed beasts… They are powerful enough to stand their ground against most of the valleys Apex Predators, their arms have become enlarged and clublike, they try their best to crush anything they see into mush, never eating any of it. Hans's Extra Note: There is very little i have to say about these Abominations, Run like hell, Its not worth trying to fight one.

[ccsven]

I got Mork Borg. Reading through and thought of a sick headcanon for the Valley of the Unfortunate Undead, in which the air is so thick from the reek of death and the soil is blackened from body rot, turning into a sludge similar to the sticky mud in swamps which makes it seem as though when one falls in, the soil is eating them. 

Note: yes this is taking things straight from the book but I added some extra world building detail

[moldwood]

@vampcleric @churchyardgrim @marusea-a-random-dm

ask and you shall receive. under the readmore because sheeeeesh that's a lot i'm just copying and pasting it

this sounds ridiculous but this took me so long to respond to because i read it before bed then answered it in a dream. whoops. thank you so much for the kind words!! ♥

honestly, the biggest thing that i recommend for the brides is keeping them within the castle. i have seen a lot of people explore their characters by giving them various roles throughout the module, but i think that defeats the purpose of them being trapped simply by virtue of their relationship with strahd and what they've become from loving him. i like to let them wander the whole of the place instead of being just in his crypt though, so if you have a dinner before the final confrontation, they should definitely be there. they are, unfortunately, characters in curse of strahd, so just like every other npc, they are meant first and foremost to show something more about strahd's nature more than their own; in this case, strahd's tendency to want to control the lives of those he loves. whether that's to keep them safe since he has lost brides + tatyana in the past (patrina is one that he has definitely lost, but there could be more) or because he's a control freak -- or both, mankind is full of multitudes -- is up to how you want to play strahd! going to the castle once or twice before the final fight is a good idea so the party can get hints that there's more going on in there than just dead things walking around -- strahd leaves the doors open for a reason, but it doesn't work out with some parties. in my campaign recently, the party ended up waking up in the dungeon after an adventure into the (heavily modified) interactive tome of strahd, rahadin gave them all formal clothes up to his standards, and they had a dinner they had been avoiding. this was a much more physical trap for a resistant party full of monster hunters and barovians, but depending on the characters, a social trap can work just as well (+ strahd prefers them to physical ones tbh). i just wouldn't give the players total free exploration, unless they wanted to sneak in. rahadin, strahd, or the brides can guide their path through the castle towards where you plan to take them to make sure they don't see too much too early and don't walk into a trap and die. it's also an opportunity for talking with any of those characters which is always fun.

in the castle, i gave them each a dedicated place/role in strahd's life. from oldest to newest: with patrina gone, strahd no longer had anyone to further his magic studies. ludmilla, who was already interested in the arcane living in a valley with more and more undead popping up each day, heard about the count-turned-necromancer, was intruiged, and went up to the castle. what started out as a desire to understand these things to hold out against them turned into a curiosity, and that curiosity turned towards him with time. she fills that magic-study-focused role, though she's not as good as patrina of course, so they ended up studying side by side more than anything else in my mind. anastrasya was a noble from vallaki who hated the way of life she had to live, probably met strahd at a formal dinner type affair before he was no longer allowed in the village, and fell for him + the escape from all those social rules that he represented (and that they both desired). all further courting events had to be meticulously arranged to play the social dance of the upper class. she brings the political aspect back into the castle, a sort of unintentional reminder that strahd's life is bogged down by politics -- there is no escaping it for him with any relationship with him being a prince + count (+ king?), but she's the most direct representation of that to me. volenta was a street rat from barovia the village that went to the castle as a desperate last resort to steal something that'd get her enough money to finally eat a good meal. she got caught, but strahd liked her so she was allowed to live and was subsequently romanced. this is a big deal because the greatest crime in strahd's eyes is stealing. (rahadin would never question strahd, but he particularly didn't understand this one, even though these are the two that get along best now lmao) how could she not fall for the stability he offered her? she's similar to gertruda's role in showing that it's very fairy-tale-like how strahd can pick you up out of your life and suddenly give you luxury and power, but she's not disillusioned like gertruda is, which is why strahd liked her imo. she used to bite the hand that feeds. she's the one who sets the traps and resets ones that have gone off. she has her fun. escher appeals to strahd's repressed emotions, being a writer + poet (i see many people give him an artistic leaning role, it just seems to fit him haha). i had him be from berez 😬. following the destruction of the village (it happened while he was visiting vallaki so he was safe), he was utterly lost, and was picking up what remained of his life there when strahd went there to grieve. the two met and waxed poetics and, knowing he was responsible for escher's lack of house, gave him a place to live. i don't have too much more to say about him since the book already has more information on him than the other brides, and it all is pretty good. this is all just speculative backstory with no backing in the module, though. just how i like to play them. now for some speculation with a lot more backing:

from strahd's point of view, to simplify their relationships, he was always trying to fill the void left from his obsession with tatyana. he mostly sees relationships as give and take, so each of the brides shows something that he assumes people wants from him and that he's willing to try to give just to fill that emptiness with openhandedness. he's not wrong in that regard, just traumatized and misanthropic from war and being a prince. he's going about feeling about it all in the wrong way, even though his actions are in line with proper romance. he does have a noted habit of lavishing those he courts with material gifts thinking that is enough and what you're supposed to do, as well. (specifically, with my ideas for their characters: ludmilla fulfills strahd's thinking that people are interested in him for his abilities: his mental + physical + supernatural prowess. anastrasya fulfills strahd's thinking that people are interested in him for political gain. volenta fulfills strahd's thinking that people are interested in him for material gain. escher fulfills strahd's thinking that people are interested in him as a brooding mysterious dark handsome count.) all together, they fulfill strahd's thinking that peoples' lives are falling apart around him and he can offer them something and he will feel loved in return. and he's not wrong about any of this! ultimately strahd is a walking contradiction when it comes to honest relationships and love because he sees himself as worthy of anything he could ever want + a genuine good old-fashioned lover boy à la queen, yet he feels like carrion waiting to be scavenged on by vultures. that's what the brides give us insight into.

unfortunately for them, they are some of the less important npcs in the campaign to focus on so spending time with them is not a priority, but sometimes that can work in your favor. by introducing them with hints that more goes on in their lives beneath the surface, it gets players intruiged and restless to know more. who knows! maybe they'll fall in love with one in an interaction and decide they want to save them from strahd, the bride draws them in, and they realize too late it was all a trap and that strahd will always be the most important thing in their lives (whether the brides are happy about that or not is up to you). munch munch yummy pc blood!

this got too long i had to split it in two. second half about rahadin incoming 😳

PART 2

rahadin on the other hand gets a lot more free reign. as chamberlain, it's his job to organize strahd's day and social affairs, and as his former general, he definitely has strahd's safety in mind throughout all that. (as his closest "friend," though he would not have the gall to call himself that even in his own thoughts, he has strahd's emotional wellbeing in mind too as if there's any emotional wellbeing left lmao.) he is one of the only people in the valley on strahd's side who feels he can act without asking strahd first because *strahd trusts his judgement,* which is no small feat. that doesn't mean he does anything he doesn't think strahd would approve of, though. in the end, strahd trusting rahadin's judgement means trusting that rahadin would do what he wants him to do, and trusting that rahadin understands him enough to know what that is in the first place. trusting rahadin's judgement means trusting his own. big mistake! his judgement is bad! this is one of the things rahadin shows us about strahd. but moving on! if you want him more present in your campaign, maybe he could use opportunities like delivering invitations to spy on the characters. he wouldn't pick a fight since he knew he wouldn't win and would dip if things got out of hand. if they see him, you can have a fun little interaction there. if they don't, you can drop clues that he's been spying/gathered news on them from the vistani by having him or strahd hint at something he would have seen later on. just a possibility! i love what you did having him showing up strong in the one-shot. in my campaign, i'm lucky enough to have players that are very invested in the dusk elf story, one of them being a warlock with patrina as their patron, so for that i give you this: rahadin is the only one who would really give an accurate account of patrina's death and the subsequent execution of the dusk elves. kasimir and strahd both know the details, but both have extremely biased memories and are prone to leave out facts that don't suit their narratives. rahadin, for as much as he hated her for how she wanted to use strahd in his eyes, would at least have an accurate retelling of events.

the most important thing is this: disregard everything i've said. in the end, you know what is best for your campaign. i didn't even follow my own advice. i had escher in vallaki working with lady wachter as the one to organize the feast of saint andral because in my group a player wanted a complex slow romance with a pretty vampire boy that wasn't strahd and it fit his character well enough in my eyes (i won't get into the details, this is long enough as it is). whatever your story you are crafting with your players needs, do it! curse of strahd has a lot of wonderful characters that might already be doing what your story needs once you read between the lines of the few sentences the module gives you and speculate a little (or a lot). don't be afraid to shift someone's role if it would better serve a player's growth or fall to darkness. (but at the same time, don't make it too easy for the players. make them play by barovia's rules, unlikable npcs and lose-lose situation after lose-lose situation and all.) imo the module needs very little changing to be a compelling, complex, intertwined, amazing gothic story already, just a healthy dose of speculation. but yeah whatever you are hoping to get out of your campaign, do it.

this got very long and rambly. rereading it, it isn't the clearest thing in the world... oh well! i hope it was helpful in some way! if i worded something in a way that's too confusing, don't be afraid to ask "what the hell did you mean by this?"!! thank you so much again!! :')

^^^ there you go enjoy the comment essay. thank god they did not also ask about strahd because getting into his sadism vs nobility vs sensitivity vs hunger vs ETC would be tooooo much 😓

spent my morning typing out a youtube comment that exceeded the 10k character limit in response to being asked the simple question "how did you enhance the brides and rahadins roles in the module?". 🥴. im going to eat lunch now.

[serenabeaniesims]

at the start of 2021 I began an occult themed legacy challenge I designed 👽💀🧛🏽🧙🏽🧜🏼

I’ve been tweeting about it regularly but I thought I’d also post about it here ! I’m on gen 7 currently but this blog is going to start at the beginning and catch up from there.

spoilers I guess, but here are the legacy challenge rules I’ve been following (subject to change after playtesting):

TS4 Occult 10 Gen challenge

the goal is to playthrough ten generations of occult and occult-oriented sims with family dynamics

I would suggest at least doubling the elder lifespan with MCCC so that you can have generations interact a bit more.

I'd encourage you to fill out the worlds (or find a save that has) and stay within the sim's home world for each generation

feel free to do multiple aspirations in addition to the one listed for those sweet reward store points

each generation has: home world (and a population suggestion), aspiration to complete, career, and skill focus

Gen 1: Non-occult sim infected by the Mother

Must have trait: male/can impregnate

Live in Strangerville and/or oasis springs (populated by aliens)

Strangerville Aspiration

Scientist Career (save inventions for future gens)

Build a servo

Max Logic Skill

Associate frequently with aliens on & off Sixam

Become abducted by aliens and have at least 1 alien baby via abduction

Gen 2: Alien

Live in Del Sol Valley (populated by famous people)

Chief of Mischief Aspiration

torment non alien sims

Criminal Career (Oracle Branch)

maintain a negative reputation; try to get famous

Max Mischief Skill

Romance a fellow alien; have at least 1 alien child

Gen 3: Assimilating Alien

Live in Newcrest or Brindleton Bay or somewhere normal (populated by non-occult sims)

Big Happy Family Aspiration

Astronaut Career (Space Ranger Branch)

Max Rocket Science Skill

Hide your alien form from friends & family

dont get along w parents

Romance a non-occult sim and get married without them knowing you're an alien (you can reveal your true form on your wedding night)

Have children until you get at least 1 non-alien sim, and enough total (at least 3) to fulfill the Big Happy Family aspiration

Gen 4: Selvadoradian Occultist

Live in Britechester (populated by non-occult sims), but vacation frequently to Selvadorada

Academic Aspiration -> Jungle Explorer Aspiration

Education Career (Professor Branch)

Attend University for the Education Career, taking elective courses in Archaeology & Selvadoradian Culture.

Max Selvadoradian Culture Skill

After meeting a temple guardian, add a skeleton to your household (you used to be able to shift+click a skeleton to do this, now I think you have to get one off the gallery)

Collect & Use Selvadoradian relics

Romance a Selvadoradian native and get married on vacation in Selvadorada (unfortunately you cannot romance the skeletons)

Have at least 1 child

Gen 5: Family Vampire

Must have trait: Family-Oriented

Move to Forgotten Hollow (populated by vampires) as a teen

Vampire Family Aspiration

Painter Career (Master of the Real Branch) or photography freelancer (with fellow vampires as subjects)

Max Painting Skill or photography skill

Romance the same vampire who turns you

In addition to creating the 5 vampire offspring for the aspiration, have at least 2 vampire babies with your vampire partner

Gen 6: Master Vampire

Must have trait: Evil

Live in Willow Creek or Forgotten Hollow (populated by vampires, which can include the offspring of the previous generation)

Master Vampire Aspiration

vampire weaknesses -> uncontrollable hissing/undead aura

maintain a negative reputation

Writer Career (Author Branch)

Max Vampire Lore Skill

Romance a fellow vampire

Have at least 1 child

Gen 7: Vampire Slayer

Must have trait: Good

Live in San Myshuno (populated by whomever)

Good Vampire Aspiration

Doctor Career & Vampire Slayer

Max Fitness & Vampire Lore Skills

'Slay' at least 5 vampires, which can include their family members (to make slaying a greater consequence, feel free to immediately age up the 'slayed' sim to an elder or outright kill them)

Must cure themselves of vampirism before having children.

Romance a non-occult sim or a former vampire

Have at least 1 child

Gen 8: Unambitious Spellcaster

Must have trait: Lazy

Move to Glimmerbrook (populated by spellcasters) after an uneventful childhood

Successful Lineage Aspiration

Any Career

Max Parenting Skill (if you have Parenthood)

Romance a spellcaster; sometime before you get married, become a spellcaster yourself.

Have at least 2 children.

Gen 9: Competitive Spellcasters

Child 1 must have trait: Loner

Child 2 must have trait: Outgoing

Live in Windenburg (populated by spellcasters)

Child 1 has the Purveyor of Potions Aspiration

Child 2 has the Spellcraft & Sorcery Aspiration

Child 1: Gardener Career/Potion Store

Child 2: Paranormal Career

(hard mode: don't get any of the perks that decrease death by overload)

Have 1 child per sim for the next generation or have 2 children from one or the other.

Gen 10: Mermaids

Child 1 must have traits: child of the ocean; evil

Child 2 must have traits: child of the islands; lazy AND/OR freegan

Live in Sulani (populated by mermaids/sirens)

Deny your spellcaster heritage and become mermaids/sirens as teens

Child 1: Eco Innovator Aspiration

Child 2: Beach Life Aspiration

Child 1: Conservationist Career (Marine Biologist Branch)

Child 2: Civil Designer Career (Green Technician Branch)

Child 1 becomes a siren who lures non-mermaids to their deaths or outright kills them in an attempt to protect the oceans

Child 2 is a mermaid beach bum who believes non-mermaids can live in harmony with nature like mermaids do

Play through the Sulani Conservation storyline while making your neighbourhood 'green'