#the real Ravenloft

[daemons-and-deathrays]

Hour of the Mists

The Hour Draws Near! Mists creep upon you, but what could it mean? Are all who gaze upon the clammy fog doomed to be swallowed up? Step forward and find out. Author’s Note: A return to Ravenloft. Again. This time, I figure it’s worth giving some more love to the Broken Cog. This time, it’s mostly cleanup where it’s needed and more ideas where needed. For one, Nosos is still lacking. Let me change…

[pigeon-princess]

Anya has been an incredible new edition to the strahd party dynamic and I think we're reaching peak levels of chaos

[vanhelsingapologist]

Strahdposting (with possible spoilers so tread lightly)

One of the worst things about Strahd in our campaign is that he's not overtly forced anyone to do anything. His underlings have, sure, but never him. He just waits for us to eliminate our options all on our own, and then presents us with his way. And of course, his way is the easiest. He'll even make it easier. We keep falling into the pit because he ensures we dig it ourselves.

We're almost past the point where he wants to bargain with us and I'm nervous about what happens when he stops being the devil we know and becomes something else altogether.

The recent reveal that there were other parties before ours has been so shattering for us, I think, because it made us all realize that our party is an amusement until it is an inconvenience, and then we'll be insects in the garden that have overstayed our welcome. And then he'll start with the force.

[spicyspell]

Rip to a 5’7 king 💔 Bless down he’s awful

(Characters belong to @zenithzyl. In order: Aavara in the center, Vaastus being held and Desadora on the right.)

[crowholtz]

Viktor Vallakovich and my blood cleric Helene Crow doing some arcane studies together while he lays on her lap... They're very into each other. Just earlier today they summoned a demon together. He's an asshole to everyone but her (it may or may not be because she's nice to him and also excuses some of his bullshit) 🥰 we love our problematic murder boy

(art by deadbeatcleric on Twitter)

[aspenwitch]

Our combat map setup for the finale of our Curse of Strahd campaign, @alcanter-draws handmade these room tiles and multi level setup to help us all visualize the space and it was such a stunning and efficient way to handle running all over the castle combat

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Ivana Boritsi

Domain: Borca Domain Formation: 684 BC Power Level: 3/5 skulls Sources: Ravenloft (3e), Domains of Dread (2e), Secrets of the Dread Realms (3e), Domains and Denizens (2e), Realm of Terror (2e), Gazetteer 4 (3e), van Ricthen’s Guide to Ravenloft

Ivana Boritsi is the second Darklord of Borca, usurping her mother, Camille Boritsi when she committed matricide via the traditional Borcan means – poison.  In 740 BC the Grand Conjunction caused Borca to absorb Dorvinia, her cousin Ivan’s Domain. Currently, Borca is ruled by these poisonous noble cousins, but today I am only going to address Ivana’s descent into Darklordom.

Camille wanted nothing more for her daughter to mirror her in every possible way. An admirable goal. What parent would not want to see their legacies carried forward in their heirs? Installing hatred in one of the Bortisi bloodline should not be a difficult task, yet Camille failed to mold Ivana into the man hating daughter she desired.

The young, influential Ivana desired the experience of ‘true love’. Bah. Overrated dribble best left in fairytales. In her search, she found Pieter – a poetic and musician. He, however, showed no interest in Ivana, so naturally she took to pursuing him like a relentless zealot.  He, like the gloriously vain artist he was, only took interest in Ivana when she expressed interest in his art. And so, Ivana became one of the first groupies in Ravenloft…

Camille, seeing her daughter find ‘true love’ in this musical hack, decided to demonstrate to Ivana just how horrible all men truly were. She pretended to be Ivana and came into Pieter’s bed under the cloak of darkness. When Ivana discovered them together, she was devastated. Camille quickly convinced Ivana that Pieter had seduced her and Ivana should kill him for it in the Boritsi fashion.

Ivana saturated her body in a powerful poison that did no harm to her, but allowed her to kill Pieter with a single kiss. Camille had finally obtained the man-hating, poisonous daughter she always dreamed of. Ivana, however, did not see her revenge complete until she mother suffered the same fate as her lover and with Camille’s last breath, Ivana became the Darklord of Borca.

Now, her body is permanently seeped in poison. Ivana is in her 60s, yet appears no older than 18. A gift bestowed upon her by our tormentors, allowing her to stay young and beautiful without the curse of undeath. There is, naturally, always a price for their gifts and though Ivana may give all appearances of the innocent and beautiful young woman, part of her true nature is revealed by the unnaturally and sickly shade of blue that stains her lips and fingernails. Though Ivana hides these blemishes beneath lairs of makeup, I would not be surprised if she was able to convince the Borcans that blue lips and nails are the latest fashion craze.

When she succumbs to mortal slumber, Ivana’s horror is revealed – she appears as if she died from poison – swelled face, protruding and blackened tongue, and the pallor of a blotted corpse. Perhaps this is why she ensures the death of any lover she takes for fear they may see her as she truly is.

As a ruler, Ivana is more interested in funding her lavish lifestyle and manipulating countless courtiers for her to seduce and destroy. When Borca absorbed Dorvinia, Ivana was more than happy to let Ivan take over the political concerns of their realm.

5e Version

In van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft, Ivana’s story has changed in some ways and remained the same in others. In this version, both of her parents earned her scorn. Her father for favoring male heirs over herself and her mother for successfully seducing Pieter from her. After Camille’s betrayal, Ivana created aromatic toxins and killed all of her brothers for the crime of being favored by her father and her mother for seducing Pieter.

When her father lay on his death bed, he named Ivan Dilisnya as his heir. Now, of course, Ivana assumed this was because he was a petty man…but perhaps killing everyone with poison in a rather unsubtle means clued your father into your true nature, Ivana. Though, Ivan is a rather poor choice as an heir as well. With his final word, Ivana released another toxic gas and killed her already dying father and their countless servants. A rather pointless act, but it earned her a Domain and the taint of poison beneath her skin.   

[thyeternalhunger]

"And Quantarius remembered, years ago, his apprentice speaking of deaths on the battlefield and the escape of the life energies and his wish to capture them and make use of them."

Commission from twi: @TheodoreP422

[twinkstrahd]

hi what do you think strahd's favorite kpop group/idol is

the beatles

[mx-lamour]

"CoS is actually a Western."

Hang on. I have something for this. (I was going to reblog this, but things got out of hand fast, so here's an entirely separate post instead. Be warned... it's long.)

I usually like to share just some of the most dramatic/cinematic moments from our game, and Ezra's perspective in particular, but hoo boy. Hopefully this will give you some insight into the utter weirdness that also went on through most of our campaign.

The party was traveling south, toward the ruin of Berez.

We notice a bizarre row of thin wooden walls on either side of the road ahead, propped up from the behind by long angled beams. Only a couple of small one-room structures jut out from the back of them.

The wheels of Ezmerelda's wagon creak lightly, crunching along the dirt road as we approach the anomaly. We can see that the front of the walls are painted to look like buildings. Amongst them are a few figures. A man wipes his brow with a handkerchief. Jaunty piano music wafts through the scene.

In a sudden shattering of glass, something crashes through the window of a building labeled "saloon". Ezra approaches the object now lying in the road. It's a thin wooden cutout, painted on one side to look like a man.

We look around. All the figures in this theatrical setpiece are painted cutouts, animated by a series of ropes and pullies. Dulan spies a zombie or two through the gaps between facades, operating the mechanisms.

This is undoubtedly one of Strahd's works.

For context, we were aware of two separate personifications of Strahd von Zarovich, but were still not entirely sure why the duality existed or what to do about it.

Our first was one we dubbed "Strahd von Strahd", an unhinged caricature with a deep and thoroughly exaggerated Dracula voice, who had encouraged us on other occasions to participate in small theatrical scenes (this wild west town was an escalation of a sort we had not yet encountered).

The other, we labeled "Business Strahd", who we had begun to speculate the existence of only after meeting Ezmerelda, and had only recently confirmed/witnessed at Yesterhill.

Ezra lights one of his shoddy cigarettes.

We peer through the busted saloon window. It's set up with a few tables and chairs, some of which are occupied by more ambient cutout figures. Off to one side, a zombie sits at a harpsichord. There's a man behind the bar, wiping the inside of a glass with a rag.

"Do we want to start placing bets that's Strahd in disguise?" Ezra mutters warily.

After some hesitation, we steel ourselves—Ezra casting a protection on himself—and bust dramatically through the swinging doors.

As we enter, we're startled by a tray lowering jerkily down to us on ropes from the ceiling above. Presented on it are a stack of black cowboy hats, and a pile of metal brooches shaped like stars, the word 'deputy' etched on each of them. A sign suspended between the ropes of the apparatus reads: Choose your role.

Kreig scoops up one of the shiny metal stars. Dulan, who acts like an elder brother around Kreig, joins him, and pins a star to his vest. There's a silly moment where Krieg sees this and goes to mimick Dulan, but then we remember the barbarian isn't wearing a shirt, so he kind of just stabs it into his pec instead.

Ezra dons a black hat. The tray raises back up into the makeshift rafters.

"What can I get you?" The line is flat and stilted. The human bartender is sporting a thousand-yard stare.

Kreig asks for water, since we've been traveling a while.

"Good choice. Three sasparillas."

Ezra sniffs at the substance this the poor man hands us, which was described as essentially a brownish watered-down apple vinegar. Kreig tries to drink some of it and resists the urge to make a sour face, in an effort to be polite.

While Dulan tries to chat with the barkeep, Ezra wanders away with his cup of swill to survey the rest of the setup. There are more zombies, dressed in western outfits, suspended from the ceiling. For now, the corpses hang inert.

The saloon doors swing open again, and Rahadin stands in the doorway. He's decked out in classy outlaw attire: black leather jacket, black boots adorned with shiny silver spurs, and atop his head is a black cowboy hat. But he still wears a sword on his hip.

He catches Ezra's eye and nods to him. "I don't know how you can stand to drink in here, ol' Dynamite McCoy." The background music and other ambient sounds abruptly cease.

Ezra lifts his glass slightly. "Ale's ale," he says blandly.

"I know what you mean, but I wish they would serve a better class of folk in this establishment."

"What do you mean?" Dulan chimes in.

"I mean that you two," says outlaw Rahadin, addressing deputies Dulan and Kreig, "are scum of the earth."

Dulan plays into it, puffing up his stocky dwarven chest. "I'm the long arm of the law in this town!"

"You won't talk so high and mighty when Gravedigger Jim comes into town." We naturally assume that this is in reference to Strahd.

"Them's fightin' words," Dulan declares, trying to figure out what the end goal of this playacting is supposed to be.

"Gravedigger Jim sent me to tell you, you've got one last chance to leave this town. If you want to see another sunrise, you'd best be gone by high noon."

"The junior deputy and I ain't goin' nowhere," Dulan retorts. "Go find yourself a new town to harrass."

The human bartender interjects lamely, "Now now. I don't want any trouble in here. Take it outside or be done with it."

Rahadin fixes the deputies with a look. "You've been warned."

He's about to leave. But Kreig pipes up. "Well, wait. Why don't we put aside our quarrels and you have a drink with us?" He plops a coin down on the bar. "A round for this... gentleman."

The barkeep pours another drink. Rahadin strides up to the bar and levels Kreig with a look. "You're not going to win me over with a drink, so what's your game, junior deputy?"

"No game, just trying to enjoy my day. It's mighty hot out there, so I figured you could use something to quench your thirst," Kreig says. Rahadin reaches for the glass, but then Kreig adds, "Unless you ain't up for it," in some unfathomable challenge.

At that, Rahadin takes the drink, throws its contents on Kreig, and sets the glass back down on the bar with a decisive thunk.

"Thank you," Kreig says. "I needed that." And pours his own drink over Rahadin's head.

Rahadin steps back, pausing to let the liquid drip off of him. "Thanks," he says dryly, and picks up a chair from a nearby table.

Dulan raises a hand. "Now, the barkeep asked us to take it outside," he says loudly. "This is a civilized place."

With incredible mid-swing restraint, Rahadin merely lays the chair down on its back atop the bar. He tells Dulan, "Your junior deputy would have preferred the chair," and walks out.

"As far as I can tell, you've just invited yourself to a duel," Ezra observes from his place far on the sideline.

"Get your kind out of my town!" Dulan grumbles emphatically, gesturing at Ezra's black hat.

With a pointed look, Ezra sets his own glass down on a table, turns, and walks out after Rahadin.

Outside, wagons have been moved into the road at either end of the set. A couple new cutouts, depicting gangs of tough-looking outlaws, have come into play. And Strahd is there, standing in the middle of it all, dressed in his usual Count attire, but with the addition of a black cowboy hat.

Rahadin reaches into a barrel on the side of the road and starts pulling out hand crossbows. He offers one to Ezra.

Strahd also acknowledges him pleasantly. In his most outlandish Dracula voice, he says, "Good evening, Ezra. You have chosen an interesting part to play today. Welcome to the other side."

Ezra plays it cool. He tips his hat in reply.

Back inside the saloon, the piano music resumes. The zombies in the rafters are lowered down and become vaguely animate. They seem to follow Dulan and Kreig, but do not attack. So Dulan continues to play the game. "You were born in this town," he says, rallying the mock townsfolk. "We will defend this town. No low-down cattle rustlers are going to take it from us!" The zombies grumble and groan in raucous agreement. There are ambient cartoon sounds of bullets loading into chambers, and cylinders spinning, despite a distinct lack of weaponry. A table is flipped on its side and hefted up by zombie arms. Dulan, Kreig, and the unlikely crew huddle behind it like a massive shield.

A hawk cries in the distance.

"Come on out of there, you yellow-bellied cowards!" Strahd calls richly from outside the saloon. "Face Gravedigger Jim!"

Dulan, privately reeling at the absurdity of all this, somehow plays that classic Western sound [wa wa waaa... wheeooo-oo...] to inspire Kreig, who rages as they stomp through the doorway with a gaggle of zombies and a table in front of them.

"Howdy pilgr—Oh no, they're rushing it!" Strahd yells. "Next cue! Next cue!"

Strahd throws his cape aside, and draws out not a crossbow, but an actual, literal hand gun. Something none of our characters have ever seen before. He aims, and just obliterates the head of one of Dulan and Kreig's loaner zombies. The other zombies keep moving, treading over the now mostly-headless corpse.

Kreig advances toward Rahadin, slapping the crossbow from his hand with the flat of his blade. "We can still settle this calmly," he says.

"You should have let me keep the crossbow," Radahin replies coolly. He draws his sword. "And, by the way... this is calm." The man makes three melee attacks.

"Gravedigger Jim!" Dulan improvises, "Unlike your name, you'll be hangin' from that tree, like your father before you!"

As an aside to Rahadin, Strahd comments, "He's totally off-script, but I love the energy."

Ezra takes another puff of his dwindling cigarette, playing the cool observer, letting the bosses handle it. He keeps his eyes trained on the barrel of Strahd's gun.

"You keep my papa out of this," Strahd banters, leveling it at Dulan.

Ezra's eyes flash when he sees the spark. The revolver backfires in a gout of flame that billows back at Strahd's face, igniting his clothing.

Strahd blinks. "Son of a bitch," he remarks. "Rahadin, you warned me, but I really wanted to give it a try."

Kreig attacks Rahadin, who vanishes in a puff of smoke. A molotov cocktail hurtles at Kreig from above, smashing to the ground by his feet. Kreig dives out of the way, glancing up at the trajectory to see Rahadin standing on a makeshift balcony.

Dulan pulls a rope from his pack and ties a lasso. He makes himself invisible.

"Why don't you let me give it a whirl," Ezra offers, extending his hand to Strahd and nodding toward the gun. "Those things can be a bit finicky."

In a miracle of dice rolls, Strahd practically shrugs as he relinquishes the revolver. The fire consuming his sleeve licks Ezra's hand in the exchange. Ezra doesn't flinch. With a breath like blowing out a candle, he extinguishes the flames.

Relieved of the gun, Strahd draws his sword instead. He and Rahadin converge against Kreig, Rahadin flinging a terrifyingly dark rusty dagger at the barbarian from aloft. Together, they take him down. Rahadin remarks, "I told you he would have preferred the chair."

Dulan catches Strahd with the lasso. He pulls on the rope, calling the remaining zombies to help him. "Pull!" he yells.

Strahd topples over. He rolls on the ground a bit, palms up in mock despair. "No! You have captured me! How can this be? I, the great Gravedigger Jim, will go out the same way as my pappy."

"This is why one shouldn't get tangled up in the wrong side of the law," Dulan declares.

Ezra makes his way over to Kreig. Goes to remove the nasty-looking dagger from him, but it falls apart in his hands, disintigrating into nothingness and leaving behind an infectious-looking oozing black wound in Kreig's hide. Ezra carefully burns it away, sparing him his descent into death.

Dulan and Ezra spare a glance at each other, trying to figure out where to go from here.

Rahadin watches the conclusion of the little episode with his elbows propped on the balcony railing, chin resting on a closed fist.

"Oh no, you won," Ezra says lamely.

Dulan leans down to Strahd, still wriggling on the ground. "You have to hang me," Strahd insists.

With aid of the zombies, Dulan sets out to hoist the rope up somewhere nearby. He avoids moving the lasso from Strahd's arms, so Strahd does it for him, positioning it around his own neck like he's adjusting a bowtie.

And then he hangs. He makes a dramatic show of gurgling and going limp.

"And, cut!" he announces, slashing easily through the rope and dropping gracefully back to the ground. "Good work everybody. You really studied the material this time. A marked improvement on your last show. Great work. Get some water, stay hydrated, and... we will move onto the next scene." And with that, he simply walks away.

Strahd makes his exit between two of the building facades. Rahadin turns, too, leaving through a doorway behind him on the balcony. The zombies de-animate and crumple to the ground.

Ezra hurries after Strahd, still intent on gleaning some additional insight. Throughout this encounter, the man has been wholly committed to his act, completely devoid of caution or care, never once breaking character. There's been no trace whatsoever of the Strahd von Zarovich from his own journal, nor their encounter at Yesterhill, nor even Vasili von Holtz. He would truly have to be the most talented actor in the world, or this is a completely different entity. So, who is he really? And why is he wearing Strahd's face?

Strahd is standing with Rahadin by his black carriage, giving him notes. "I think we need to do better next time. They seemed to be a tad confused. Maybe a bit more stagecraft. But they seem to be taking hold, starting to dig into their parts. Fantastic." Rahadin opens the carriage door for him and Strahd steps inside.

Ezra approaches them as Rahadin climbs up to the coachman's place. "Good evening, Ezra," Strahd greets him again. "You made an interesting choice today. I think perhaps you need more practice, but I like this new direction you are taking your character."

Ezra takes off his black hat and sets it on the carriage seat next to Strahd. He touches Strahd's arm. "I said I was here to help," Ezra reminds him, and surreptitiously casts Remove Curse, just to see what it will do.

It does nothing. He can't feel any difference, can see no change in Strahd at all.

Strahd pats Ezra's glowing hand amiably. "Oh, but you seem so hot and clammy. Perhaps you should see a doctor." He settles into the carriage, then, closing the door.

Before they depart, Rahadin leans toward Ezra, regarding him over his shoulder. "There are always more black hats available, should you decide it suits you, Ezra." He flicks the reins, and they're off. The ominous black carriage rolls north, back up the road.

In the background, Dulan had the spirit of the wizard Emari [it's a magic item situation] trail after Ezra. When Ezra returns, Dulan regails the group with the information Emari gleaned from the interaction [Dulan is the only one who can see/hear the wizard's spirit].

When Ezra was speaking with Strahd, Emari said, Strahd's mind was a minefield of incessant cacouphanous screams and wails. And Rahadin's thoughts were shielded completely from detection.

A direct reversal of a previous encounter we'd had with both of them.

[ravenloftbythelamplight]

This is incredibly random but as funny as "king who hates fun is forced to perform with a living ventriloquist dummy of Strahd von Zarovich in what is basically a comedy club forever" is, I think the pre-5e version of Risibilos is better

[daemons-and-deathrays]

They Linger in the Mists

I can never resist treks through the mists.  It calls me back and I am seemingly drawn to it.  Maybe I’m just doomed, but so is everyone else.  One may as well take in the nice scenery. Author’s Note: I come up with ideas, or pull from old games, and thus write stuff.  It’s that simple.  Anyway, enjoy.  Also, while I enjoyed more evil schemes for Ivana… it just didn’t feel right.  I’m not fond of…

[cambria-writes]

It is finally update Sunday! I’m so sorry this took so long to put out. A lot of things have happened in the past few months and I’ll be real, most of them were not good lol. I hope you were still able to enjoy the Halloween and Christmas specials!

I’m hoping to be able to wrap this story up within the next few chapters, so I hope you’ll hang around for that. :)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader rating: M warning: swearing, blood, vecna, questionable use of adnd lore and spells, mild panic, lemme know if there’s anything else word count: 3,433

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔢

“You have to go,” Eleven says, hand on your shoulder while your arms are around Max. 

“How am I supposed to leave though?” Max asks, and she sounds miserable, three seconds away from crying. “I’m stuck here because—because of him,” she bites, waving vaguely off in the direction Vecna still, for the moment, lies.

 

“I can get him away,” Eleven says, and though you’re sure her voice doesn’t betray any uncertainty, her eyes do. She turns to you. “When you wake up, you’ll be able to wake up Max.” 

“That’s not a great idea,” you whisper, squeezing your hand on Max’s shoulder. You bite your lips before looking over to El. “But I might have something that works.” 

Both girls frown at you, but before you can explain yourself, or bat away their concerns, the sound of groaning and splitting wood fills the gym. You stand motionless with Max pressed against your side while Eleven slowly makes her way to the center of the gym. 

Vecna emerges from a mess of splintered wood in a nearly seamless, singular motion. It’s uncanny and it’s unsettling. He doesn’t move with the grace of any kind of predator you know; it’s unnatural, smooth, and achingly deliberate. 

That’s when you realize that he’s entirely confident, no matter what happens, that he has the upper hand. Vecna’s already convinced of your loss.

You swallow thickly and screw your eyes shut. The amount of confidence you have in this—your newfound abilities, let alone yourself—is laughably low to the point of non-existence, trying is the least you could do. So you slowly untangle yourself and put Max at arms’ length. You open your mouth to speak, but there’s another feeling at the back of your neck, like a string pulling at the base of your spine, that makes you turn around.

You see Vecna raise a hand, prompting the splintered wood on the floor to rise as well. You take a deep breath and turn back to face Max. 

“We have music playing from a car outside the house,” you say, quickly, and shake Max to quiet down when she opens her mouth to speak. “Focus. It’s Kate Bush. I need you to see if you can hear it.” 

You and Max both flinch at the sound of wood hitting wood, but Max closes her eyes and knits her brow in focus. You do the same thing, trying to block out the talking behind you.

You can’t make out anything beyond the roaring of your pulse. 

“Yeah, yeah I can—I can hear it!” When Max turns, just a little bit, to face the gym’s entrance, you follow her gaze. There’s something strange, under one of the tables. The air almost looks like the rippling mirage over a hot street. 

When you look back to Eleven, she’s suspended in the air, slowly rotating to face Vecna. You start shoving Max along. 

“Go, go go go,” you urge, rushing ahead to throw chairs out of the way. “Run and slide!” 

You lift your head to glance at Vecna, whose cloudy eyes slowly meet yours. You bite your tongue against the scream burning in your throat. He begins to extend another hand in your direction—at Max, you’d guess—but as she’s dropping on her knees to slide under the table and, consequently, into some strange kind bird’s eye view portal of the Creel manor attic, you rush to interpose yourself. 

There’s a second where, when you no longer hear the sound of fabric on the floor, you wonder if Max hasn’t made it through. But the scowl on Vecna’s face is about as reassuring as it is terrifying. You feel suffocated, for a second, like you’ve been put in a vacuum and all the air’s been sucked out. But also just as instantly you gasp for breath, the nerves in your arms stinging and your eyes watering. 

You see the arm aimed at Eleven lower, almost imperceptibly, and El herself seems to realize that the pressure around her body seems to lessen. 

“You can’t—you can’t hurt me,” you stutter, looking back and forth between the monster in front of you and the dangling girl. “You can’t touch me.” 

Vecna stays quiet, but narrows his eyes. The hand still held up toward you clenches into a fist. You feel, for a second, like you’re being tucked in far too tightly. Again, though, as soon as the feeling appears, it vanishes. This time, though, your head throbs in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. You take a hesitant step forward.

“You can’t use anything against me,” you reiterate, swallowing past a lump in your throat and taking another step forward. “Keep trying.” 

Eleven makes a choked sound from where she still hangs when more sharp splinters of wood come up. Vecna audibly grunts when he sends them your way.

Not a single one hits. 

Every single bit goes wide.

Eleven drops to the floor in a heap, coughing, when Vecna puts both his arms down and turns to walk toward you. You stand your ground, but not because you’re confident in what you’ve been saying. You just don’t see how running is a good idea right now. 

When he stops mid step, you take a slow step forward. When he doesn’t move, you take another. And another. Slowly, you walk around a petrified Vecna, over to Eleven’s side. 

“What now?” you whisper, as El slowly twists her wrist to have Vecna facing her. The both of you. “Tell me how to he—”

You’re cut off when your vision goes strange. Like, for just a second, everything was in triplicate, slightly off kilter and overlaid. You feel yourself hitting the ground on your knees. When you blink enough to be able to see properly again, you can see the blood from your nose dripping to the floor. 

“In…teresting…”

You gather the bloody saliva in your mouth and spit before you slowly get back up on your feet. “He keeps trying to test me,” you explain to Eleven, voice hoarse, when you catch her concerned glance. “Nothing he does can actually land but I guess I can’t help the strain from blocking his bullshit.” 

“I have an idea,” Eleven says, through clenched teeth. And though she doesn’t move, to help maintain her focus you assume, she goes look off to the side at something. You do your best to ignore the disgusting, slithering sound of Vecna’s struggle against Eleven’s hold as you shuffle to look around and past her to what she’s looking at. 

…a balloon archway? You frown, at first, but then the understanding washes over you; a gateway. You nod slowly. 

“Where to?” 

There’s a moment of silence before El answers. “Me.”

You gape at her before speaking up. “You’re kidding me. You’re saying—you want me to put him,” you start, gesturing widely at Vecna. “Into your head.”

She nods only once, eyes still glued on the grotesque excuse of a man in front of you. 

“Please tell me you have a plan.” 

“I do.” 

You look up at the ceiling for a second and shake your arms before you stalk over to the balloon archway. Again, a strange and sudden wave of vertigo hits you, but this time you catch yourself and manage only to stumble rather than fall. You bite your tongue against the urge to turn around and scream. Next to the arch, you place your hand on the nearest balloon and close your eyes. You have no idea what you’re doing, really, but you’re hoping that the blooming, sharp pain behind your eyes and the vague image of Eleven that you have in your head are going to be enough.

You’re only peripherally aware that you’re dreaming. There’s one errant thought of oh, this is a dream, before you’re whisked away into it. 

Though his hair’s still relatively long, you can tell that this Eddie is younger. Maybe still a little angry, and a little less touched by the people around him. There isn’t that set to his eyes that you know he has now. 

Dutifully, you follow the dream and sit at a large table in the drama room. You don’t comment about the smell—you have an older brother, you know the smell of weed by now—and you don’t make any sudden movements. You’re surrounded by a bunch of older boys and you’re trying to make a good impression.

You hardly ever spoke unless the senior DM spoke to you directly. To be fair, your quiet lended itself well to your cloistered cleric, though two hours in you got the feeling that the other guys around the table were getting a bit annoyed.

“The warlock doesn’t look surprised to see you,” Greg. the senior DMing for you, announces. You scrunch your nose at his self-satisfied grin. You could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. There was no way in hell that your party could’ve made it that deep without being detected. 

None of them were even sneaking! 

“He waves his hands,” Greg continues, slowly rising from his chair at the head of the table. “And the large double doors slam shut behind you. There’s a heavy thud, and you know that you’ve been locked in.” 

The other boys start off fairly excited; the ranger tries to shoot the warlock down, which doesn’t work. Fireballs won’t work either, and whatever the paladin tries also falls miserably short. The whole time, while the rest of the party tries and fails to attack, you go back and forth between cure light sounds and chant after your initial casting of sanctuary.

Another half hour and you, Eddie and the fluffy haired kid—Gareth, though you’d only learn his name the next day—are the only ones still in the fight. You’re biting and worrying at your lip and the insides of your cheeks like they’ve personally offended you. There’s not much you can do for either boys. But you slam the table when Eddie’s talking to Gareth about what he’s planning to do next. Your hit’s hard enough to rattle the near-empty coke cans on the table. 

“Sor-sorry! I just, Ed,” you rush out, a little breathless. “You remember when my brother was playing in the basement a few weeks ago and he had to make the saving throw against the dragon?” Eddie frowns at you like you’re speaking in tongues but nods. “The only way he actually made it was because the elf—”

“Rolled, he rolled!” Eddie finished for you, jumping up to his feet and snapping his fingers at Gareth. “You! Your strength is higher than mine! We’ll both roll to hit and if I get ten or more you add 2 to your attack roll!” 

“Hold up,” Greg grind out, holding his hands out over his screen. You can’t help but shrink back a little bit. “What the hell are you talking about? There’s literally no rule like that anywhere.” 

“Aid another,” Eddie answers for you, looping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in a little too close. You blow his hair out of your nose. “It was added in the last revision. Did you not know about it?” 

There’s some fervent discussion and… in the end, Greg was too much of a sore loser and called the game before anything else could happen.

Waking up, for real this time, isn’t the breath of fresh air you hoped it would be. You’re crawling towards Max before you can entirely see or even coordinate your limbs terribly well.

“Max,” you croak out, trying to blink your swimming vision back to cohesion. You try to shove Eddie’s hands away. “She has t—we, we have to wake her up.” 

“Wh-what?” Lucas says, though his voice sounds a little watery. 

“Wake her up,” you say again, reaching out and grabbing the back of Max’s jacket. “Shake her, scream, do something!”

And while Lucas roughly shakes Max by her shoulders and calls her name loud enough for you to flinch back, Eddie helps you back to your feet. You try to take an unsteady step toward the two teens on the floor but Eddie holds you firmly in place, hands almost vice-like around your upper arms. 

“What the hell happened,” Eddie grits out, and after blinking a few times, you notice that his… his eyes are maybe a little redder than they used to be. His nose too? 

“Hey, what—”

“Naaah, no,” Eddie sniffs, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose before putting it on your shoulder. “No, you answer my question first. What. The fuck. Was that.”

“Eddie, please, I need to—”

“You need,” Eddie cuts you off again, shaking you a little and vaguely nodding down to the jar that you’d been holding and had clearly fallen out of your hands. “To tell me what’s going on.”

“I… It’s.” you try, clearing your throat and rubbing at your nose before trying again. “Vecna had Max when I showed up. And then Eleven showed up. And she—I, fuck. Wherever I was, I made a gate to shove him into El’s head? Instead of his own mind palace? But I have to go back.”

“The fuck you do,” Eddie spits, digshis fingers against your arms, but eventually lets go. “Why?” 

“You remember the first Hellfire game you went to where Greg tested us? I barely said anything?” 

“And that was like, one of three times you ever showed up, yeah, what about it?” 

“Aid another, I need—I want to aid another for Eleven.” 

There’s a strange shift that happens on Eddie’s face. And for a second, you think you might actually see something that looks like resignation in the set of his brows before something else entirely takes over. You think, maybe, there’s something in that face you would’ve been able to see in the mirror the night you pulled him away from Chrissy.

“You’re halfway dead already.”

You huff angrily and you’re about to try and come up with a retort when you hear Lucas behind you. 

“Max..? Max? Oh god,” he sighs when you turn around, and you’re almost about to try something extremely stupid when you see one of Max’s arms come up, slowly, to grab at Lucas. 

“I’m good,” she whispers, choked. “I made it. I’m okay.”

You take a deep, stuttering breath; with the music playing from the car outside and how preoccupied Vecna probably is, you feel comfortable assuming Max is safe for the next little bit. That’s when you notice the lamp beyond both kids starting to glow more vividly. 

When you turn to Erica, dithering a few feet in front of the staircase, hers begins to glow brighter as well. 

“They’re here,” you hear Eddie say next to you. “We gotta move.” 

Erica helps Lucas to get Max down to the foyers. None of you are terribly fussed about Carver; he can wake up and figure shit out on his own. Eddie props you up almost the entire way down and out. You gently push him away and towards what you’re assuming is Jason’s car to lower the volume. With Max conscious and relatively okay, it really doesn’t need to be that loud. 

Meanwhile, you’re becoming fast friends with the front lawn. Though at first you just sit down, you eventually let yourself fall back into the damp brown-orange grass and sigh. When the music quiets a bit, you finally close your eyes and sigh. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Eddie mutters, kicking at your foot before you hear him sit heavily next to you. “What now?”

“Honestly dunno,” you breathe, letting your fingers run through the grass. Open your eyes and lean up on your elbows to take a look at where the kids are at. Max is half sat on the passenger side of Justin’s car, elbows on her knees and speaking quietly to Lucas and Erica. When you fall back down, you sigh. “We should legit leave, but I don’t think I want ‘grand theft auto’ hanging over any of us.” 

“Wouldn’t be a big deal,” Eddie shrugs, and you halfheartedly lift an arm to slap him in the ribs. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you grumble, letting your eyes close again. Eddie’s grabbed a hold of your arm and keeps it close to his chest. “You’re not your dad.”

“We shouldn’t leave,” he replies, ignoring what you’ve just said entirely. “We need to stick around if Harrington and the others need help.” 

You grumble quietly. He’s not wrong. But something feels like an itch under your skin, and you don’t like laying there doing nothing. Your brain feels sluggish when you try to think. All your mind can stick to is Aid Another and helping Eleven. 

Pull your arm away from Eddie and bring your hands up to your face and dig your palms into your eyes. You absolutely do want to pull a stupid stunt that would definitely get you yelled at, but the idea of potentially frying your brain into a perpetual coma is… terrifying. 

Is it any more terrifying that it would’ve been for Max though? 

When you peel your hands away from your face, you turn to Eddie to speak. But just as you open your mouth, two things happen at nearly the same time: 

You hear the kids start exclaiming about the lamp lighting up.

And you feel the hairs at the back of your neck rise with the bile in your throat. 

“That’s not Steve and the others,” you say quickly, sitting up a little too fast. The ground spins despite being so close, and Eddie almost instantly jumps to his feet to crouch next to you. 

“What are you—” he starts, but you wave him off before letting your hand rest on his shoulder. 

“That’s Vecna,” you grind out. There’s panic bubbling up in your chest. “I don’t think they killed him. I gotta—Eddie, I have to do something.” You almost let the end of the sentence trail off when you turn to properly look at him. 

You can see your panic mirrored in his face and you hate it. 

When you turn back to look at the glowing lamp, its blue glow slowly growing in strength, you figure you could do the only thing you know has been reliable. The one thing that you’ve actually been able to do in your sleep.

“Hey,” Eddie says, a frayed edge to his voice. He roughly grabs at your shoulder to get you to face him properly. You must have a glassy-eyed, determined look to you, because Eddie almost lets go. Instead, he gets his legs underneath him and, once he’s kneeling, grabs your face in both his hands. 

You close your eyes. They’re warm.

“You don’t need to be doing everything,” Eddie pleads, and though you shake your head, he doesn’t let go. “I told you to—”

“Use my brain wisely,” you cut in, parroting him, quietly. “I know. Go get Max for me.”

Eddie practically trips over the slick grass in his hurry. Max flies over to you and kneels by your right.

“Hey, what-what’s up?”

You turn to Eddie first, silently grabbing one of his hands and placing it on your shoulder. High enough that you can feel his skin on your neck. You’ll just go with the notion that the vibration you feel through your chest is… is whatever it is you’re about to do. Tell yourself that you absolutely didn’t need the contact for comfort, just. Y’know, how these things work? Borrowing energy or whatever? Doesn’t matter.

“Hands,” you tell Max when you turn to face her. She places her hands—cold, shaking—in yours. 

When you close your eyes and focus on your breathing, it takes a little bit. There’s a lot of noise going on; there’s the car stereo still playing Kate Bush, there’s both Max and Eddie’s breathing, there’s Lucas and Erica nervously chattering a bit further off, a dog barking a few blocks away…

When all the sound fades away, you know you’re doing something alright. Passable, at least. When you open your eyes, everything looks more or less the same. Colours feel maybe a little brighter, more vivid. But the most striking thing is that there’s clearly something that’s almost billowing out of Max’s nostrils. 

Eddie must feel you twitch, because he leans in to quietly ask what’s wrong. 

“You don’t see anything,” you say, and without looking away from Max, can feel Eddie shaking his head. You take another deep breath. “Right on. Don’t… worry about…”

You trail off and lean back.

Eddie’s chest is warm. 

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@anothermunsonsimp @alovesongshewrote @averagestudent03 @doratheignora @storiesbyrhi

[vanhelsingapologist]

soo question; how is leo dilisnya kicking in your campaign? I’m perplexed as to why and how you managed that HAHA

UHHH COS SPOILERS (????)

We uhhh heisted the Wachterhaus and found the box of bones. We took them because the plaque was like “this is my mortal enemy die die die die -strahd” and that sounded like a surprise tool that could help us later.

But when we pulled them out they were like. Sinewy. Held together by tendon. It was established with Doru that vampires could be starved for years and years so reasoning quickly became bones = possible vampire.

So for fucking fun we drip fed the bones blood and it worked. He started to regenerate over time until we had one mad as hell vampire thrall with gaps in his memory and a massive 400 year old, Strahd-shaped chip on his shoulder. I’m semi-certain it’s based off I, Strahd lore but I am not 100%.

I hope this helps HAHAHA

[i-am-rat-soup]

crusty dusty musty old guy

Can we just admit that van richten is every traumatized queer teen’s dream father figure? He’s got all the cool dad stuff like:

Cares about his family

would punch ppl for his loved ones

probably has a goofy, weird sense of humor

cool coat

you don’t even have to be his actual kid, he’ll adopt anyone who needs a family, that’s just his thing

like half of his adopted kids are lgbtq, so he’s probably really chill (plus built in cool older siblings)

Literal monster hunter, fights vampires to make sure they can’t hurt people he cares about

[barovianchickenandwaffles]

Hi folks, IRL, I’ve been at the hospital all week with a case of pancreatitis brought on by an infected gall bladder spewing gall stones. Now there’s there true Ravenloft horror. It sucked.

Anyhow, at night I see this fire sprinkler and I can’t help but think it looks like a grinning, metallic skull or something. What do you think?