The Butcher's Bill is a custom campaign for 5th Edition Dungeons & Dragons using only rules from the Player's Handbook, Dungeon Master's Guide, Monster Manual, and Curse of Strahd.
Protocol & Content
This forum is for in-character and narrative posts directly pertaining to the campaign only
A Discord channel is setup for questions, meta discussion, chatter, and other miscellany - if you have not received an invite to the Discord channel and feel you should have, please PM me
This campaign is horror-based and will contain content bordering on an R rating, mostly due to violence and gore, but there will be other mildly mature content as well
Background & Information
The campaign begins in Haunted Hill, a small roadside town near Delain's border with Garlan, all within the greater realm of Mid-World. Below I've included some crib notes on important places and people with which you should be familiar as the game begins.
Mid-World
Mid-World is quite unlike the world with which you and I are familiar. It is a realm of magic and oddities where the bizarre is commonplace and the mundane extraordinary. In Mid-World, a respectable family may have a zombie or talking dog for a butler, the village in which they live might be suspended in the clouds and accessible only by airship, and the entire kingdom might reside in a fold in space and time accessible to the rest of Mid-World only one day per century. It's a world of wonders and horrors, beauties and dangers, where your wildest dreams can come true only, but only if you're willing to brave your worst nightmares. In short, it's rather like a horror story swallowed a fairy tale whole, then regurgitated the half-digested bits all over a Player's Handbook.
NOTE: Technically, Delain lies within In-World, a secondary dimension of Mid-World, but that sort of detail matters only to scholars and critics, the former of which already understand and the latter of which never will.
Delain
Of all the places within Mid-World, the Barony of Delain is one of the most stable. Time and space usually behave as you, a citizen of Earth, would expect, and the laws of physics are generally consistent. As the Baronies of Mid-World are sub-realms unto themselves, and have been known to move about from time to time, their political structures are not quite what you would expect. Though technically a Barony of Mid-World, Delain is also an independent Kingdom and is ruled by a good and rightful king named Roland. Roland is a widower with two sons, Peter and Thomas, and, by all accounts, leads his people with good intent and as much fairness as can be expected from any mere mortal. In general, the people are happy and well fed, and Delain couldn't be happier. The court wizard Flagg is a notable exception, but he's only one man, so that's hardly worth mentioning... Or is it?
Haunted Hill
Haunted Hill is a small roadside town on Delain's border with Garlan. The town's industry stems from the road its self, an arterial travelway extending across all Mid-World and... who knows where else? Though many claim to have been to the edge of Mid-World, none have returned with evidence, and everyone's story on what is found there varies so widely that the whole thing is likely hogwash. But I digress... Haunted Hill is small because it lies near the border of a Barony and almost all those who cross from one Barony to another are lost. Its shops, taverns, and its lone inn (The Gilded Sun) barely see enough business to stay afloat and there's frequent talk of abandoning the settlement altogether, but, for the time, it still stands and its population of some-odd-hundred toil away to keep its gears of industry turning.
Of note in Haunted Hill is the hill and manor that give the town its name. On the town's fringes, west on the local road and up an abandoned hillside full of gray, dead trees and bramble, lies House Crain, formerly the posh home of Sir Hugh Crain of Montague, a wealthy knight from some realm far away (presumably named Montague) who settled this area around two centuries ago. In Sir Crain's time, the land surrounding House Crain was farmland and its citizens were his serfs. Little else is known of him between then and now, partly because no histories were kept and partly because it's considered rude within Haunted Hill to speak of Crain or the town's past, but it's widely said that he never married, died without an heir, and no one else in the area was willing or able to assume the expensive upkeep of such an opulent manor house. So now it sits abandoned and empty, a skeletal reminder of an age past.
The Gilded Sun
Formerly the town's only temple, founded around the time of Sir Hugh Crain's arrival and consecrated to some sun god or other, this circular stone structure now serves as the town's inn. High on a central support pillar, an 8-pointed bronze star hangs, flaking hints of its gilded past hanging on for dear life. As for accommodations, the inn is modest. A dozen or so beds are scattered around the singular common room, each with an iron hook at the foot for a chamber pot. The proprietor, a dull and dour woman of late middle age with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, is strict about curfew.
"Out by 6 and in by 9," she's known to screech at folk who knock at her door after hours.
She's known to let guests sleep at the door when they've missed curfew and returned to find the door locked.
Introduction
Each of you has arrived at Haunted Hill for your own reasons. Coincidentally, each of you has arrived after sunset on the same day. Looking for rest before resuming travel on the following day, naturally, each of you has found your way to the Gilded Sun - before 9, thankfully. See the following post for a narrative on what happens after the doors close...
As the sun sets over Haunted Hill, House Crain casts its jagged shadow over the town and its citizens. It's especially cool for a spring evening and a wet chill hangs in the stagnant air. Six intrepid souls have begun to settle into the Gilded Sun for the night as Missus Dudley, the inn's proprietor, bars the door.
"This inn's for sleeping," she says to the room, eyeing the women especially. "There's to be no giggling or merry-making. No silliness or tomfoolery." She turns her gaze toward the men. "And, above all, keep your hands to yourselves."
She punctuates her edict with a curt nod, her mouth drawn into a scowl like she'd just taken a stiff draught of lemon juice. She walks toward the room's central pillar where the sole lantern hangs.
"Good night," she says, as she snuffs the light.
-----
From the sounds of tossing and turning all about you, you can tell that everyone else is struggling to sleep as much as you are. You'd be hard pressed to describe it, but you feel unsettled, like something terrible is about to happen and you can feel its approach - it's a kind of nervous anticipation, though you have no idea what you're anticipating or why.
-----
Around midnight, one of you hears the beat of wings and whispers to the next person over, asking if they heard it too.
"Shhhhhhhhh!" Missus Dudley exclaims.
Soon after, another set of wings is heard, then another. Within minutes, everyone is hearing them. It sounds rather like a huge flock of birds is flying directly through the town.
Not birds. Bats.
The thought occurs to you from nowhere as if put there by some external source, but you're distracted from that unsettling thought when you hear a distant scream, then a shout for help. Within moments, someone bangs on the door of the inn.
"Out by 6 and in by 9!" Missus Dudley shouts, apparently in her sleep. She rolls over and pulls the blankets over her head.
You're tempted to check the door yourself, but the banging stops suddenly, accompanied by a muffled thud.
-----
The next several hours are punctuated with shouts, screams, wailing, and the beating of thousands of wings. Your curiosity begs you to open the door and have a look, but a mounting fear and your instinct for self-preservation stay your hand.
About the time you feel like you can't handle it anymore, like you'll go insane if you have to listen to any more, the sounds move further and further away and the night gradually fades to silence.
Stone made his way in past the old inkeeper, ignoring warnings of noise or nonsensical activities. Though no smile broke his rigid facade, the elf was pleased by the eight-pointed star on the ceiling and took it as an omen that The Eight were present. Once a bed was found, Stone sat upright in meditation through the night.
Sleep was a hollow lie. Even elvish trances were a shallow mockery within the Order of the Eight. Though rest was taken, no one had "slept" within the monastery walls after age ten in over two centuries. Something about the ascetic lifestyle and philosophical devotion barred the need for unconscious rest.
As the boise of stygian wings rose, Stone's skin began to crawl in anticipation. He found his focus drawn to the main door, waiting for some threat to burst through. His will was put under duress when the scream arose from behind the barrier. Memories flashed in his mind and his muscles twitched through motions as he moved like an avalanche across a fighting ring. Screams of his peers rose to meet the sound of snapping and popping. Faces of horror hung in his mind and he found that emotion was tied to the act when there had been none during the original event.
In the silence that followed, Stone's hands trembled and his breathing was ragged. Standing away from his bed, he took out his waterskin and took a small drink, then reciting a mantra from his temple:
In Earth, Balance
In Water, Temperance
In Air, Clarity
In Fire, Passion
Light gives birth to Shadow
Shadow gives meaning to Light
There is no Life without pain,
No Death without a Life lived.
All things exist by will of The Eight
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
By the time Reycaryn got to Haunted Hill, it was already getting dark. She was cold and hungry, and knew she wouldn't have enough time to find shelter on her own. She'd have to stay at the only inn. Sliding in just before the woman locked the doors, Reycaryn decided to forego finding a bed, choosing a wall to sit against. She could hear others around her, trying to sleep, and failing. Once she started hearing the bats, Reycaryn began to think it was a mistake coming to this place.
She sat, tense, listening to the horrible sounds of the night. People screaming, searching for help, and some unknown force snuffing out those cries. She knew opening the door would be a stupid idea. Not only would she be unable to see anything, but she'd only be putting herself at risk. She twirled a dagger between her fingers, prepared for the first person to make a move toward that door. The reward for curiosity would be her dagger in their back.
And then, there was silence. An eerie silence. There was definitely something wrong with this place, and Reycaryn seriously regretted her decision coming here. She sat, listening to the sounds of breathing. She could tell where each of the inns patrons were, she could smell their scents, hear their voices. She tried to pick out those who sounded as if they had a bit of coin in their purse. She was going to need as much as possible if she was going to leave this hellish place when the sun came up. She could only hope that sleep would overtake them.
Hopeful as ever, Sorasuna entered the inn excitedly, though it would be hard for the observer to make out her full grin. Sorasuna, a charcoal black dragonborn, traveled with as much of her person covered as possible. Her tan cloak was dark and hooded, and she wore a scarf over her face in an attempt to cover her cough as well as her snout. Though the wet quality of the air greatly annoyed Sorasuna, since she did not enjoy being wet nor cold, she wanted to make the best of the night. She was about to open her mouth to the nearest person, ready to strike up a conversation, but Missus Dudley's warning rung out in the room. It was intended for everyone, but it felt as though the innkeeper specified Sorasuna directly. The dragonborn frowned with disappointment as she instead laid down.
A terrible anxiety coursed through her body as she pretended to be asleep. She couldn't pinpoint the cause, but it caused her tail to move slowly back and forth without her conscious thought. Her mind raced with possibilities. Puffs of smoke escaped Sorasuna's maw as she coughed through the night. It was already difficult for her to find a full night's rest with her coughing fits that came and went, but the sounds outside of the inn didn't help.
At the noise of the scream, Sorasuna shot up from her lying position. She needed to help that screaming person, but the scream died out with that loud thud. Greatly sensitive to this, but too scared to check by herself, Sorasuna settled back down and curled as tightly as she could into a ball. She felt like sobbing, but the tears wouldn't come. Death and pain were not unknown to the young Sorasuna. She lived her fair share of hardships. She imagined her brother. If he were here, he would probably sleep soundly through the night.
Once the silence came, Sorasuna had taken to imagining herself standing tall and running out of the inn bravely, rescuing those who were screaming. Alarmed, she listened and listened, and felt the anxiety in her rise. Somehow the quiet was worse.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM: Adventures in Phandalin [Khessa], The Dread of Strahd[Darya], Dragons of Stormwreck Isle [Rook], Baldur's Gate Mysteries [4-Player] Player: Oona in MO's Icewind Dale Ru's Current Status
Orel nodded his thanks to the crone. It was rare that an inn in a town this size would accept so many for the night. He hoped the others didn't mind, but he was a deep sleeper. When she snuffed out the light and the room was met with darkness, he began to undress. The travel had made his armor thick with crust and his clothing even worse. He spent a few hours maintaining his equipment before sleep finally found him.
The sound of bats and screams from outside never woke him. It was the stuff of normal dreams for him, so it felt natural and common. It wasn't until the room was completely silent that Orel sat straight up from his bed inhaling a gasp of air as if he were being strangled. Finally he looks about, panting, seeing the room of strangers staring at him.
"Apologies..." he says, leaning back on the bedpost. Their eyes were on the door, so he tilts his head quizzically, taking in the vibe of the room. "Did something happen?"
Elaine Snow had been running all day, so it was lucky she had made it to this drab inn just in time. Once-neat black curls framed her face in an unruly mess, but the rest of her impeccable figure appeared to be in order. The half-elf twisted the golden ring on her left hand, a nervous habit of hers. "I happen to quite like tom foolery," she muttered to herself as Missus Dudley attempted to shush them all to sleep.
Sleep was a great deal harder for Elaine to come to then the inn's proprietor. It always was. When the horrible din began to rattle the door, she wanted nothing more than to take out her viol and drown it out with sweet music, but she reckoned Missus Dudley would count that as silliness. People like Missus Dudley often forgot what made life worth living. So instead, she sat in the darkness and waited for it all to stop.
When it did, she realized the silence was worse.
A loud gasp, a muffled muttering. Elaine was grateful someone had broken the terrible silence. "Did something happen?" A deep voice, belonging to the large man in crusted robes, asked.
"It depends on your definition of something," the half-elf laughed. If their gracious host could sleep through the apocalypse at the door, then she could certainly sleep through a little tom-foolery. "The night terrors rarely stay in our dreams. Pardon, sir in the corner," Elaine motioned to the elf marked with tattoos. "Yes, you with the skin covered in delicious stories. Do you have anything stronger than water in that pouch of yours?"
Reycaryn listened. That's all she could do. Out of habit, her milky white eyes fell upon each person as she heard their noises. A coughing... was that a dragonborn? A male orc, possibly half-orc. A female with a very sweet voice. She sounded like she might have a bit of coin. It might be worth getting this one alone. But who was she talking to? Ah, the praying male. No, not praying, not quite. A priest of some sort, perhaps. Less likely to have the coin she seeks. Yes, the sweet-voice would be her target. Now, to figure out how.
Sorasuna heard one of the males in the room gasp for air. Others started to speak. The dragonborn leaned up, glad to have a break in the silence, and asked him, "Honestly, it sounded like you were struggling to breathe! Are you... alright?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM: Adventures in Phandalin [Khessa], The Dread of Strahd[Darya], Dragons of Stormwreck Isle [Rook], Baldur's Gate Mysteries [4-Player] Player: Oona in MO's Icewind Dale Ru's Current Status
Orel sits back up and pulls his robes off before standing and grabbing his splint mail nearby. He start to strap the armor on over his dirty tunic. He sensed the unease in the room, so decided his time was best spent preparing for the worst. His hands work methodically, strapping and tightening until the armor's fit were just right. He then begins to buckle his boots on his feet before donning the robes once more. His pale green skin is hard to see in the darkness of the room, but he covers himself with his hood anyway.
Reaching into his pack he produces some flint and a knife and walks over to the central pillar. Everyone in the room was awake, so there was no reason for darkness. He lights the lamp. "What has happened?" He asks the room.
Reycaryn listened to the voices whispering in the dark, then heard the distinct sound of a flint being struck. There was light now, this needed to be done carefully. She stood, walking toward the sweet-voice, hands out in front of her. As she neared her target, she "tripped" over a bed, and fell right onto the girl. "Oh! Excuse me," she said, silently slipping a hand into the girl's robes and quickly removing her purse. It was light, maybe five gold pieces within it. She was surprised. Sweet-voice had more than one hiding place for her coin. Reycaryn smiled at the girl as she picked herself up, making sure to look her in the face, turning her milky white eyes her way. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me." As she stood, she hid the stolen purse away in her leathers. Turning away, she wandered around to the opposite side of the room, finding another wall to sit against. This wouldn't do. She'd have to find more targets in the morning.
Stone keeps his eyes half-closed, level with the floor as Elaine addresses him. He begins step lightly, almost gliding across the floor, as Reycaryn stumbles over the bed and swipes a purse. Stone does not ignore the musician, only sees the looming threat and pursues the thief across the room. Cornering her against a wall, Stone levels his gaze to Recaryn, "Purse. Now. Or the room knows you for a thief and sends you to deal with dark wings outside."
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Reycaryn thought about calling his bluff, playing the innocent, but the threat of being tossed out in the middle of the night frightened her. She'd heard what those things had done to the people outside, and didn't wish to die tonight. She scowled, obviously not meeting his gaze, and pulled out the stolen purse. "Fine," she growled, handing it over. "I only want out of this accursed town." She leaned against the wall, angry.
Stone took the purse and stared at the elf's eyes. For a moment, he moved a finger across her view, but the eyes did not follow, "Light has forsaken you, so Shadow has taken you in. Despite perceptions, this does not define good or evil. There is always light in darkness." Stone pondered the irony of his preaching and if someone blind, possible from birth, could perceive the difference of light and dark. Regardless, he returned the purse and gave his water to the musician who spoke to him before.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Thank you, good sir," Elaine returned the purse to its proper place on her hip. "I wish I could say that I had noticed her ruse, but apparently I am more blind than she." The bard took a sip of his water, even though it was not the kind of liquid she had been hoping for.
"If this was a proper tavern, I would buy you a drink as thanks," she smiled, handing the waterskin back. "My name is Elaine. What should I call you?"
"Stone is fine. Water sustains, so I have nothing else. As for her, Shadow rests heavily within her, but it does not make her evil. Her nature will show in time, I feel." The monk is cut off from further discussion when Missus Dudley rouses and shushes the room. Reflexively, he turns back to the door, waiting.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Reycaryn froze as the old woman shushed everyone. She listened to hear what was happening. Breathing of those around her. Nothing unusual there. But what was unusual was how silent it was. It was unnerving. There should be more sound. "Why is it so quiet," she whispered.
Orel watched the scene play out, silently observing the strangers as they interacted with each other. The blind elf had apparently stolen something from the noble half-elf. And a tatoo'd elf intercepted her and returned the noble's purse. He thought orcs were the ones that normally bordered the realm of chaos. Maybe he was wrong.
When their hostess speaks up, he begins to listen. No wonder he awoke when he did. The silence of the night... he did not sleep well in silence.
THE BUTCHERS BILL
Ruleset
The Butcher's Bill is a custom campaign for 5th Edition Dungeons & Dragons using only rules from the Player's Handbook, Dungeon Master's Guide, Monster Manual, and Curse of Strahd.
Protocol & Content
Background & Information
The campaign begins in Haunted Hill, a small roadside town near Delain's border with Garlan, all within the greater realm of Mid-World. Below I've included some crib notes on important places and people with which you should be familiar as the game begins.
Mid-World
Mid-World is quite unlike the world with which you and I are familiar. It is a realm of magic and oddities where the bizarre is commonplace and the mundane extraordinary. In Mid-World, a respectable family may have a zombie or talking dog for a butler, the village in which they live might be suspended in the clouds and accessible only by airship, and the entire kingdom might reside in a fold in space and time accessible to the rest of Mid-World only one day per century. It's a world of wonders and horrors, beauties and dangers, where your wildest dreams can come true only, but only if you're willing to brave your worst nightmares. In short, it's rather like a horror story swallowed a fairy tale whole, then regurgitated the half-digested bits all over a Player's Handbook.
NOTE: Technically, Delain lies within In-World, a secondary dimension of Mid-World, but that sort of detail matters only to scholars and critics, the former of which already understand and the latter of which never will.
Delain
Of all the places within Mid-World, the Barony of Delain is one of the most stable. Time and space usually behave as you, a citizen of Earth, would expect, and the laws of physics are generally consistent. As the Baronies of Mid-World are sub-realms unto themselves, and have been known to move about from time to time, their political structures are not quite what you would expect. Though technically a Barony of Mid-World, Delain is also an independent Kingdom and is ruled by a good and rightful king named Roland. Roland is a widower with two sons, Peter and Thomas, and, by all accounts, leads his people with good intent and as much fairness as can be expected from any mere mortal. In general, the people are happy and well fed, and Delain couldn't be happier. The court wizard Flagg is a notable exception, but he's only one man, so that's hardly worth mentioning... Or is it?
Haunted Hill
Haunted Hill is a small roadside town on Delain's border with Garlan. The town's industry stems from the road its self, an arterial travelway extending across all Mid-World and... who knows where else? Though many claim to have been to the edge of Mid-World, none have returned with evidence, and everyone's story on what is found there varies so widely that the whole thing is likely hogwash. But I digress... Haunted Hill is small because it lies near the border of a Barony and almost all those who cross from one Barony to another are lost. Its shops, taverns, and its lone inn (The Gilded Sun) barely see enough business to stay afloat and there's frequent talk of abandoning the settlement altogether, but, for the time, it still stands and its population of some-odd-hundred toil away to keep its gears of industry turning.
Of note in Haunted Hill is the hill and manor that give the town its name. On the town's fringes, west on the local road and up an abandoned hillside full of gray, dead trees and bramble, lies House Crain, formerly the posh home of Sir Hugh Crain of Montague, a wealthy knight from some realm far away (presumably named Montague) who settled this area around two centuries ago. In Sir Crain's time, the land surrounding House Crain was farmland and its citizens were his serfs. Little else is known of him between then and now, partly because no histories were kept and partly because it's considered rude within Haunted Hill to speak of Crain or the town's past, but it's widely said that he never married, died without an heir, and no one else in the area was willing or able to assume the expensive upkeep of such an opulent manor house. So now it sits abandoned and empty, a skeletal reminder of an age past.
The Gilded Sun
Formerly the town's only temple, founded around the time of Sir Hugh Crain's arrival and consecrated to some sun god or other, this circular stone structure now serves as the town's inn. High on a central support pillar, an 8-pointed bronze star hangs, flaking hints of its gilded past hanging on for dear life. As for accommodations, the inn is modest. A dozen or so beds are scattered around the singular common room, each with an iron hook at the foot for a chamber pot. The proprietor, a dull and dour woman of late middle age with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, is strict about curfew.
"Out by 6 and in by 9," she's known to screech at folk who knock at her door after hours.
She's known to let guests sleep at the door when they've missed curfew and returned to find the door locked.
Introduction
Each of you has arrived at Haunted Hill for your own reasons. Coincidentally, each of you has arrived after sunset on the same day. Looking for rest before resuming travel on the following day, naturally, each of you has found your way to the Gilded Sun - before 9, thankfully. See the following post for a narrative on what happens after the doors close...
...AND SO IT BEGINS...
As the sun sets over Haunted Hill, House Crain casts its jagged shadow over the town and its citizens. It's especially cool for a spring evening and a wet chill hangs in the stagnant air. Six intrepid souls have begun to settle into the Gilded Sun for the night as Missus Dudley, the inn's proprietor, bars the door.
"This inn's for sleeping," she says to the room, eyeing the women especially. "There's to be no giggling or merry-making. No silliness or tomfoolery." She turns her gaze toward the men. "And, above all, keep your hands to yourselves."
She punctuates her edict with a curt nod, her mouth drawn into a scowl like she'd just taken a stiff draught of lemon juice. She walks toward the room's central pillar where the sole lantern hangs.
"Good night," she says, as she snuffs the light.
-----
From the sounds of tossing and turning all about you, you can tell that everyone else is struggling to sleep as much as you are. You'd be hard pressed to describe it, but you feel unsettled, like something terrible is about to happen and you can feel its approach - it's a kind of nervous anticipation, though you have no idea what you're anticipating or why.
-----
Around midnight, one of you hears the beat of wings and whispers to the next person over, asking if they heard it too.
"Shhhhhhhhh!" Missus Dudley exclaims.
Soon after, another set of wings is heard, then another. Within minutes, everyone is hearing them. It sounds rather like a huge flock of birds is flying directly through the town.
Not birds. Bats.
The thought occurs to you from nowhere as if put there by some external source, but you're distracted from that unsettling thought when you hear a distant scream, then a shout for help. Within moments, someone bangs on the door of the inn.
"Out by 6 and in by 9!" Missus Dudley shouts, apparently in her sleep. She rolls over and pulls the blankets over her head.
You're tempted to check the door yourself, but the banging stops suddenly, accompanied by a muffled thud.
-----
The next several hours are punctuated with shouts, screams, wailing, and the beating of thousands of wings. Your curiosity begs you to open the door and have a look, but a mounting fear and your instinct for self-preservation stay your hand.
About the time you feel like you can't handle it anymore, like you'll go insane if you have to listen to any more, the sounds move further and further away and the night gradually fades to silence.
Complete. Silence.
Stone made his way in past the old inkeeper, ignoring warnings of noise or nonsensical activities. Though no smile broke his rigid facade, the elf was pleased by the eight-pointed star on the ceiling and took it as an omen that The Eight were present. Once a bed was found, Stone sat upright in meditation through the night.
Sleep was a hollow lie. Even elvish trances were a shallow mockery within the Order of the Eight. Though rest was taken, no one had "slept" within the monastery walls after age ten in over two centuries. Something about the ascetic lifestyle and philosophical devotion barred the need for unconscious rest.
As the boise of stygian wings rose, Stone's skin began to crawl in anticipation. He found his focus drawn to the main door, waiting for some threat to burst through. His will was put under duress when the scream arose from behind the barrier. Memories flashed in his mind and his muscles twitched through motions as he moved like an avalanche across a fighting ring. Screams of his peers rose to meet the sound of snapping and popping. Faces of horror hung in his mind and he found that emotion was tied to the act when there had been none during the original event.
In the silence that followed, Stone's hands trembled and his breathing was ragged. Standing away from his bed, he took out his waterskin and took a small drink, then reciting a mantra from his temple:
In Earth, Balance
In Water, Temperance
In Air, Clarity
In Fire, Passion
Light gives birth to Shadow
Shadow gives meaning to Light
There is no Life without pain,
No Death without a Life lived.
All things exist by will of The Eight
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
By the time Reycaryn got to Haunted Hill, it was already getting dark. She was cold and hungry, and knew she wouldn't have enough time to find shelter on her own. She'd have to stay at the only inn. Sliding in just before the woman locked the doors, Reycaryn decided to forego finding a bed, choosing a wall to sit against. She could hear others around her, trying to sleep, and failing. Once she started hearing the bats, Reycaryn began to think it was a mistake coming to this place.
She sat, tense, listening to the horrible sounds of the night. People screaming, searching for help, and some unknown force snuffing out those cries. She knew opening the door would be a stupid idea. Not only would she be unable to see anything, but she'd only be putting herself at risk. She twirled a dagger between her fingers, prepared for the first person to make a move toward that door. The reward for curiosity would be her dagger in their back.
And then, there was silence. An eerie silence. There was definitely something wrong with this place, and Reycaryn seriously regretted her decision coming here. She sat, listening to the sounds of breathing. She could tell where each of the inns patrons were, she could smell their scents, hear their voices. She tried to pick out those who sounded as if they had a bit of coin in their purse. She was going to need as much as possible if she was going to leave this hellish place when the sun came up. She could only hope that sleep would overtake them.
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Hopeful as ever, Sorasuna entered the inn excitedly, though it would be hard for the observer to make out her full grin. Sorasuna, a charcoal black dragonborn, traveled with as much of her person covered as possible. Her tan cloak was dark and hooded, and she wore a scarf over her face in an attempt to cover her cough as well as her snout. Though the wet quality of the air greatly annoyed Sorasuna, since she did not enjoy being wet nor cold, she wanted to make the best of the night. She was about to open her mouth to the nearest person, ready to strike up a conversation, but Missus Dudley's warning rung out in the room. It was intended for everyone, but it felt as though the innkeeper specified Sorasuna directly. The dragonborn frowned with disappointment as she instead laid down.
A terrible anxiety coursed through her body as she pretended to be asleep. She couldn't pinpoint the cause, but it caused her tail to move slowly back and forth without her conscious thought. Her mind raced with possibilities. Puffs of smoke escaped Sorasuna's maw as she coughed through the night. It was already difficult for her to find a full night's rest with her coughing fits that came and went, but the sounds outside of the inn didn't help.
At the noise of the scream, Sorasuna shot up from her lying position. She needed to help that screaming person, but the scream died out with that loud thud. Greatly sensitive to this, but too scared to check by herself, Sorasuna settled back down and curled as tightly as she could into a ball. She felt like sobbing, but the tears wouldn't come. Death and pain were not unknown to the young Sorasuna. She lived her fair share of hardships. She imagined her brother. If he were here, he would probably sleep soundly through the night.
Once the silence came, Sorasuna had taken to imagining herself standing tall and running out of the inn bravely, rescuing those who were screaming. Alarmed, she listened and listened, and felt the anxiety in her rise. Somehow the quiet was worse.
DM: Adventures in Phandalin [Khessa], The Dread of Strahd [Darya], Dragons of Stormwreck Isle [Rook], Baldur's Gate Mysteries [4-Player]
Player: Oona in MO's Icewind Dale
Ru's Current Status
Orel nodded his thanks to the crone. It was rare that an inn in a town this size would accept so many for the night. He hoped the others didn't mind, but he was a deep sleeper. When she snuffed out the light and the room was met with darkness, he began to undress. The travel had made his armor thick with crust and his clothing even worse. He spent a few hours maintaining his equipment before sleep finally found him.
The sound of bats and screams from outside never woke him. It was the stuff of normal dreams for him, so it felt natural and common. It wasn't until the room was completely silent that Orel sat straight up from his bed inhaling a gasp of air as if he were being strangled. Finally he looks about, panting, seeing the room of strangers staring at him.
"Apologies..." he says, leaning back on the bedpost. Their eyes were on the door, so he tilts his head quizzically, taking in the vibe of the room. "Did something happen?"
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Elaine Snow had been running all day, so it was lucky she had made it to this drab inn just in time. Once-neat black curls framed her face in an unruly mess, but the rest of her impeccable figure appeared to be in order. The half-elf twisted the golden ring on her left hand, a nervous habit of hers. "I happen to quite like tom foolery," she muttered to herself as Missus Dudley attempted to shush them all to sleep.
Sleep was a great deal harder for Elaine to come to then the inn's proprietor. It always was. When the horrible din began to rattle the door, she wanted nothing more than to take out her viol and drown it out with sweet music, but she reckoned Missus Dudley would count that as silliness. People like Missus Dudley often forgot what made life worth living. So instead, she sat in the darkness and waited for it all to stop.
When it did, she realized the silence was worse.
A loud gasp, a muffled muttering. Elaine was grateful someone had broken the terrible silence. "Did something happen?" A deep voice, belonging to the large man in crusted robes, asked.
"It depends on your definition of something," the half-elf laughed. If their gracious host could sleep through the apocalypse at the door, then she could certainly sleep through a little tom-foolery. "The night terrors rarely stay in our dreams. Pardon, sir in the corner," Elaine motioned to the elf marked with tattoos. "Yes, you with the skin covered in delicious stories. Do you have anything stronger than water in that pouch of yours?"
PBP: DM of Titans of Tomorrow
PBP: Lera Zahuv in Whispers of Dissent
PBP: Evaine Brae in Innistrad: Dark Ascension
PBP: Cor'avin in Tomb of Annihilation
Reycaryn listened. That's all she could do. Out of habit, her milky white eyes fell upon each person as she heard their noises. A coughing... was that a dragonborn? A male orc, possibly half-orc. A female with a very sweet voice. She sounded like she might have a bit of coin. It might be worth getting this one alone. But who was she talking to? Ah, the praying male. No, not praying, not quite. A priest of some sort, perhaps. Less likely to have the coin she seeks. Yes, the sweet-voice would be her target. Now, to figure out how.
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Sorasuna heard one of the males in the room gasp for air. Others started to speak. The dragonborn leaned up, glad to have a break in the silence, and asked him, "Honestly, it sounded like you were struggling to breathe! Are you... alright?"
DM: Adventures in Phandalin [Khessa], The Dread of Strahd [Darya], Dragons of Stormwreck Isle [Rook], Baldur's Gate Mysteries [4-Player]
Player: Oona in MO's Icewind Dale
Ru's Current Status
Orel sits back up and pulls his robes off before standing and grabbing his splint mail nearby. He start to strap the armor on over his dirty tunic. He sensed the unease in the room, so decided his time was best spent preparing for the worst. His hands work methodically, strapping and tightening until the armor's fit were just right. He then begins to buckle his boots on his feet before donning the robes once more. His pale green skin is hard to see in the darkness of the room, but he covers himself with his hood anyway.
Reaching into his pack he produces some flint and a knife and walks over to the central pillar. Everyone in the room was awake, so there was no reason for darkness. He lights the lamp. "What has happened?" He asks the room.
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Reycaryn listened to the voices whispering in the dark, then heard the distinct sound of a flint being struck. There was light now, this needed to be done carefully. She stood, walking toward the sweet-voice, hands out in front of her. As she neared her target, she "tripped" over a bed, and fell right onto the girl. "Oh! Excuse me," she said, silently slipping a hand into the girl's robes and quickly removing her purse. It was light, maybe five gold pieces within it. She was surprised. Sweet-voice had more than one hiding place for her coin. Reycaryn smiled at the girl as she picked herself up, making sure to look her in the face, turning her milky white eyes her way. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me." As she stood, she hid the stolen purse away in her leathers. Turning away, she wandered around to the opposite side of the room, finding another wall to sit against. This wouldn't do. She'd have to find more targets in the morning.
(Sleight of hand 16 vs perception 9)
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Stone keeps his eyes half-closed, level with the floor as Elaine addresses him. He begins step lightly, almost gliding across the floor, as Reycaryn stumbles over the bed and swipes a purse. Stone does not ignore the musician, only sees the looming threat and pursues the thief across the room. Cornering her against a wall, Stone levels his gaze to Recaryn, "Purse. Now. Or the room knows you for a thief and sends you to deal with dark wings outside."
(Perception: Natural 20)
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Reycaryn thought about calling his bluff, playing the innocent, but the threat of being tossed out in the middle of the night frightened her. She'd heard what those things had done to the people outside, and didn't wish to die tonight. She scowled, obviously not meeting his gaze, and pulled out the stolen purse. "Fine," she growled, handing it over. "I only want out of this accursed town." She leaned against the wall, angry.
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Stone took the purse and stared at the elf's eyes. For a moment, he moved a finger across her view, but the eyes did not follow, "Light has forsaken you, so Shadow has taken you in. Despite perceptions, this does not define good or evil. There is always light in darkness." Stone pondered the irony of his preaching and if someone blind, possible from birth, could perceive the difference of light and dark. Regardless, he returned the purse and gave his water to the musician who spoke to him before.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Thank you, good sir," Elaine returned the purse to its proper place on her hip. "I wish I could say that I had noticed her ruse, but apparently I am more blind than she." The bard took a sip of his water, even though it was not the kind of liquid she had been hoping for.
"If this was a proper tavern, I would buy you a drink as thanks," she smiled, handing the waterskin back. "My name is Elaine. What should I call you?"
PBP: DM of Titans of Tomorrow
PBP: Lera Zahuv in Whispers of Dissent
PBP: Evaine Brae in Innistrad: Dark Ascension
PBP: Cor'avin in Tomb of Annihilation
Stone's raised voice apparently roused Missus Dudley as she raises a bony hand to pull back her blankets.
"Out by 6 and in by 9!" She shrieks. "And no shenanigans!"
She locks a wilting gaze on each of you, then on the lit lantern. She opens her mouth to bark again, but is stayed by the complete silence outside.
"Shhhhhhhhh!"
She motions for everyone to be silent as she tries to listen.
"Stone is fine. Water sustains, so I have nothing else. As for her, Shadow rests heavily within her, but it does not make her evil. Her nature will show in time, I feel." The monk is cut off from further discussion when Missus Dudley rouses and shushes the room. Reflexively, he turns back to the door, waiting.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
BrĂĽndir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Reycaryn froze as the old woman shushed everyone. She listened to hear what was happening. Breathing of those around her. Nothing unusual there. But what was unusual was how silent it was. It was unnerving. There should be more sound. "Why is it so quiet," she whispered.
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Orel watched the scene play out, silently observing the strangers as they interacted with each other. The blind elf had apparently stolen something from the noble half-elf. And a tatoo'd elf intercepted her and returned the noble's purse. He thought orcs were the ones that normally bordered the realm of chaos. Maybe he was wrong.
When their hostess speaks up, he begins to listen. No wonder he awoke when he did. The silence of the night... he did not sleep well in silence.
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"They have come," Missus Dudley says to herself.
She stands and crosses the room to her personal storage chest.
"I know what to do."