Ravenloft- One Foot In the Grave

Game Master DragonBlood472

Friday, November 13th, 758 BC ~ Invidia

Winter's chill rides swiftly on Autumn's coattails this year. Many vintners took heavy losses when first frost ruined what was intended to be harvested as a late fall wine. Dead grapes still hang from the vine, coated in glistening rime.

* * *

Several miles north of Curriculo, fortune (or perhaps design) smiles on the fallen Bivaneue Estate. Abandoned for nearly two decades, the untended vineyards continue to produce ripe succulent grapes each season. For those willing to take heavy risk, the rewards are great. The scarcity and flavor of Bivaneue bloodwine yields sales at quadruple prices, and unscrupulous merchants earn many drymarks in its trade.

* * *

The full moon's light illuminates the Bivaneue vineyards. A destitute vintner climbs the hills, intent on claiming his prize. The light snowfall seems to melt before touching the crops, and the vines hang thick with luscious ruby grapes. The thief opens his satchel and gingerly reaches for the forbidden fruit. Before he can react, a vine shoots forth and entwines his arm. The merchant tries to scream, but several grapevines with peculiar hand-shaped leaves wrap around his face and his pleas are stifled. Although he struggles, within moments the man is bound completely. Vines tightening, tears weep from his eyes, but soon tears are replaced with blood as the vice constricts. With a muffled scream and the sounds of snapping bone, the victim goes limp. Green tendrils pull the corpse beneath the lush fertile soil, and once more the Bivaneue Vineyards stand alone in the moonlight.

* * *

The hour is late. City lamps have long burnt out, but the light of the moon shines bright enough to walk by. On the ground reaching from a dark alley lies an outstretched arm. Its owner, hidden in shadow, sets in her own blood pooling from the gash in her throat, her green eyes frozen open in terror. Her assailant looms over her body in the darkness. A blade glimmers as the attacker leans down and begins to crop her dark hair post-mortum. "Children should behave," the figure laments, whispering. "Why did you leave me, Lily? No matter," it muses, "Soon you shall be my own again for always." Completing its task the shape stands, and two malovent points of crimson hatred glow in the shadows.

* * *

The nightmare begins as it has most evenings since the autumn equinox. Viktor's kind smile cracks and his teeth elongate. His mirthful laugh draws out into a wolf's howl. The greying hair atop his palatte spreads down his back and arms as bones contour and break into new positions. Still smiling with his beast's muzzle, his frail body bows and cracks, rippling with new strength. He reaches for you, but the caring hands that raised you are replaced by wicked talons. All that remains of the Viktor you knew are his too-human eyes, still filled with caring. His claws rip into your stomach, but suddenly the dream shifts and instead of the beastly Viktor clawing into you, the kindly old man, human once more, is reaching into an open grave. He pulls out a crying baby from the plot and cradles it to his breast. The infant nuzzles his neck and bites into the flesh. The priest smiles, oblvious to the blood cascading down his torso.

With a scream you bolt upright, awake in a cold sweat. Your caretaker Viktor sits beside you, holding a damp compress to your forehead. "Shh, it is all right, my child. Twas naught but a bad dream." His weathered hands moisten the cloth again, moonlight reflects off the waterdrops. From the woods you hear the bay of a wolf which is soon accompanied by its kin.

Make a Horror check as you try to shake off the nightmare. DC 10 with a -1 modifier

Horror check:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

Drucilla's body is wracked with fear, her muscles arrested by the nightmares still assailing her waking mind. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is agape, gasping in shallow breaths. Even summoning all of her willpower, she is unable to wrest control from the constricting feeling of terror.

Several very long moments pass before she is able to slow her breathing. Her eyes, stinging with sweat, close for a while, as if concentrating. A stream of tears dot her cheeks as her eyes open, and she glances feebly at Viktor. Remembering his role in the nightmare, she is unable to keep her eyes on him for long, and she turns her gaze to the ceiling.

"Another nightmare... what terrible things my mind has shown... Viktor, what is becoming of me?" she whispers, pulling the blankets tightly around her.

Viktor holds a glass of water up to your lips. "My child, you are becoming. Your birth was no accident, and I feel that Ezra's power flows through you. For what purpose, an old man like myself cannot say."

Tentatively he reaches a hand to your forehead, noting how you recoil from his touch.

"You are feverish, child. Stay here, I shall fetch you some hot tea. Dawn is but a few hours away now. Rest easy." Once more his warm smile eases into the familiar creases, and he rises from the stool beside your bed. Though it cannot yet be the fourth bell of the morning, Viktor is already dressed in his grey and white vestments. He exits your room and heads elsewhere into the home you have grown up in, adjoining the church you both serve.

The wolf chorus dies down, and all is silent. You would know tranquility, if not for the nightmares still gripping your memory, and the hairs standing on the back of your neck. From your window you can see snow falling lightly over the nearby Curriculo woods.

Your already tense mood causes you to nearly yelp in fright when you hear a large boom coming from the church antechamber. The sound of the heavy oak doors being opened from the outside...

dot

Drucilla bolts upright at the noise. Cautiously she climbs from the bed, pulling her cloak over her modest bedclothes. She stands beside the door to her room, listening for a moment before tentatively calling out. "Viktor...? What was that sound?"

Your call goes unanswered by Viktor, but you hear the sound of heavy footsteps walking through the foyer of the church proper. Each step reverberates through the hallowed halls as something heads towards the altar.

Turning to a chest of drawers in her room, she quietly open the top drawer and fondles inside for her dagger. Grasping the leather scabbard, she palms the blade and wraps the cloak further around her. With a deep breath she steels herself, and quietly strides towards the sanctum of the chapel.

Stealth check:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12

Moonlight filters through the stained glass window of the church, casting eerie illumination on the solitary figure kneeling before the altar. Masked in shadow, the humanoid shape rests with its head down, supporting its weight with what appears to be a heavy cudgel the length of your legs. A crimson pinpoint of light shines near the creature's face, casting low ruby flicker on a very rugged square chin. Wisps of smoke curl from what you realize to be a cigar, veiling the genuflecting visage even further.

As your bewitched eyes grow accustomed to the dim lights, you make out the hulk in better detail. Bedecked in a heavy fur cloak, gripping a silvery mace, a man kneels before the altar in apparent prayer. No explanation is given for his entry into your sanctioned hall at this unlikely hour, and billows of snow flutter through the double doors left ajar.

Taking a heavy drag from his cigar, the man speaks in a low gruff voice that reverberates through the domed vestry. "It has been a long time, Old Man." His words cut through the night in heavily accented Balok.

Your heart skips a beat as fascinated by the stranger, you fail to hear your custodian's approach behind you.

"As I live and breathe. Bless me by Ezra, how are you, Wolf's-Bane?"

Viktor steps forward, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a lit candle.

Perception check:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

Drucilla's gaze lingers on the cups for a moment, then begins bouncing between her god-father and the apparently-named Wolf's-Bane. She is about to speak when she is reminded of the cold weight of the dagger in her hand, and a sharp pang of guilt at the realization of her unfounded paranoia causes her to visibly wince.

"Please, allow me," she says, hiding her embarrassed face inside her hood and taking the tray from the old priest.

Viktor blinks, his gaze falling on you. His faroff eyes come into focus as he realizes you are there and taking the tray from him. "Forgive me, child." Kindness sets into familiar creases as he smiles. "This is Morvran Caul, a colleague of mine and a steadfast ally to the Church of Ezra. We met many decades ago at an Ezran festival." He gestures to you. "Morvran, this is my daughter and ward Drucilla of whom I have mentioned in my letters."

Morvran stands, one hand resting on the mace. His cigar waggles as he talks but never falls from his lips. "Hello girlie. Keeping the old man in line?" As he steps forward, the ember light reveals more of his face. Cigar clenched between perfect teeth, he could be handsome, until attention is drawn to the right side of his face. Marred by long lines of scars, the wounds balk any thoughts of him being charismatic.

Turning his intent back towards Viktor. "I was coming from Home Faith en route to our brothers in Mordent when I decided to take a side trek down here. By the moon, looks like I got here just in time." The soldier winks at the priest.

Drucilla smiles politely as Morvran addresses her, and offers a shy nod in return. Finding a suitable place to set down the tray, Drucila begins filling the tea cups. In between pouring, she glances inquisitively up at Viktor and Morvren as they converse, her trepidation turned to curiosity at the peculiar method of entrance and speech of the defaced stranger.

Sense motive on Morvran:1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14

Viktor seems casually oblivious to the callousness of his guest. Leaving the church doors open is tantamount to a minimum of public embarassment during weekly sermon, and you could not even fathom the vicar permitting someone to smoke in his hallowed halls.

Morvran appears to be relaxed in conversation, but his stance betrays his intentions. His hand grips his mace to the point of near white-knuckling, and you catch his eyes glancing towards the agape entrance more than once.

Perception 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 9 = 24

Morvran tenses for a moment, but then relaxes, continuing conversation with Viktor about missives and news from Home Faith.

Perception check:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

Drucilla follows Morvran's gaze but is oblivious to his query, concentrating on pouring tea. Once the cups are full, she offers one to Viktor and carries one over to Morvran. She offers the cup with both hands.

"Your tea, good Morvran. Blessings of Ezra upon you." she says, drawing down her hood to reveal a sheepish smile.

Before Morvran can accept the beverage, there is a piercing howl from the open church entrance. A pair of reflective eyes catches the moonlight, as a long lupine muzzle pushes the heavy door open further. Two packmates join the intruder, and halfway in the church stand a trio of snarling wolves.

Wolves at the threshold

The menacing predators begin to advance.

Fear Save DC 12 Drucilla and Viktor add +4 to your save, Morvran adds +3

Drucilla Reflex Save DC 12 to avoid dropping the tea.

Initiative Order:
Drucilla 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
Morvran 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19
Viktor 1d20 ⇒ 17
Wolves 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Fear save:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16
Reflex save:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Drucilla gasps, her eyes widening and her hands going numb. The cup clutched between her fingers falls to the ground and cuts the air with a painful shattering sound.

She begins backing away from the door, hand reaching inside the waist of her cloak once again for her dagger, muttering "Wolves... Here...? Why...?" She moves to stand between the wolves and Viktor, shielding him from their advance.

Fear Save 1d20 + 3 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 + 3 = 24

"Come then, cur, and taste of her justice."

Morvran rushes to the packleader, swinging his sterling mace down towards the wolf's skull.

Masterwork Silver Mace Attack 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Damage 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

Viktor steps up behind Drucilla, placing his hand upon your shoulder. His other hand drifts to the holy talisman resting around his neck. "May my strength be hers, Ezra. Protect my child from these beasts." Silver light glows around you as your caretakers casts sanctuary on your person. DC 14 Will Save if you wish to resist.

The first wolf yelps in pain as Morvran's mace tears fur from flesh, rivulets of blood spattering on the hallowed floor. In retaliation it lunges for Morvran's legs, nipping and missing.

Bite 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

One wolf stays to aide the leader, lunging for Morvran,

Bite 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

But also cannot sink its teeth into Ezra's warrior. The smallest of the trio rushes past, it's eyes set on Drucilla.

Wolf Will Save 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9

The wolf shakes its head and recoils from the soft glow surrounding you. It stands before you angered and confused.

Round 2...

Drucilla reflexively throws her hands up and cringes with a slight yelp as the wolf lunges up, despite the magical barrier.

Her face becomes agape at the absurdity of hearing the wolf speak, but thinking quickly she lowers her arms and speaks in return,

"Food? We are not your prey! Leave this place if you do not wish any more harm!"

Drucilla, a Diplomacy check please.

The duo dance at the entrance, trying to flank Morvran, his mace slick with blood as he too turns to keep both wolves within his sights. Their low growls permeate the church, reverberating in an eerie chorus.

"No beastly prayers for supper shall be answered this evening!"

Raising his mace over his head, Morvran swings the instrument back towards the tattered muzzle of the wolf he has already bled.

Mace 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15
Damage 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

The warrior's mace slams into the jaw of the wolf, and with a defeated whimper it lies still on the stone floor, blood dripping from its muzzle. Wide eyes stare emptily forward.

Beads of sweat grace Viktor's brow as he continues to brandish his symbol of faith, pouring his willpower into the protecting light surround Drucilla.

The remaining wolf at the entrance snaps at Morvran's heels.

Bite 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
Damage 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

Wicked teeth sink into Morvran's leg as the beast tugs with clenched jaws in an attempt to take the morsel down. Morvran loses his footing and falls upon his back.

Wolf Will Save 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

The other wolf growls and circles Drucilla. Awaiting Diplomacy check.

Round 3...

Diplomacy check: 1d20 + 9 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 9 + 2 = 30

She watches Morvran rend the life from his foe, and feels the hot breath of Viktor upon her neck as he struggles to maintain the spell.

"One of yours is already dead, I beg you to leave before anyone else is hurt. Return to your forests, where you will find food that does not strike back."

The shimmering light surrounding you fades and the strength of Viktor's protections dissipate. The wolf you addressed cocks its head, then turns tail bolts out the church doors.

The wolf dragging Morvran seems confused, but then releases its grip and follows suit.

While Morvran struggles to his feet, your eyes follow the pair as they race into the woodline, and you see them join a singular dire wolf, whose gaze is set upon the church. Soon they are lost in the thick of the wooded night, but a shape still remains in view prone in the snow at the edge of the trees.

Viktor kneels beside his friend, addressing the wounds. "Winter is not set in so deeply that wolves would enter homes and churches for their meals..."

Morvran picks up his mace and cigar, brushing away Viktor's hands. "It's nothing. I encountered two of the curs on my way here this evening. One fell to my mace, the other retreated. It seems it was just regrouping." He looks down at the crushed cigar, and dejected tosses it out into the snow. Looking out at the property edge, "Their last meal, perhaps?"

The templar walks out, checking the tracks of the wolves as he surveys the church.

Survival 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

Drucilla walks calmly to the church entrance, trying her best to hide the vortex of shock and confusion stirring within her. She dwells on the threshold of the building, her left hand placed on Viktor's shoulder, more to comfort herself than the old priest, and her right hand grasping the lower folds of her hood to shield her face from the chill wind.

"I fear we have witnessed a grave omen this night," she says, her soft voice creating puffs of vapor in the night air. "Was I not the only one to see the enormous, fiendish wolf which the others flocked to? What reason would such a creature have for this incursion? I have relied upon the safety of this place my entire life, and now I feel my sense of security shattered..."

As she watches Morvran study the area outside of the church, she grows concerned. "What do you see? Please do not carry on too far. Come inside where it is warm, and you may rest."

Morvran stops a few feet from the shape, and his dedicated tracking immediately shifts into alert tension once more as the body comes fully into his field of vision. Marred by claws, the still warm corpse of a middle-aged human lies face down naked in the snow.

"A grave omen indeed, lass." Morvran kneels by the body, observing the tracks and marks leading up to it, before with a grunt he hauls the form upon his shoulders and heads back to the church doorway.

"Back inside, this is not for you to see."

Morvran notes, that the almost right up to the body were lupine, with only one or two barefoot human prints in the snow by the man, matching the size of his feet.

Before you can avert your gaze, in the moon's light you see a slumped figure on the shoulders of the warrior, pale flesh reflecting the moonlight, and you see that the person Morvran carries into the church is very dead.

Heal Check:1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Drucilla sharply turns her head from the sight at the realization that the stranger is dead. She waits for Morvran to carry the corpse away from her and she turns to Viktor. She stares at him, silently questioning him for what to do next.

Viktor resumes his usual calm demeanor, but you see a fierceness behind his eyes that you haven't seen in years.

"Morvran, take him to one of the dormitories, I will tend to him there. My child, I am sorry that you had to see these things this night. By Her blessing, I feel that it is no coincidence these beasts attacked in the full light of the moon. Take your tea and try to get back to sleep." Slowly he closes the church doors, "The morning will bring more answers."

.