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In: Curse of Innistrahd, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Ed

She looked just like his dreams. Dark red hair, deep skin, a stance between confidant and cautious. She showed up all the time. Sometimes in dresses, sometimes in more practical noble wear. They were powerful, persuasive, and Izek knew it had to mean something. Even before seeing her it was a reflex, the shape of her face and vibrant colors in the darkness of his slumber. Eyes so sharp that he couldn’t shake them in his waking hours. For a few years now he had gotten that cowardly toy-maker to create for him, making sure he knew who was in charge. After the first bruises he started making them better. Correcting the face and the skin and the oh so piercing eyes.

But here she was. He tensed his arm, bristling red under a veneer of plate. A building away. For how long. How long had she been real outside the confines of his thoughts, how long had she been close enough that he could see her and know that he wasn’t simply mad. Well… Time was here that that could change. Time they would meet.
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In: Curse of Innistrahd, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Ed

Nestled betwixt dark mountain and grey forest, the Wizard of Wines vineyard was illuminated with gentle lamp light, a moment of true victory was had. Though morals were debated, none could deny the victory held this day become night in the gentle confines of the winery.

With weariness setting in and progress having been made, the coalition of slayers drifted to their nightly rest.

To the south, past a spewing maelstrom of flame and ash, lies a building. Stone in structure, ancient, and still. A temple carved from the dark mountains of Stensia itself, but stiller than blessed Graf. Usually. For in it’s frigid interior rooms of unlit argent metal there was a shake. For but a seemingly endless moment, something in those blackened chambers stirred once more.

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In: Curse of Innistrahd, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Ed

Again. They take, and take, and take. The so called cultured and all they hold dear. Her hands quivered as she held her wounds, willing them with what little conviction she maintained to close. They feared the mountain so they forgot it to lull themselves to sleep. Her breathing was quick and stained with tears. And still the chance for vengeance was denied them. She wanted to escape, flee the world a hawk upon the wind. But he was there. Calm as ever. The stony face of the cliffs. And as he lit a flame with the will of the world, she knew she would be fine. To depart for now, but in his affirmation… Maybe they could change something. The forest closed in, never betraying the hunters just out of sight.

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In: Curse of Innistrahd, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Ed

Anathema. All of them. Their homes. Their villages. Their carts. Their wine. Brazen and foolhardy they drink to forget the untamed world around them. Plagued by the dark. But they forget where they are. Built on stone. People of untamed wood and broken bone. The sky tumbles, the trees rustle, and the mountain moans his sorrowful regret. And with eyes of thunder and the world at hand, those fearful walls would shake with conviction.

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In: Curse of Innistrahd, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Ed

Her house was neat. Impossibly so, especially considering the stagnant state of town and the cavalcade of needy that shuffled through her arched doors. It was midday as her sons, foolish boys that looked more like a memory everyday, were out inflicting their presence out on the town, even as daily the town inflicted it’s way back through fools and the fearful.

Her house was neat. A by product of immaculate attention and wealth that the town had mostly forgotten outside the Baroness. The town always felt like it expected to be older money than it was, and she was happy to be one source of whispers. Both in, and out. And today the whispers grew louder.

Her house was neat. Because she needed it to stay that way. Follow the rules. Do not stand out despite name and deed seeming so loud before that fool of an inquisitor and her bold strokes that left cloven into her two narrow categories of the world with a fervent bloodlust. It’s a shame that the lady inquisitor made such a mess.

Her house was neat; before he came to visit. He knew subtlety when he wished, though a vampire’s subtlety is not the same. He spoke in honeyed words, the same as the first time he spoke to her as such a young girl with no view of the world but sadness. And suddenly Lady Wachter remembers, all those years before when she first knew the beauty and the idyllic danger of her lord… And how their house had been… So messy.

It had been years before the signs of blood left the bedroom. But those years were buried under more. Now his confidant voice leaves again, leaving her alone in the midday dark of a briefly empty home, a powerful woman of rumor exhaling to herself. She whispers something to the obscure space of the passing day. And though I apologize, I do not know it’s contents dear listener, because for once on Innistrad, no one heard it.

For when they’d come, the house would be neat.

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