[FF] After the Fall (Type-Moon)

[Kieran]

Let's combine this and this, and let's see what we get . . .




From the Mists . . .






The blue-white light of Illyria's destruction faded into mist - thick, impenetrable, all-encompassing mist, carrying with it a chill deeper than that of the grave. It ate away at the soul like acid - before fading away into nothingness, leaving only darkness behind.

At least, it was dark to human eyes. His, on the other hand, were attuned to the night in a way a mere human's would never be - nor was it his only enhanced sense. Hearing and smell were also predatorily sharp, born of the alchemical mixture of dark elven and lycanthropic traits. They were, in fact, so sensitive that even in the relatively silent night, the sensory overload was painful. It took several minutes to bring himself under control, filter the input to something he could handle - but the control was as instinctive as everything else was to him now, and he did manage it. After all, Kieran Holt had a Wisdom score that an ancient dragon would envy - and with it, an insight and natural harmony that made him one of the most powerful druids alive . . .

But given that he hadn't been Kieran Holt five minutes ago, this was more than a little alarming. Even more alarming was that the part of him that was Kieran's player thought that he recognised those mists, and if they were what he thought they were, he was in one of the most terrifying places in existence.

Ravenloft. The Demiplane of Dread. A place that would use absolutely every means imaginable to corrupt him, torment him - and never quite extinguish the thin thread of hope that he might achieve his heart's desires, all the same. And right now, that desire was to find out what had happened to Takara Aozaki and her family, because if she was here . . .

If she was here, she was in the gravest possible danger - body, mind, and soul.








Takara stretched as she swung out of the hammock slung across the vardo - her family's wagon. Unlike most Vistani, they didn't travel in a tribe, not in the sense that there were dozens of them. There were only five of them: herself, her parents, and her two aunts, spread across two wagons. It was a dangerously small group to travel in, given the reputation of the Vistani across the various domains, but then again, the family was hardly typical, even of Vistani. Her aunts were powerful magic-users, her mother a cleric of the Morninglord, and her father a powerful samurai warrior. Neither was Takara herself a slouch, with her father's martial skill and magic in her blood - despite being only eleven . . .

Which brought them to the purpose of their current journey.

"I still don't want to go to this academy," she complained, poking her head out to the vardo's driver - her father, in this case.

"Like it or not, they're better-suited to giving you a comprehensive schooling in your potential," he replied, "And that can only help you, later in life."

Takara bit her lip, recalling fragments of the dream she'd had before waking - of being older, in a strange city of towers, fighting demons . . . And then it was gone.

"I suppose - but I don't want to go."

"It won't be so bad," he assured her. "Who knows, perhaps you'll make friends."






Shirou started, coming awake with the sudden, effortless reflexes of a trained ranger. Upon seeing the spectral glow beside him, he nearly swung his blade - until his eyes fully focused on what they saw.

". . . Ilya?"

The ghost smiled sadly. "I'm afraid so, onii-chan. This . . . This is as close as I can get, to you. And it's dangerous, here - I could be dangerous, to you, for you - but I had to come."

Shirou had fought undead before, and it took an effort to swallow his instinctive revulsion of them - but he did, because this was his sister.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "How can you be dangerous?"

". . . Because I'm a temptation," she whispered. "Because I'm a torment. Because, no matter how They choose, I'm a way to get to you - and They'll try. Oh, how They'll try."

"'They?' They who?"

"The Dark Powers," she whispered fearfully. "The real rulers of this place - no matter what you hear. They do so love to break a hero, Onii-chan. Break them, and cut them with the shards of their former selves until they bleed . . . And you're exactly their type."






Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, archmage and master of Hogwarts' Academy of Sorcery, Wizardry, and Devotion, considered the incoming crop of students. There were, he expected, some genuine talents - he certainly hoped so. Because the boy of prophecy was among them, the Chosen Saviour who could defeat the dread archlich who eternally plagued the land. The saviour would need true friends, powerful friends, if he was to succeed.

The old wizard closed his eyes. The legends stated that Voldemort was cursed, as much as endowed, with his power - that something was eternally out of his reach. Dumbledore didn't know the truth of it, only that Voldemort held powers over the land itself, that kept them imprisoned under his yoke. The best they could hope for was to set him back - banish him for a generation, or two. But he always returned. Once, Dumbledore had been powerful enough to stop him . . . But age caught up with all living creatures, in the end. The prophecy, and the boy surrounded by it, was their only hope now.

May whatever gods were watching, have mercy on their souls . . .




. . . But the Dark Powers have no mercy.

[JxK]

. . . But the Dark Powers have no mercy.

Are these dark powers anything like the Evil!Fae, since they do so love to deal. Forget a Hero. Just bring a Wordsmith, let Him take advantage of their requisite arrogance, sit back, and enjoy.

I smell a great and humorous one shot with this scenario.

[Kieran]

To borrow a couple of snippets of posts I've made before . . .

Ravenloft is D&D for Gothic Horror fans (or is that Gothic Horror for D&D fans?) - very specialised tastes required. It really isn't for everybody. If you're into that kind of thing, then you might enjoy the game. It's very much a reality that tries to corrupt its heroes. Some say the Dark Powers created Ravenloft as a crucible, to redeem their prisoners through torment, until they gain enlightenment - but it's much more likely that the Dark Powers just like to screw with things. And they always win, in the end . . .

[JxK]

Wouldn't that make it boring, if your characters always lose? Being outnumbered and outgunned by the Dark Powers, and having a small chance of victory, that makes things fun. But your scenario sounds sort of, well, dark. And predictable. Why would you want to have a campaign in Ravenloft vs regular D&D?

[Incarnite Azurnum]

For a change of pace, to test their creativity. Hell, maybe to give the players the finger without resorting to the Lady of Pain.

Almost forgot, another excuse to tell the players to stop metagaming. The therianthropes and vampires [hell, pretty much anything that's deffinitively evil] in Ravenloft have different sets of immunity penetrators and also get an extra slew of powers as they advance in hd or age.

[Kieran]

Wouldn't that make it boring, if your characters always lose? Being outnumbered and outgunned by the Dark Powers, and having a small chance of victory, that makes things fun. But your scenario sounds sort of, well, dark. And predictable. Why would you want to have a campaign in Ravenloft vs regular D&D?

No one deals with the Dark Powers directly, any more than a D&D party tackles the DM as an antagonist. And for what it's worth, the Dark Powers tend to focus more on . . . Let me try to summarise:

Ravenloft is a prison, a series of domains connected by the Mists. Each domain is ruled by a Darklord - whether it's the vampire Strahd von Zarovich, the death knight Lord Soth, or whatever. The Darklord is the primary monster of the realm, its Count Dracula, its Frankenstein Monster, etc. The Darklord has various abilities granted by the Dark Powers. including absolute control over their land's borders. However, each Darklord is also the chief prisoner of the prison they've been appointed warden of, and can never leave their domain.

They're also all tormented by some flaw, or weakness, which the Dark Powers continually exploit. For example, Strahd von Zarovich sold his soul and murdered his brother in order to become a vampire, that he might have the power to woo his brother's betrothed. Upon discovering what he'd done, she killed herself - but she is reincarnated over and over, for Strahd to obssess over, and try to win - but he never quite succeeds, and she dies again. The hope that she will be his is never entirely extinguished, and thus, it still haunts him. And because he's their pawn to torment, the Dark Powers tend to help Strahd survive, like any good movie monster - at least, until a more appealing toy comes along. Darklords have been replaced, from time to time - and the land changes with them.

It's a challenge to the storyteller to give players victories, while maintaining the dark gloom of Ravenloft - and appropriate temptations, to either succumb to, or to overcome. The Dark Powers usually begin with gifts of power, or other advantages. Players can find a lot of uses in succumbing, especially since magic in Ravenloft is, by nature, screwed up. Of course, if you do, eventually the price has to be paid . . .

[JxK]

Interesting.

So does that mean that Ravenloft isn't necessarily trying to permanently trap its heroes, so much as hold them until they have been properly corrupted, then release them onto the real world to wreak havoc?

[Cascade]

Ravenloft is probably the only D&D setting aside from Eberron that I had any sort of interest in. In all other cases I usually preferred original settings, ones the DM or players thought up. It's cool that you seem to like it as well.

A hopeless struggle is my favorite kind after all, lol.

[Kieran]

Interesting.

So does that mean that Ravenloft isn't necessarily trying to permanently trap its heroes, so much as hold them until they have been properly corrupted, then release them onto the real world to wreak havoc?

Not so far as anyone can determine. Most heroes in Ravenloft are genuine natives, trying to improve things for people there. A few are planar travellers from other settings (Dragonlance, Forgotten Realms, etc.), but those usually end up as Darklords or victims - Ravenloft is beyond even the reach of most gods, so clerics and such suffer shocks on finding that their magic suddenly doesn't work, and so forth. As for the Darklords themselves, the primary focus of the Dark Powers' attention . . .

Well, in the setting's entire history, (23 years' worth of stories) there have been a grand total of two escapes. One was Vecna, a lich who became a god in the standard D&D pantheon. The other was Lord Soth, a death knight who became so willing to suffer - to embrace his curse - that it returned him back to Krynn to endure it.

Ravenloft is probably the only D&D setting aside from Eberron that I had any sort of interest in. In all other cases I usually preferred original settings, ones the DM or players thought up. It's cool that you seem to like it as well.

Yeah - like most D&D settings, I encountered the novels first, and thought they were cool. And as soon as it was re-released into third edition, I had to have it.

A hopeless struggle is my favorite kind after all, lol.

Mm-hm. I'd say that here, Galen and Shirou are in the most danger - they're both dark enough by nature that attracting the Dark Powers' attention is a real possibility. As Ilya said, she's already one way for them to get to Shirou, and Takara, Hermione and Luna have always been Galen's weaknesses. The one advantage I can see either of them having is that Ravenloft doesn't have any epic-level Darklords, so it could be a genuine fight to bring them down. They could escape, as Vecna did.

. . . Of course, that's assuming that the transition didn't rob of them of their levels along with their overall identities . . .

[TheAbsolutistsCreed]

Now this is something I could actually play... I wouldn't mind playing this kind of D&D irl. I need the challenge... spending years without any has been quite the bore. I almost wished I had tried to be a functional schizophrenic at one point in a group I was role playing with. It'll be a while until i can appreciate the difference in perspective, it's almost as though I was deeply asleep and simply going through the motions before I needed to stand on my own two feet so to speak.

I find the corruption aspect a bit too easy a crutch to fall onto, a lot of people wouldn't personify the struggle in a way that was gradual. Other than that, it seems like a great setting for people who enjoy not just the genre that it portrays, but the challenge implied with it.

[Kieran]

Mm-hm - it can be, with the right people.

*sigh* I miss gaming.

[Cascade]

No kidding. Around the time I just started to get into it, I graduated and all my groups split. I am still waiting for the day I can run or play in a Heavy Gear campaign.

[JxK]

Mm-hm - it can be, with the right people.

*sigh* I miss gaming.

Worry not. You have merely advanced from a mere DM to a writer.
Besides, there's always Angry Birds if you get desperate.

Getting back on topic (slightly), I'm guessing the sorts of characters that are most likely to emerge from Ravenloft intact are the true neutrals? If they go in caring only about themselves, then they are the least likely to change when exposed to power with strings attached, yes?

[Kieran]

In theory, the Dark Powers could use that same dispassion against them, so I'm not sure. Most of the Darklords were inclined to evil to begin with, though not all of them . . .

Damn, I'll have to dig up that book on them again, refresh myself on their histories. Maybe I can come up with a better example - but it'll have to wait 'til Thursday. I'll be out of town tomorrow.

[TheAbsolutistsCreed]

Fighting back against evil takes a herculian effort because it starts with your thoughts and anything you simply let go may turn against you in the future if you do it often enough.

[Kieran]

That's pretty much Ravenloft to a "T."

[TheAbsolutistsCreed]

I'm speaking from personal experience... among other things...

[Kieran]

Out of the Mists . . .








The domain, to those few who knew the secrets of travelling between them, was not the largest nor the most dangerous of all those bordered by the Mists. Indeed, compared to some, it was rather tame - and more than a little backward. But it was also isolated, a cluster of four islets on the far northern reaches of the Nocturnal Sea. Few travellers knew it at all, and of late, that number was dropping, as the domain's Darklord had sealed its borders a generation ago. But those who had heard of it knew the domain, or at least the islands, as the Albiones. The largest of the four islands was the most thickly inhabited, and held the renowned Hogwarts' Academy of Sorcery, Wizardry, and Devotion, a sanctuary and house of learning for all users of magic, regardless of what form that magic took.

It was also, it had to be admitted, a necessary bulwark against the teeming masses of humanity, which was renowned for the ferocity of its witch-hunts. Once, the Academy had been the sole province of the Tel'Quessir, the elven People, but under its current Headmaster, the Academy had opened its doors to all wielders of magic, regardless of species. In Albus Dumbledore's mind, this was the only way to prevent the extermination of the Tel'Quessir - human magic-users would be less likely to turn their talents against teachers and friends, as was often the case in the past. This decision had not proved popular, and had been challenged frequently over the centuries.

. . . Most recently, it had been challenged by the followers of the wizard who had come to rule the realm: the lich known as Voldemort.

Hermione Granger, however, knew none of this. She knew only that the elven cleric who had come to the monastery in her village had affirmed that she had magical potential, and offered her sanctuary and training at Hogwarts. Given that each passing day made the likelihood of her being executed for witchcraft ever greater, she'd immediately and wholeheartedly agreed. Now she was off on an adventure, like the famous monster hunter, Rudolph van Richten!

She wondered if van Richten's knees ever shook as badly as hers did, as she rode in the carriage.

To be fair, Hermione felt that she had good reason to be afraid. Her only companion on this journey was an elf boy who apparently didn't speak a word of the human tongue, and his pet toad. He was fascinating to look at - she'd never seen an elf before - but hardly a good source of reassurance or information. And this was a deep, dark forest, after all - far larger than any she'd ever seen before. She could barely make out the individual trees in the blackness, let alone the things it might be hiding -

Her first indication of danger was a muffled gasp from the carriage driver, followed by a quick blur falling to the ground, and the screams of the horses. The carriage tilted, and Hermione barely had time to scream herself before it toppled to one side. She had a brief glimpse of something, before the darkness took her, and the last sight filled the darkness with nightmares.

Goblins - the carriage was being attacked by goblins . . .








I don't believe this - I'm being beaten by goblins?!

The druid had seen the band attacking the carriage, and reacted instinctively. If nothing else, he wanted to save the horses - animals, in his experience, were far less deserving of the fate bandits gave them than their putative "masters." Goblin bandits, especially, since they usually ate the horses along with the rest. Besides, rare as such things were, Ravenloft did have its innocents, and this might be one of them.

. . .

. . . All right, so it was damned unlikely - but he needed to know where in Ravenloft he was, and someone wealthy enough to afford a carriage likely had access to a map, as well. He might've gotten all the druid's natural and supernatural powers, but the equipment was lacking. And he didn't seem to have spells handy, either. Just as well, really, the way Ravenloft's taint tended to warp a lot of the more common magical spells . . .

A thrown rock worked just as well to stun the first goblin as a thrown spell would have, and it focussed the remainder's attention on him just as effectively, too. He instinctively lengthened his nails into claws, a benefit of his mastery of his lycanthropic nature, and took out two more with swift slices to their throats, severing their arteries -

And then an arrow pierced his chest.

The druid's first reaction was shock. His extensive training had given him an instinctive combat sense that prevented most people from ever hitting him, much less a low-level creature like a goblin. And even if this world's internal rules had shifted back to a more mainstream interpretation, rather than the defence bonus variant he'd used last, he was still reasonably hard for a goblin to hit.

Unless taken by surprise, his inner voice reminded him. Then the Dexterity bonus goes bye-bye, and any idiot can do it.

Still, a single arrow shouldn't have done anywhere near this much damage . . . Not given the amount of time it was taking his healing factor to deal with it!

Someone's changed the rules, his inner voice noted, even as the rest of him dodged the next arrow instinctively, and bull-rushed the archer in an attempt to close the distance - and the last goblin thrust out his spear just as the druid passed by.

The second shot to the chest caused another puncture in his lungs, and if not quite bringing him to his knees, certainly stopping him in place. He whirled and lashed out at the spearman, claiming another kill - as a second arrow embedded itself in his back.

Now he dropped to his knees, stunned by the ridiculousness of being killed by goblins - before common sense asserted itself. Changing to wolf form was instinctive, and virtually instantaneous. Moreover, the legendary wolf was far faster and more agile than he was, and had a thicker hide, to boot. Hitting him with another arrow at this point would be impossible unless the goblin archer was a highly-trained fighter. Not that it mattered anyway, because a single snap of his fanged jaws saw the little bastard exsanguinated on the ground.

Changing back to half-drow form was just as swift (and part of him noted the oddity that his clothes had changed with him, even though the presumably lacked the special enchantments he'd had done to allow that), and he quickly made his way to the overturned carriage. If the druid was lucky, no one had seen that - lycanthropes weren't well-regarded in the best of places, and Ravenloft wasn't. He'd have preferred to wash the blood off before checking on the carriage, but the possibility of injured passengers was too great to ignore. He would heal, but anyone inside could be dying even now.

Forcing the carriage doors was an effort, but his strength was up to the job. That much of him, then, was still intact -

The druid stared at the sight inside, disbelieving. Inside the carriage was an elf boy and a human girl of perhaps ten summers - an odd combination, at that age. But more to the point, when allowances were made for the clothing of the period, and its not-entirely-sanitary state, and what those factors did to people's appearances . . . The girl, at least, was a dead ringer for a young Emma Watson - circa Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

"What on any earth is going on . . .?"

[TheAbsolutistsCreed]

Yikes... It's going to see interesting how you pull this one together... =.=

[Kieran]

It's an amusing little exercise, I must admit.