Curse of Strahd

Of Sickness and Wolves

Two jet black bolts fizzed through the air, one thumping into the wooden shelving of the store room behind, the other burying itself in the midriff of Einarr’s hulking form, puncturing muscle and viscera. The mercenary clad in black leather armour roared in satisfaction as his shot hit home, dropping his crossbow and drawing his sword.

Einarr’s companions, an unlikely collection of physiques and figures, immediately reacted; shadows were sought by a nimble rogue, preparing her bow; a diminutive druid sought to heal the injured Einarr, a pink glow coruscating over her tiny hands; a kinsman of Einarr, a brother no less, noble and powerful looking, after seeing Einarr struck, charged with his glaive; a cunning looking robed greenskin climbed into a nearby cupboard, leaving a small rodent scratching at the door behind him frantic to join his master in safety.

I surveyed the scene, calculating quickly how best to dispatch the moronic oafs very obviously in the employ of my target; that small time crook and piffling hedge wizard I recognised from my youth somehow turning up here and running (very poorly) our accommodation for the evening. My churning innards still groaned from the sopping mush he served for dinner, with a little secret ingredient in that left one of the Northmen’s hunting party dead.

Deciding I would evidence the true power of a Death Mage to my impromptu colleagues in this instance, I uttered the trisyllabic nomenclature, shifting my voice down through impossible octaves and reaching deep into my roiling digestive system. Throwing back my hood to unleash the rising biliousness, I opened wide my mouth to vomit forth the unholy buildup of necrotic, poisonous energies.

It struck the man with a force I found gleefully pleasing, the wretched poison flooding into his mouth, up his nostrils and even pushing in through his ocular cavities. My recent studies into bipedal, humanoid physiology have given me a greater understanding of how and where to direct my necromantic energies to cause immense pain and discomfort at the very least, with incapacitation and death at best. Or perhaps undeath at best, once my powers are fully realised.

I had certainly calculated correctly, for the satisfying stench of decomposing human matter was filling the air, accelerated to levels that astonished even myself. I had bettered my previous efforts with this one; what had been the soldiers head now resembled a ruptured and imploding jack o’ lantern, sickly green poisonous flame flickering in the orifice that was once a mouth.

The others all glanced at me with sickened expressions, but I knew what they were thinking…and I would prove them right to think exactly that. Now, If I could just get that goblin to bring his talents to bear, inferior as they obviously are to mine, this party could be a force to be reckoned with.

My previous master will know fear, for now I have the next piece of the trail to follow… and a war band at my back.


ihilate christianrhyscunningham

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