#session diary

D&D Diary - The Yawning Rodent, 15

Refresher: Our adventurers Lugs (grung barbarian), Lurk (grung rogue), Aelia (tiefling cleric), and Valas (drow sorcerer) with tagalong Deku (ratfolk cleric) fought Belak, his giant frog, McKennedeigh, and Bradley in Belak's grove. While Belak was taken down fairly easily, his death caused McKennedeigh and Bradley to go in a frenzy, drinking the blood from his body and becoming stronger. After a tough fight, the party managed to kill Bradley, and tie up an unconscious McKennedeigh. Lugs and Lurk grabbed the ruby red fruit of the Gulthias tree before it was set entirely ablaze, filling the cavern with smoke. The party took shelter in what seems to have been Belak's study.

Sunless Citadel spoilers!

So remember me freaking out about D&D? Yesterday was supposed to be a session, but one player couldn’t make it, meaning two of them were left. And I figured, hey, let’s try something completely different. They get to keep their characters, but are ~suddenly~ somewhere else for a one shot adventure. One I had barely prepared. Meaning, I had one page of notes, and had taken out a bunch of tables that I could randomly roll things on. That was it, I made 90% up as I went. And it was awesome. My one story hook: Someone will reverse pickpocket a key into their possession, one that upon a failed WIS save compells them to look for what on earth it opens. The ending: It will lead to something not valuable. That was my idea.

Set in the cold northeast of Kathuraz, Jandar and Nate found themselves in a city in Valyrya called Jarzo, in front of the Icy Beaver tavern. Immediately they made up a “quest goal” they had (”Don’t you remember, we have to find the old flag pole!”), but of course, night was coming and they needed a place to stay. I rolled a name for the innkeeper, randomly rolled for the tavern to have illegal cockfighting in the back, as well as a fighting ring in the middle. Instead of breaking up the cockfight, Jandar our paladin decided to go for a fight against the local dumb-but-strong-Phillip. He lost. The dumb one won. (In retrospect, a CR3 against a lvl 5 character was probably too high. welp, that’s what happens when I make it up). Playing the announcer guy was a hell of a lot of fun as he just suddenly turned out super happy and enthusiastic about everything.

Nate’s PP was too low to notice the elderly male dwarf that gave him the key, so they never got to meet him (also rolled randomly about him). But he didn’t make his save, and the player did play the obsession pretty well. Which only happend after a night’s sleep. Before that they asked around to find out that “Handsome McPrettyFace” had shown up in town with a magical shop. The innkeeper went on and on about how he blocked his way to his favourite bakery (also super fun to play) and how damn pretty he was.

Alright, next day. Nate is obsessed with finding what the key unlocks, Jandar is suspicious, casts Detect Magic. There’s definitely something there, but he’s unable to really figure it out. So they go to Handsome McPrettyFace who they later described as a douche and also awesome (loved playing him too lol). His name is Julian Xartho, warlock extrordinaire, friend to Ezekiel (x), and was not a shop owner until that very moment. I had actually prepared his character sheet and he knew Identify so he did that, revealing there was a piece of a soul in that key. The two buy health potions, but have nowhere near enough to get that potion of invisibility he has. He follows them without knowing (but that never led anywhere).

At this point Nate has a vision of the temple of Valgyrn in the city, one of the creators, the goddes of Light and Life. Naturally that’s where they go, meeting a priestess, Alesia. just before, they actually rolled high enough to end the encounter with some other key-obsessed guys peacefully (Tyr channeling his divine magic through Jandar to stop them). She too can sense the soul, but does not sense anything evil from it, hinting that some souls cling to certain parts of their lives, and helps them figure out to find the place where the vision had originated from, hence the rooftop looking out onto the temple.

Turns out that’s a house that’s currenlty very obviously in mourning, as it’s decorated in the traditional greens. Jandar decides to pose as a cleric to distract the mourners, while Nate (being a thief), tries to figure out where the vision came from. It’s... a bumpy ride, the woman who lost her son almost kicks Jandar out again, but he bullshits his way through. While Nate finds the dead son’s room, but no keyhole that fits (he’s been trying every single one), eventually goes to the roof, sees the temple, and the initials “Z + N” in the chimney.

Another vision hits him then, guiding him the the town’s graveyard, to the grave with the name Nizol (randomly rolled, though keep in mind I made all of this up). Excitedly, Nate tells Jandar, and off they go. As soon as the key touches the grave, it opens up to a staircase leading into darkness, and the randomly rolled dungeon. At first it’s a room with a fireplace in the middle, and stars above (I’m thinking at this point, it’s connected to the soul, this is where it felt at peace). Randomly rolled smoke mephits attack at this point.

The next room is a long, long hallway (I’m thinking and describing how it’s the alley where the soul was mugged and killed, I don’t think they got it), with a needle trap at the end that they successfully circumvent. The last room is full of dancing lights, and a small, ornate box in the middle. They key finally fits.

Except it’s just mementos. Little, ordinary things of Nizol and “Z”, notes, a pretty rock, a ring, a lock of hair, etc, etc. The letters describe that they’re best friends, that they spent almost every day together, and how thankful, how connected they were. A blue wisp of magic turns into the shape of a young human male, who nods at them, and vanishes. The room goes dark, they’re back in the cemetery, there’s no staircase.

Some of the letters actually have an address on them(we’re tired at this point), so they decide to return the box. It’s a pretty well of place, similar to the one before, and it’s also in mourning. A woman opens, she has long blonde hair, she wears a green sash around her waist, she’s also mourning. Her name is Zora. (I put on sad music bc I’m an asshole lol) She’s incredibly thanfkul that they brought this back to her, crying but also happy because they brought her a bit of peace. A bit of her best friend that she’ll miss for the rest of her life. They don’t need a reward.

In the end, Jandar and Nate go to the harbour, to the old flagpole, and have a mug of ale each, toasting the the lost soul.

The new night was welcomed with quiet anticipation. That night, a banquet was to be held at the court of Seraphino Altieri, and the hours before it were spent in small, habitual rituals. Eventually, the company gathered in the tavern’s common room. Viviana Loredan arrived first, bending over a book right away. Lady Dianora Marcello informed her that she would go hunting and be absent for a time. Valeria d’Este followed, visibly lost in thought, and then Francesco DeLuca. Valeria and Francesco spoke in hushed tones about their next steps. When Robert J. Redwulf finally appeared, he looked as though the night had treated him poorly—his clothes torn, his chest bearing fresh wounds. Questions followed, but Robert remained evasive, offering little more than deflection regarding his present condition.

Discussion turned to strategy. The decision was made to keep watch over the church, particularly its bell tower. Viviana, lacking suitably discreet clothing, accepted a loan of such from Valeria. When they arrived, positions were taken around the church: Valeria and Viviana moved to higher ground to watch the window of the mysterious climber from the previous night, while Francesco and Robert waited in a nearby alley, prepared to follow any stranger who emerged. Viviana struggled somewhat with the climb up on the roof—something Valeria took notice of. She briefly offered her claws, then reconsidered, realizing it would be unwise to avert the eyes from the window. The vigil stretched on for half the night, testing patience. At last, Valeria spotted movement: a raven landing on the slanted roof, something clutched in its beak. As it hopped toward the window, Valeria moved to intercept it, while Viviana kept watch. The object proved to be a folded note—a love poem addressed to a woman named Lucia. Viviana was immediately intrigued, remarking that the writer must be of high station, for peasants rarely served at the court of love.

The group split again. Robert and Francesco resolved to seek out a local Cainite, while Valeria and Viviana returned to the inn. Robert, lingering outside, attempted to communicate with a cat—and succeeded. The animal spoke of another Cainite it disliked. Soon after, Robert noticed a cloaked figure watching him. They spoke, and the man introduced himself as Angelo Ravelli. He questioned Robert’s presence in Belluno and whether he served Lady Marcello. When Robert asked directly about any women named Lucia, Ravelli grew guarded and suspicious, making it clear he wanted nothing to do with potential informants who served other lords and cities. He dismissed Robert and withdrew.

Later, all reconvened at the inn. Robert recounted the encounter and warned that the lake was, for now, off-limits. Lady Dianora Marcello returned and heard their report. She left soon after, and Viviana watched her go with a distant, almost dreamy expression. The night ended in uneasy rest.

The following night began amid palpable urgency. Activity already swirled around Lady Dianora as preparations were made. Viviana dressed carefully in fine velvet, pearls woven into her hair. The party returned to Altieri’s estate—this time to a different chamber. Alongside Cainites, there were mortals present as well, dazed companions offered as living adornments to the evening. Seraphino Altieri was already present, deep in conversation with his childe, Matteo del Fiore. Soon others arrived: the Toreador Philippe de Mireil, the scholar Mathilda von Arnstein, and Angelo Ravelli, who kept his distance and watched with suspicion.

When all were gathered, Prince Altieri rose. He lingered for a heartbeat on his childe before addressing the assembly, his manner paternal and faintly amused. He introduced Lady Marcello and her entourage; the responses ranged from polite warmth to cautious reserve. As the evening unfolded, Altieri mingled freely, creating an atmosphere of practiced ease. Viviana read his aura and sensed that he was in love. Valeria spoke at length with Mathilda von Arnstein about science and even arranged to visit the latters school—though she revealed more than she perhaps should have. Robert lingered on the fringes, visibly out of place. Viviana shared a longer exchange with Philippe, who flirted deftly but revealed nothing of substance, clearly seeing through her pursuit of secrets. Francesco spoke with Matteo, while Ravelli selected a victim of his own.

Later, Viviana spoke with Matteo del Fiore, discussing his station and his fate. He gazed dreamily toward the balcony, uncertain and subdued. She learned he had once been a scholar and remained conflicted about his unlife—his soul marked by love and sadness in equal measure. Viviana offered to reveal his fate. He accepted, hesitantly, bound by his inability to leave his sire’s side. Eventually, the evening waned, and the company departed.

Lady Dianora Marcello, an ambitious Ventrue striving to secure her influence in Venice, set events in motion with a summons wrapped in deliberate vagueness. A journey to Belluno was required, she said—to “see to matters there.” Something was wrong, though its nature remained frustratingly indistinct. Those drawn into her retinue formed a telling company: Valeria d’Este, a familiar and courteous presence in Venetian Elysia; Francesco DeLuca, a shrewd dealer whose ambitions leaned toward monopoly; Robert J. Redwulf, newly arrived in the domain, his British accent, quiet wealth, and guarded habits inviting as much curiosity as suspicion; and Viviana Loredan, a learned noblewoman of Venice, whose fascination with fate, stories, and hidden currents lent an unsettling depth to the journey ahead.

The road to Belluno consumed half the night. Snow lay thick upon the roofs when the city finally emerged behind its walls, dimly lit and tightly guarded. Yet Lady Dianora’s influence had preceded her. After a brief exchange with the watch, the gates opened without resistance, and the party was guided directly to a grand estate. There they were received by Seraphino Altieri, lord of Belluno, whose composed authority filled the room as naturally as his elevated posture. At his side stood Matteo del Fiore, his childe, introduced with a gesture that revealed a bond deeper than mere formality.

Formalities concluded, the guests were escorted to an inn. Only then did Dianora Marcello reveal the true purpose of the journey. Belluno appeared orderly, and its ruler valued that order above all else—but there were signs it might not endure. Subtle indications suggested that the Holy Inquisition had taken an interest in the city. No proof existed, only patterns and absences, and rumors of a Roman inquisitor lurking somewhere in the shadows. The task she set was clear: uncover the truth, exploit every opportunity to bring it to light, and, should a threat be confirmed, extinguish it before it could take root. She granted her agents broad freedom in how this was to be achieved, her severity underscoring the gravity of the charge.

The city offered little at first glance. Belluno was small: a tower rising above clustered houses, a church, a broad market square, surrounding fields blanketed in snow. There was no open water to be found—only wells and buckets—yet even these yielded unsettling signs. In the dark reflection of a simple pail, Viviana Loredan perceived a vision of turmoil, of chaos pressing against the threads of fate that governed Belluno, hinting at disturbances tied to the hidden world of the Damned.

The group divided to pursue separate leads. Valeria and Francesco attended mass, observing a service personally led by the bishop and outwardly unremarkable. Still, Francesco noticed something amiss: a figure moving with unnatural haste, climbing the church wall and slipping through a high window. Elsewhere, Robert and Viviana entered a dubious tavern, masking their true nature among laborers, swindlers, and drifters. The patrons were unsavory but not monstrous—petty lives, yet heavy with unease, as though the city itself held its breath.

Player characters:

Gredelur, Human Cleric of Erastil (Kalle)

Lory, Goblin Ranger (Killed by Cuteness)

Mirae, Fairy Kinetecist (Nena Celine)

Marquis Donatien Jaque de l'Ostrove, Elven Swashbuckler (Lia/Me)

24th Calistril, 4710 AR As the sun dipped low behind the rolling hills, casting long shadows over the path, four travelers approached the gates of an luxurious estate. The company had journeyed together for several days, bound by the winds of fate and the summons of a Swordlord whose renown reached far across the land. Among their number was Gredelur, a stalwart human cleric devoted to Erastil, his staff a steady guide and his faith a light in dark places. Beside him walked Lory, a goblin ranger with a keen eye and a spirit as restless as the wind, her bow ever at the ready. Mirae flitted about them, a diminutive fairy kineticist whose presence seemed to carry the warmth of sunlight even amidst the brewing storm. Last came Marquis Donatien Jaque de l’Ostrove, an elven swashbuckler clad in fine garments, his movements graceful and precise, as though he danced even when he walked.

Overhead, dark clouds gathered, rolling in with the promise of thunder. The estate loomed ahead, its tall gates adorned with iron filigree and crests. The guards at the entrance, clad in polished armor, eyed the travelers warily but granted them entry upon hearing of their purpose. Beyond the gates, a grand hall awaited, its doors heavy with age and rich with carvings of past glories.

Inside, the travelers found themselves in a wide and imposing hall, where music and laughter echoed off high vaulted ceilings. A warm fire crackled in a distant hearth, and the scent of roasted meats lingered in the air. The companions stepped into the hall, though Lory hesitated at the threshold, her sharp eyes scanning the gathering before she reluctantly followed.

The party was directed to a long, empty table where they could rest and observe. Around them, the hall bustled with life. At a nearby table sat a loud and boastful warrior woman, recounting tales of her conquests, while a halfling at her side diligently penned notes into a small, leather-bound book. Elsewhere, a cluster of dwarves kept to themselves, drinking deeply and speaking in low tones, while a man in dark clothing flitted from table to table, his gaze sharp and calculating.

As the music softened, two figures entered the hall. One was Josef Emelius, the mayor of Restov, a man of evident authority but warm demeanor. At his side stood the Swordlord herself, Lady Jamandi Aldori, a half-elven woman of regal bearing and fierce countenance. The hall fell silent as they welcomed the adventurers, thanking them for answering the call to chart the Stolen Lands. The Swordlord promised a feast that night, with the details of their mission to be revealed on the morrow.

The music resumed, and the travelers settled in for the evening. Plates of food were brought forth, and the hall was filled with conversation and merriment. Yet not all was as it seemed. The halfling chronicler sketched figures and scenes with unusual precision, the warrior woman’s tales seemed to grow grander with each retelling, and the elf seated at a nearby table bore a pallor unnatural for her kin.

As the storm outside raged on, whispers passed between the companions. Gredelur, ever perceptive, noted strange markings on the elf’s skin and murmured to his comrades of a suspicion—she might not be among the living. Donatien, with his noble charm, approached the mysterious elf and confirmed his fears: she was undead, a being both proud and weary, who introduced herself as Jaethal of Kyonin. Donatien couldn't stop himself from mentioning her undead condition, after which Jaethal quickly left the hall - much to Donatiens dismay, as he would loved to talk a bit more to the woman.

Meanwhile, Lory struck up an conversation with a dour dwarf clad in heavy armor. He bore the symbol of Groetus, god of the end, upon his gloves, and his words were steeped in the pessimism of his faith. The goblin ranger, undeterred, shared a drink with the somber cleric who introduced himself as Harrim, finding camaraderie even in his grim outlook.

As the evening wore on, the feast began to wind down. The companions introduced themselves to Lady Aldori. Furthermore they drank and made friendship with their tablemates, namely the aforementioned halfling Linzi and the barbarian Amiri. Also they got to meet Maegar Varn, with whom Donatien struck up a friendly conversation. Lady Aldori addressed the hall one final time, bidding all a good night and promising that the morrow would bring the first steps toward their great endeavor. The adventurers retired to their chambers, weary from travel but eager for the journey ahead.

Reflecting on Lord Hardestadt’s intentions, the group finds themselves divided. Vasco questions whether protecting beings like themselves—vampires—can ever be seen as noble. He recalls his recent loss of control, the bloodlust that nearly overtook him, and wonders if he is a danger to the humans he once swore to protect. Anastasia, meanwhile, is driven by her newfound hunger for knowledge and power, though her curiosity about her transformed nature burns just as brightly. Francesco, ever the pragmatist, suggests they proceed cautiously. Together, they resolve to gather more information about the conspirators before deciding their next move.

As they approach the inn—a dilapidated structure cloaked in shadow—they are stopped by Vasco's dog Ruben. It startles Vasco by speaking to him directly, saying, “You’re different now.” He reacts with amazement, as this is the first time his owner has acknowledged his communication. The dog cryptically adds that others like them are waiting inside and that a woman claimed to know Vasco but wasn’t certain if he still lived. This unsettling exchange leaves the group uneasy, but determined to continue.

Inside the inn, the atmosphere is oppressive. The innkeeper barely acknowledges their presence, his demeanor unnervingly cold, while a young girl sweeps the floor with a vacant expression. The group splits up to investigate. Anastasia and Vasco remain downstairs, observing their surroundings and questioning the innkeeper, while Francesco and Tarik decide to take a look in the cellar.

There, they encounter Marico Lucino, a ghoul who offers his allegiance to the group. He warns them, however, to tread carefully—exposing their nature to the mortal world would bring ruin upon them all. Meanwhile, Ruben hints at hidden belongings and secrets buried within the inn, urging Vasco to trust him.

The tension rises as Claudio Giovanni finally makes his entrance. His presence is commanding, almost hypnotic. He acknowledges the group’s survival, a feat he did not expect, and presents them with an enticing yet dangerous proposition. If they denounce Hardestadt and align themselves with Giovanni’s faction, they will gain his protection and influence. The group reacts with skepticism, questioning Giovanni’s motives. Vasco, in particular, remains wary, his anger simmering just below the surface after the betrayals they have already endured.

Throughout the night, the coterie interacts with their respective sires:

Francesco and Valdemar

Francesco, a now tormented soul driven by ambition and desperation, sought the wisdom of his sire Count Valdemar, the master of shadows whose reputation for cruelty was as dark as the abyss he commanded. But from the very first encounter, it became clear that Valdemar’s expectations were insurmountable. The Count was a harsh and unyielding mentor, his words laced with disdain and his instructions designed to push Francesco to the brink of failure. Every lesson was a trial, every moment an opportunity for humiliation.

“Is this all you can muster?” Valdemar hissed that evening, his piercing gaze boring into Francesco as shadows coiled around the room at his command. The young vampire strained to replicate the elder’s feats, but his efforts were clumsy, his control over the darkness slipping through his fingers like water. “You lack discipline. Focus,” Valdemar snapped, his voice sharp and cutting. “Do you think power comes to those who hesitate? You are weak, Francesco—unworthy of the gifts you’ve been given.”

Francesco felt the weight of failure settle over him, the Count's scorn leaving an indelible mark on his already brittle confidence. The shadows seemed to mock him, shifting and writhing in shapes he couldn’t command. With every attempt, his doubt deepened, and Valdemar’s disappointment grew more evident.

Anastasia and Voivode Mieczyslaw

Anastasia stepped into the dimly lit chamber, her heels echoing softly on the cold stone floor. Voivode Mieczyslaw was already there, seated at a table strewn with ancient scrolls and weathered books. The light of a single candle flickered over his pallid, angular features, casting sharp shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. He looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto her. "Ah, my brilliant child," he said, his voice rich and resonant, like the deep tolling of a cathedral bell. "Come closer. Let me see what manner of creation you have become." Anastasia approached cautiously, her fingers trailing along the table's edge as she took in the strange, almost surreal atmosphere of the room. Her curiosity burned brighter than her apprehension. "You summoned me," she said, her voice steady, though her heart—dead though it was—felt as if it might beat once more under his penetrating stare.

"I did," Mieczyslaw replied, rising to his feet. He was impossibly tall, his figure both imposing and elegant. With a deliberate motion, he lifted his shirt, revealing his torso. “Have you ever wondered what lies beneath the flesh?” Caught off guard, Anastasia hesitated. "I... I suppose I have." "Then come," he said softly, yet with a command that could not be refused. "Examine me. See what we are made of."

She reached out with trembling hands, her mind torn between scientific fascination and a primal unease. Slowly, she pressed her fingers to his skin, feeling its unnatural coolness. Then, with a nod from him, she drew a blade from the table. "You need no blade," he said, his voice like velvet. He gripped her wrist, guiding her hand lower. “Feel the truth of our form.” With her fingers, she parted his flesh as though it were clay, and what lay beneath stole her breath—a body devoid of the organs she expected, save for a still heart that resided not in its usual place but nestled to the left.

"The heart beats only when we wish it," he explained, his voice low and intimate, as though sharing a sacred secret. "It is a tool, nothing more. Our humanity, Anastasia, is behind us. Do you mourn it?" "No" she whispered, though the weight of her words surprised even her. "Good," Mieczyslaw murmured, stepping closer. "Then you are ready to learn more. Together, we will uncover truths that will shatter the heavens themselves."

Tarik and Al Nazir

The night was still, the air heavy with the scent of earth and ash as Tarik stood alone in the courtyard. A shadow moved in the periphery of his vision, and before he could react, a blade was at his throat. "Still too slow," Al Nazir said, his voice a low growl, laced with equal parts amusement and reproach.

Tarik did not flinch. Instead, he turned his head slightly, meeting his sire’s dark eyes. "I wasn’t expecting you." "You should always expect me," Al Nazir replied, sheathing his blade with a flourish. He stepped back, his movements fluid and feline, every inch of him a predator. "But perhaps I was too harsh before. Tonight, I bring you an offer." Tarik arched an eyebrow. "An offer?"

Al Nazir nodded, his expression unreadable. "Seven years, Tarik. Seven years to train under me, to hone your skills until you are the weapon you were meant to be. Together, we will reclaim the honor that was stolen from our bloodline."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you will go your own way," Al Nazir said, his tone suddenly colder. "But you will do so without my protection. And make no mistake—there are many who would see you undone." Tarik hesitated, his thoughts a storm of loyalty, defiance, and longing. "You speak of honor, but what of freedom? Am I to be a blade that serves only your hand?"

"Freedom is an illusion," Al Nazir replied, stepping closer. His hand cupped Tarik's chin, forcing him to look up. "But power... power is real. And I would see you wield it, not as my servant, but as my equal."

Finally, Tarik nodded. "Very well. I will follow you. For now." Al Nazir's lips curled into a rare smile. "Good. You may yet become worthy of our blood."

Vasco and Lady Dimitra

The forest was alive with the sounds of night—the rustle of leaves, the distant howl of wolves. Vasco crouched low, his senses sharper than they had ever been, yet he still felt clumsy, out of place. Beside him, Lady Dimitra moved like a shadow, her every step silent, her every motion deliberate. "You’re trying too hard," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Stop thinking like a man and start feeling like a predator."

"I don’t know how," Vasco admitted, frustration seeping into his tone. Dimitra laughed, a rich, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh, but you do. You’ve simply forgotten. Here," she said, gesturing toward a clearing where a wild boar foraged. "Show me. Let your instincts take over." Vasco hesitated, but the hunger burning in his veins pushed him forward. He moved carefully, circling the animal, until with a burst of speed, he pounced. It was over in moments, his teeth sinking into its flesh, its blood flooding his mouth. When he looked up, Dimitra was watching him, her expression unreadable. "Good," she said finally. "You’re learning. But there is more to this existence than hunger. There is balance."

"Balance?" Vasco asked, wiping the blood from his lips. "Yes," Dimitra replied. "We are beasts, yes, but we are also more. To survive, you must embrace both sides of your nature. Deny one, and you will fall." She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his cheek. "You are of my blood, Vasco, but I do not wish to tame you. I want you to become the predator you were meant to be. Can you do that?"

Vasco met her gaze, the fire in his veins answering her unspoken challenge. "Yes," he said, his voice steady. "Good," she said with a smile, turning back toward the forest. "Then let us see how far you can go."

After the trials, Tarik and Vasco meet ab at the barn - alone. It was cloaked in moonlight, its silence broken by muffled breaths and the creak of wood. Talking between the two soon turned into a heated moment, as Tarik’s black hair fell like silk onto Vasco’s skin, curling like serpents that clung to their prey. His touch was deliberate, fingers tracing Vasco’s arm before gripping the hand clenched in the blanket, his hold commanding submission. Then came the bite—a sharp sting that sent fire through Vasco’s veins. Pain and pleasure blurred as Tarik drank deeply, his body pressing Vasco’s into the wood, each moment tightening their connection. Vasco clung to him, overwhelmed, consumed by the hunger and the unrelenting intimacy of the act.

The eventful night continues on and takes an even darker turn when Valdemar reveals his monstrous tendencies for all to see, and no one to ignore. In a horrifying display of power, he assaults a young girl named Vinia, draining her of life. The group is forced to intervene, and a brutal confrontation ensues. Valdemar’s mastery of shadows makes him a formidable opponent, and the coterie struggles to overpower him. Despite their efforts, they are left battered and shaken by the ordeal. Vasco, consumed by rage and guilt, demands justice, his fury erupting as he smashes furniture and doors in frustration. Francesco, burdened by his own sense of failure, questions his ability to lead and protect.

In the end, it is Al Nazir who takes decisive action after being confronted by Tarik. Entering Valdemar’s chambers with cold precision, he dispatches the elder vampire with ruthless efficiency. As Valdemar crumbles to dust, the group is left to confront the aftermath. A mysterious book is discovered among Valdemar’s belongings, its contents hinting at deeper conspiracies.

The group remains trapped in the foreign dungeon, their situation bleak as ever. Vasco attempts to climb the wall, searching for a way out, but slips and falls. Tarik catches him effortlessly, moving with supernatural speed. Anastasia, leaning against the wall, looks pale and weak. She quietly speaks of how Mieczyslav’s influence has changed her, her voice filled with exhaustion.

Meanwhile, Francesco focuses on his severed arm, and the atmosphere shifts. Shadows in the room seem to come alive, creeping towards him. As the torchlight dims, the shadows coil around his stump, forming a dark, spectral hand. Slowly, the shape solidifies, and skin begins to stretch across the new appendage. The others look on in silence, some in awe, others uneasy.

“You used the shadows to heal yourself,” Tarik observes, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yes,” Francesco replies with a wry grin, “I must be a natural talent.”

Vasco, ever wary, mutters, “That doesn’t look like God’s work. More like the Devil’s.”

Anastasia examines Francesco’s new hand, almost experimentally, while he admits the process left him drained and even hungrier. His unease grows as he notices his shadow moving independently, its eyes glowing faintly and its grin unsettlingly wide. He tries to communicate with this shadowy figure, to no avail.

When Vasco questions him about whom he is speaking to, Francesco denies any conversation, brushing off the strange occurrence.

The group rests uneasily. Vasco positions himself near the cell door, where a thin beam of sunlight from a knot hole falls into the room. The light scorches his chest, leaving soot-like marks on his skin and filling the air with the faint scent of burning flesh. Jolting awake, Vasco quickly pulls Anastasia out of the light’s path before collapsing again.

When he wakes, Vasco describes the incident, his voice heavy with unease. “A single ray of sunlight nearly killed me.”

Anastasia, too weak to move, lies motionless, while Francesco’s hunger reaches its peak. He suddenly shouts, “I’m so hungry, I’ll tear you all apart!” His fangs are fully extended, and his monstrous appearance alarms Vasco, who crosses himself and mutters a prayer.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Francesco bends the iron bars of the cell door with his bare hands, revealing a glimpse of his newfound strength.

Rafael de Corazon and three nameless knights arrive soon after, interrupting their escape. Among them is a stoic female knight. Rafael surveys the fledglings, acknowledging their struggles with a mix of condescension and grudging patience.

He explains the clans, or “bloodlines,” they belong to. Francesco, it seems, is of Clan Lasombra, known for controlling shadows and wielding authority from the darkness. Anastasia is identified as a Tzimisce, tied to the earth and capable of reshaping flesh. Tarik’s sharp instincts and reactions mark him as likely from the Assamite or Gangrel clans, and Vasco is revealed to have traits aligning with the Gangrel, especially his heightened senses and the claws he manifested earlier.

Rafael warns them of their new instincts, explaining the concept of the “Beast” within them: the insatiable hunger for blood and its corrupting influence. “To give in completely,” he says sternly, “is to become a monster in every sense.”

Later, the group is offered a choice by Lord Hardestadt himself. They can either serve him by uncovering the plans of the conspirators gathering in northern Italy or face the sun’s fatal light. Francesco, speaking boldly, negotiates to serve not as slaves but as agents seeking to prove their worth. Rafael supports their cause, vouching for their potential.

Hardestadt reveals their mission: infiltrate the gathering of Kainites led by Count Giovanni and uncover their plans. The task is fraught with danger, but it is their chance to survive and gain a place in vampire society. Hardestadt stresses the importance of secrecy, advocating for vampires to rule from the shadows, hidden from humanity’s view.

Each member of the group is given a room and basic supplies to recover and prepare for the task ahead. In private moments, they begin to grapple with their new existence. Vasco experiments with his sharpened senses and claws. Tarik reflects on his homeland's harsh punishments for crime while bathing. Anastasia writes letters to her family, though they remain undelivered. Francesco’s hunger gets the better of him, and he drinks from a servant, accidentally killing him. The Nosferatu Josef von Bauren appears, offering cryptic advice about concealing evidence of their actions and hinting at the many dangers of their new existence.

The next evening, the fledglings are taught to hunt. Rafael explains the art of feeding, emphasizing restraint and the need to avoid killing humans unnecessarily. Vasco feeds first, observed by the others. Despite initial hesitation, the act is curiously intimate, and the group begins to see how their feeding can leave humans not only unharmed but oddly blissful. Still, Tarik reflects grimly, “We’ve become creatures built to kill.”

“We don’t need to kill to survive,” Vasco counters.

Anastasia, ever pragmatic, replies, “Better a wolf than a lamb.”

As they prepare for their mission, the group tests the limits of their newfound abilities and gathers information about their target. They learn that Giovanni’s forces have been gathering in northern Italy and are likely planning something significant. Tensions grow when Tarik receives his weapons back, using them as a small comfort amidst the chaos.

Their journey is interrupted by an ambush on the road, forcing the fledglings to act together to dispatch their attackers, a mix of soldiers and mercenaries. Tarik and Francesco feed during the fight, and one of the attackers reveals they were hired by Lothar von Stablach to stop anyone from passing through.

As the evening progresses, each guest takes a turn introducing themselves to the group, their voices a blend of haughty elegance and veiled intent. The host, Count Claudius Giovanni, excuses himself with a gracious bow, leaving the characters to mingle with the enigmatic assembly.

Count Leopold Valdemar, a severe man of noble bearing, beckons Francesco to his side. A whisper passes between them before Valdemar calls a servant to attend. His tone sharpens as he inquires, “What punishment would you deem fitting for such a neglient subject?” Francesco hesitates, suggesting a mere three days of hunger. Valdemar scoffs, producing a riding crop from his coat. “I favor a more direct approach,” he murmurs, offering it to Francesco. Reluctantly, Francesco follows the count as they leave the dining table.

Meanwhile, Lady Dimitra approaches Vasco, her piercing gaze unsettling yet magnetic. “Your scent is... distinct,” she remarks. Vasco explains his life as a shepherd, his closeness to animals. Intrigued, she invites him to the rooftop for a moment of solitude. Under the moonlight, she tilts her head to the sky. “Have you ever howled at the moon, as the wolves do? There is nothing more liberating. Go on, try it. I’ll join you.” Together, their howls echo into the night, answered by distant cries from the forest below. Vasco feels a strange exhilaration, his heart pounding as if awakened to some primal call.

Anastasia finds herself seated beside Voivode Mieczyslav, a man with a stoic demeanor and a distinct air of curiosity. Their conversation drifts to medicine, and Anastasia speaks passionately of her studies in Salerno. The Voivode listens intently, his interest piqued when she describes her fascination with human anatomy. “I noticed your attempt to take Giovanni’s pulse,” he observes. “Curious, isn’t it, that a man like him stands before us at all? A marvel of science, no doubt.” Anastasia responds with measured words, though unease lingers in her thoughts.

Elsewhere, Tarik moves with quiet intent, finding his way into a private sitting room. A lock clicks under his deft hands, but before he can explore further, Prince Bajazet Al Nazir materializes in the doorway. His voice is low, almost amused. “Shall we play a game, thief? I will grant you one hour to kill me. Should you fail, the next hour will be mine to return the favor.”

Below, in the shadowed depths of the cellar, Francesco accompanies Valdemar into a chamber of horrors. A servant is bound, stripped to the waist, trembling under Valdemar’s cold gaze. The riding crop passes into Francesco’s hands. “Do it,” Valdemar commands, his voice an unyielding echo in the stone chamber. Francesco obeys, though revulsion twists in his gut. The servant’s cries reverberate as Valdemar reveals the man’s true identity—a spy sent to infiltrate their circle. The punishment escalates as the man is stretched on a rack, his screams culminating in a confession. Valdemar concludes the grim scene by sealing the spy within an iron maiden, leaving no trace of mercy.

Back on the rooftop, Lady Dimitra’s laughter is light as air, but her eyes gleam with something feral. Vasco, emboldened by her presence, agrees to a game of knife-throwing. Each throw edges closer to something more dangerous, more intimate.

Anastasia’s evening takes a macabre turn as Mieczyslav leads her through the estate. His fascination with anatomy extends to a strange experiment. “Let me show you something remarkable,” he says, guiding her to an elaborate taxidermy of a wolf. The demonstration becomes personal as he manipulates her legs, invoking an otherworldly transformation. Pain sears through her as her bones shift unnaturally. “A family trick,” he says with a grim smile. Anastasia staggers, struggling to adapt to this grotesque alteration, but he reassures her, offering to document the experiment for posterity.

Downstairs, tension thickens as Tarik sets fire to a tapestry bearing the Giovanni crest. Vasco, ever watchful, extinguishes the flame while Tarik slips away with a stolen sandglass. But his escape is thwarted by Bajazet, who looms in the kitchen doorway. “Now that you’ve lost track of time, your failure is inevitable,” the prince intones with chilling certainty.

The night spirals into chaos as the gathering takes a dark turn. Guests are fitted with collars, and the true nature of the event is revealed. The Count’s chilling toast rings out: “Let us celebrate our shared destiny. Drink deeply and embrace the future we will carve together.” Anastasia is the first to endure the ritual, the spigot of a cask driven into her neck as blood is drained from her body. Others follow, their life essence offered in macabre communion.

An ominous warning disrupts the feast—a guard bursts in, shouting, “Lord Hardestadt and his men are here!” Panic spreads, and commands are issued. “Stall them. Fight to buy us time!” Count Giovanni orders, as chaos erupts. The group gets fed on blood by their respective Sires.

The night concludes in disarray. Vasco is mutilated in a desperate struggle, losing an arm. Tarik is impaled by a knight’s blade. Anastasia and Francesco are subdued and shackled. All are thrown into a carriage bound for an uncertain fate, their humanity stripped away, replaced with the insatiable thirst of the damned.

In the cold, damp confines of a dungeon, the weight of their fate becomes apparent. Chains bind their wrists, the iron biting into their flesh as despair mingles with the faint, lingering scent of blood. Tarik stirs, thirst clawing at his throat, overwhelming and relentless. Anastasia, ever curious, reaches out to Francesco, seeking a pulse—only to find none. A debate brews among them, their voices hushed yet tinged with panic. Anastasia displays her altered legs, the grotesque gift left by Mieczyslav. “This… this is his work,” she murmurs. Tarik’s voice cuts through the discussion. “What have we become?” he asks, his words more accusation than question.

A shadowy figure steps forward, addressing them in a voice both commanding and weary. “You are no longer human. You are Kindred—creatures of the night. Call yourselves demons or vampires, but our kind knows us simply as the Children of Cain.” The group listens in grim silence as the stranger explains their new reality. Sunlight and fire are their greatest enemies. Their hunger for blood will gnaw at their will, threatening to erase their humanity. “You have a choice,” he states with finality. “Accept your condition, learn to wield it—or end your suffering by stepping into the sun.”

The stranger gestures to Francesco’s missing arm. “It will return, in time, with focus. You have powers now, strengths beyond human comprehension. But with these gifts come curses.” The words settle heavily, and Tarik, unable to hold back, lunges at Francesco in anger when he suggests their only sustenance will come from blood. Francesco deftly overpowers him, leaving Tarik slumped in frustration.

As they struggle with the implications of their transformation, Anastasia strokes Vasco’s back, feeling fur. Vasco recounts his eerie moonlit howl with Lady Dimitra, his voice trembling. “She awakened something in me,” he admits. “Perhaps… perhaps I will become like her.”

A faint sense of resolve begins to form among the group. Francesco speaks softly, his voice a thread of reason amidst the chaos. “We’ve been thrown into this nightmare, but perhaps it’s not without purpose. We must find the ones who orchestrated this - these conspirators.” Anastasia lifts her head, her voice steady. “Then we must be ready. Whatever comes, we will uncover the truth.”