Strahd 7: Resurrection (Or Matt's an idiot and he ****** this up, badly)

In a land plucked from time and space, surrounded by a fog that lets not escape. Be wary every adventure for the dangers hidden in every corner. To the castle you must go to throw an ancient evil on your own. But cautious. He knows you're coming. He smells the flesh blood. You're carrier. Trust no one in this land of twilight and you might survive to see true sunlight against all odds. If you prevail. Heroes true, they will sing of you to end your tale. But if you fall heavenly, your soul is now trapped high atop a mountain peak.

Sits right on loft key. It's grand old doors open for you. An invitation so tarry not. There should be no delay. The Master awaits you this death. Welcome Lords, ladies, nobles, and serves. Prepare your spirits to be marred as we enter the Curse of Stroud.

Hello and welcome to a complete fuck up. More so than normal. Like a lot more. You see the problem with being an idiot is you break stuff all the time and boy did I break this. Now, as you all know, I am a feckless old man who doesn't know what he is doing. Despite this, I'm responsible for recovering and editing the whole show. And therein lies the problem. I don't know what I'm doing. How about the episode I added? I added the music, I added the intro. The whole thing was ready to render and then gone.

Like completely erased from history. Sam says that Thanos must have snapped it. I wonder if playing Civilization at the same time may have caused an issue. In fact, wait, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

My sieve game has gone too. What the fuck?

Right? Anyway, it was I Oh yeah, I fucked up big time. But that's OK, because I edited the thing so large parts of the show, I see it into my mind. So instead of your regularly scheduled DND live play, allow me to recite an exact recounting of what's been lost. So I just started a game as November and Zynga, our marathon deity. I like long games and I love this vibe. So yeah, right.

We open in the graveyard the Chapel of Groovia. The devilishly handsome dwarf and paladin have won. Danko has just finished digging a grave for the Burger Master. The task complete, he thrust his shovel into the dirt and lent upon it, reclining slightly. Despite his dwarven heritage, it had been some time since Upon had needed to dig anything. He'd worked up quite a sweat despite the cold grey fog that enveloped the whole land of Peruvia, his dusty long coat having quickly discarded and the sleeves of his tunic rolled up, bunched around his elbow.

The paws in his labour allowed him to catch his breath, but the air did not cool him as much as expected. The fog roiled and swirled around the hilltop. Chapel hit. The air felt still as a tomb and no less foreboding. Yvonne cast a glance down at the town, at the foot of the hill, then up at the bell tower of the Chapel. A stone carving of a sunburst that dawned the tower's face, but it was weathered and chipped. Deep gouges and scorch marks detailed years of ferocious yet futile attacks from the Devil's Strad.

It felt so wrong. The Dawn Father seemed to have truly abandoned this place. Little wonder the revelation the one of Strad's spawn dwelleth beneath the Chapel did little to encourage of funds hopes for Perovia's salvation. He took a deep sigh, still watching the tower, and uttered a prayer to his God. Dawn. Father, I need guidance. I feel I'm out of my depth. The devil's Strat controls all in this land. The people seem not to know your name. There is a mourning Lord, but he seems to have no power here.

In fact, the priest here keeps devil's spawn, vampire spawn directly beneath the Chapel. The spawn is the priest's son. I do not wish to act for Ashley, but I fear this is having a corrupting influence on this land. Please, I need guidance. His prayers had barely left his lips when a booming voice filled his mind. Javon could almost feel flames burning him from the inside out as the voice rasped against his consciousness. No right to be afraid and question the priest. Cleanse my church, slay the boy.

The raging fires that consumed upon dissipated as suddenly as they had arisen. He had an answer. He didn't like it. The torn father was rarely so direct. Even rarer still, it was a verbal response. I wanted to always sword to God's guidance, but expected a less verbal response. Usually his Lord of the Sons influence worked in more mysterious ways. A sudden gut feeling or an illuminating shaft of light, a direct order to kill was unusual enough that if all began to doubt the replying voice in his mind, though the thought sent a shutter down his spine that said he'd requested instruction.

That is what he got if one hauled himself out of the deep square pit he had dug and headed back to the church, picking up his coat as he departed. The doors to the Chapel groaned in protest as Yvonne pushed the movement. Too many years and not enough use, Yvonne thought to himself, discouraged by the observation. The Chapel was a dismal space, not at all what Yvonne had expected. Roof shingles lifted the floor, revealing large holes in the roof which allowed puddles to spread over the cracked flagstone floor.

Will be Shady's mangled corpse lay on the floor directly before the altar. The priest Dornovich prostrated himself by the older wailing and mumbling and wailing again in distressing fashion. Malice was in the corner, talking softly to a statue, but it lost his nose in both hands. Yvonne shrugged at his companion's misfortune. In days gone, he might have found the site humorous. However, despite Dornovich's offer to remove the curse that had afflicted Malice, the whole scenario rested uneasily. The ease with which Strad and his minions could debilitate or even kill was terrifying.

The priest didn't stop his lamentations as Yvonne approached. Yvonne waited patiently for a moment before placing a firm hand on Donovich's Bony shoulder, clearing his throat. Father Donovich, that I have some questions. The old man's wild eyes bore into Ivan. They were the only part of the priest that seemed lively. His frail body, Greg skin betrayed A weathered old man, but his eyes betrayed the truth beneath. He was a manic, panicked lunatic with no grasp on the seriousness of his failings or the danger he kept in his home.

Despite that, he nodded to Ivan and raised the hand toward the door. You wish to discuss my son? Yes, please. Maybe we should sit outside with this. The bone shrugged. Sure, it makes a little difference to me, though. He turned to face the altar, which was stained by ancient wax. Such discussion is probably indeed best had away from our Lord. The priest hadn't waited to hear Yvonne's response and already reached the exit. Yvonne hurried after him. He shot a glance at Malice, who is still deep in conversation with a wall, then headed outside.

The priest had slumped down onto the doorstep and was running his hand through his greasy, wild hair. Ivan eased down next to him. For a moment, they quietly watched the pale yellow lights of her over here in the distance, through the fog. Ivan cleared his throat. Father Dornovich, I need to know what happened to your son. Perhaps there's a way I can help him. Dornovich shook his head. He's a monster. He is one of them. You're struggling, you cannot help him. He begs for me to let him feed, but I can't.

I can't kill my son, but I can't let him live. And one purse his lips. He wondered briefly how nice he should be before deciding not to hide anything. Maybe the desperation of the situation when it's by the priest to help. I prayed to the Dawn Father for guidance. Now I asked what to do, but the door. He told me to kill your boy. Dornovich's wild eyes shot a panicked look at Yvonne. His expression seemed initially doubtful, but Yvonne, stern face in the silver handle of the firearm at his side, implied he may be more formidable than the locals.

The priest's face changed from panic to desperate concern. Please, you can't hurt my boy, and I do not intend to. If I can help your boy, I will. Strad turned him. I may be able to save him, but defeating Strad? That is why the Dawn father sent me, after all. However, I need to know what happened. Dornevich turned sharply away, his shoulders slumping. I know not the exact details of what happened to my son. He left with the wizard, but when he returned, he'd become a monster. I locked him in the cellar here and lost the key.

You lost the key to your son's cell? Manus chimed, shocking both men on the step. How do you feed him? She had followed their voices to the doorway and was now looking almost that direction. Dorovich caught his breath and narrowed his eyes. I can't feed him. He is health spawn. He seeks innocent blood. You could feed him a rat or something. Mala shrugged. I will let him waste away down there. I should you. Dorovich snapped, his back straightened as he regarded Mala moving at his side, drew his attention to Yvonne who was rising to his feet.

Priest grabbed at Yvonne's hand pleadingly and failed to get proper purchase. His weak hands flared at the dwarf who watched him with pitiful eyes for a moment before turning slowly back towards the Chapel. He paused before entering the building, placed a hand on dawn of his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I will not hurt your boy unless absolutely necessary. No swear. His hand slipped from Dorovich's tattered vestments and he disappeared back into the gloomy Chapel, guiding Malice as he went.

The cell containing Dora it was easy enough to find. The blood curdling moans and wailing emitting from the door echoed around the church, souring the already dour mood of the place. Ivana Malice entered the small office, which contained little more than a rough wooden desk and many shards of glass. From the shattered windows in the corner, a heavy looking track door had been chained shut. However, with every lament, the rod from below the door trembled in place. Jingling the chains, Ivonne described the room to Malice spondently.

He was weighing up whether he thought his gun would be able to blast the chunky iron lock off the door when Malice excitedly requested to be shown to the lock. Carefully, Ivonne did so, gingerly lowering his companion down to the door. Once in place, Malice reached for a pouch on her belt and retrieved 2 thin slivers of metal. She asked Aman to guide her hands to the lock, which he did. A smug grin cracked Malice's usually stirring countenance as she slipped her lock back into the door. You see.

She explained carefully. Picking locks doesn't require sight, it's all about feeling. The lock clicked open as she finished her statement, and she giggled childishly to herself. And, one had to admit to himself, he was impressed by Malice's skill. The hinges on the trap door were rusty, and they protested loudly, and being opened for the first time in who knew how long. Beneath the door was a set of wooden steps which led off into the dark. Just out of sight, however, was another door. This one was not locked, however.

A stout beam crossed the frame, keeping the door in place. Yvonne was relieved to see that this beam appeared to be the only thing in the entire Chapel which had stood the test of time. He lifted the bar out of his setting, placed it lightly on the ground. He politely asked to take Malice's hand, then placed it on the iron ring door handle. Do not let go of this. He insisted. Malice nodded, didn't hold the door open. The cellar wasn't as dark as expected. The cracks in the floor above allowed shocks of light through which lit up the dust which swirled and settled on the dirt floor.

In the centre of the room crashed a gaunt figure, it's knees tucked into his chest. His back was turned, but one yellow eye washed Ivan as he shuffled in. Doru. Doru rose to his feet and faced Ivan. Father. No, you're not Father, where is he? He took a step towards the door but noticed malice behind Yvonne. He shrank into the corner and covered his face. Why are you here? He shrieked. We, I have been sent by your father to help you. Dora, my name is. You can't help me. Dora snapped. The only one who can undo this is Strad.

Strad didst to you. Everyone chided. The only way I know if one do his curse is to defeat him. Perhaps you can help me do that. His tone softened. He took a step closer to the creature in the corner. Dora's arms shifted, allowing him to look Yvonne in the eye once more. No one can defeat the Devil. I went with the wizard. Strat captured me, turned me into this, but I escaped. I came home. Father locked me in here so the Strat wouldn't find me. But he knows I'm here. He. Dora's eyes winded. What wizard?

Yvonne asked curiously. Rather than answer, Dora dropped to his knees, cutting his head. He wailed and slammed his face into the ground. His arms flared as he threw himself to the dirt and writhed. And anguish. What the fuck? Malice yelped, unable to see what was happening. What is wrong with Zora? Ivon called over the spawn's cries. Our Dora rose to his feet and let out a staggered breath. If Walt, he's here. Who? Yvonne demanded, confused. A sick grin crept across Dora's face as his eyes lit up.

Strut Well had been coming through fog for what felt like eternity when he suddenly slammed into ground. Was it the ground Looking around or we could see was blackness. Then he heard a Yelp. He spun on his heels as a ball of light darted past, then returned and danced around his feet, bouncing and yelping. Matchstick. Then in a flash, the duck was gone, and Will was in a Chapel. On the ground at his feet was him and his corpse anyway, and a manic laugh that filled the air for a moment before a puff of smoke exploded across the altar from Will.

Where is Matchstick, who demanded stride, cocked an eyebrow, then barked an icy laugh. He was new. But you'll never get them back. You don't take my offer. I want my dog fine. Stride shrugged. All you have to do is kill the holy man, that's all. Stride laughed. You tried lying before, remember? You're tricky. I like that. I can use that. You will become my thrall, and you will kill the holy man. Do this and you will have endless power and riches. Will thought about it for a moment. No one told him what to do ever, but Strad was offering to give Matchstick back.

He shrugged. Fine. Strad opened his mouth to make a counter argument, but his mouth hung open as it dawned on him how quickly he had won. He snapped his fanged mouth to a shark like grin. Excellent. Strad raised his right hand, then with his left he tore open the vein in his wrist. Blood sprayed into the air for a moment, and then he offered his Crimson soaked hand to will. Door strode towards Yvonne, laughing maniacally. He's here, you falls, he found me, he's he's here. He cackled. The spawn stumbled and fell to his knees.

He flicked his gaze. Yvonne. He was frantically backing up the door now, then started clawing his way through the dirt. Yvonne darted for the door, calling for Malice to slam it shut, which he did if one whirled round, grabbed a wooden bar from the ground, and slotted it into place. He barely let go of the beam with the door rocked almost off of his hinges, but held firm. What happened? Malice inquired. A blood curdling scream reverberated down the stairway from the direction of the Chapel. If one grasped Malice's hand, the croak in his voice betrayed his fear.

Strat is here. They barreled up the stairs and into the Chapel. There they saw Will's body floating above the altar on a cloud of black fog. The ghostly gateway formed in the fog, revealing a pit of fire which licked out into the Chapel. Will's body rotated slowly in the clouds as a finger of fire leapt from a gateway and landed in his chest. An evil cackle of laughter echoed around the Chapel as the fog suddenly dispersed and Will's body gently lower to the ground. Then Will's eyes popped open.

Tada, He cheered, raising his hand in celebration. What happened? Malice asked honestly. Yvonne croaked. I'm not familiar with the type of thing I'm seeing. Will hop to his feet, still spying. You guys happy to see me, is that Will? Malice squeaked in surprise by everyone spotted, cautiously crossed the Chapel to Will and prodded him in the arm. Will, it's not really you. Yep, but how I figured it out. It was a door, and I left, and no thanks to you guys. We von glanced over his shoulder. Dornovich was here too, fixed in place by fear what he had witnessed.

He had a Bony finger raised at Will when an expression of terror frozen on his face. We were working on it. He turned back to Will, whose eyes had glazed over. Yvonne shook the gnome gently. Will, is everything OK? His eyes flashed red. Fangs burst from the top of his mouth. And he'd lunged, Dornevich shoving up onto the ground Will close the gap between himself and the priest quickly, and he launched himself with the holy man's throat, latching on with his jaws, sinking his fangs in deep. Dornevich flailed around but regained his composure, tucking at Will, who tore his face away from the victim's neck, ripping a chunk of flesh out.

He leapt down from the priest and spat out the fleshy, bloody lump as he wiped his mouth. He was only dimly aware of everyone's screams as his hunger died. Before he knew it, it was being thrown across the Chapel and which screamed of rage and fear. Everyone was shakily pointing his gun in Will's face. What the fuck is happening, Will? What are you? If one managed to choke out Will Shroud. I'm me. Why? Oh shit, are you OK? He approached Dornovich, placed a hand on the wound on his neck. The only man flailed his arms and tried to retreat, but he was weak now.

Healing magic spread across the gaping, spurting hole in his neck, slowly knitting it back together. Oh bear. Sorry about that, Will. If I'm Ballard, unhand him. He raised his gun and pulled the hammer back with his thumb. We'll let go and raise his hands. Look, I know biting him probably look bad, but I healed him again, see? He gestured to Dornovich's repaired throat. See, I might be a vampire now. I'm not an asshole. Dornovich scrapped to his feet and began ushering everyone else out. Get out, get out, you are not welcome here.

Amidst their protest, the trailer were pushed out of the church door, which slammed behind them. What was his fucking problem? Will mused. Wait. Malice hopped. Does this mean he's not going to heal my sight now? Shit. Will cried. I left mash stick in there and that's all I remember. If it's terrible, it's because I was both angry and drunk when I wrote this and recorded it. It's currently 5:20 in the morning because I couldn't sleep and I'm in the Gurudio, which is freezing fucking cold, and I'm using the light of the laptop to read this by because there's no proper lighting out here.

But yeah, that's that's that's more or less what happened in the episode. I think I may have skipped a little bit, but for now that will do So sorry. I'll try and get it right next week. I really I will. In the meantime, like rate subscribe sendsusanemailits609-d&[email protected]. Hit us up on Instagram AT-609-D and D and yeah, that's kind of it now I think. Bye.

Jesus Christ, my head writing is terrible.

Strahd 7: Resurrection (Or Matt's an idiot and he ****** this up, badly)

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