Oh, man, did they ever get this place down…
Mist is everywhere…the Mists of Ravenloft, the emissaries of the corrupting Dark Powers. Trees are dark and wilting, matching the dilapidated village houses. You swear you’re being watched. Knowing as much as you do about this plane, you’re positive about it. The very air feels thick with evil.
“Jesus,” Emily whispers.
John gulps. “Somehow, I doubt he’s here.”
“S’cuse me, I must’ve missed something,” Ally huffs. “Wasn’t this supposed to be an AMUSEMENT park?”
You smirk. “Aren’t you amused?” Flippantly, you turn and begin your trek inside. “C’mon, let’s check this place out!”
John shakes his head. “Creepy.”
“Like you imagined, DM?” Emily smiles, adjusting her thin glasses. “Now you know how we felt in your campaigns.”
“Nope. Never thought like this before.”
“Liar. All Dm’s think like evil.” Ally crosses her arms in defiance. “Guess I’ve gotta find my own fun.”
You all progress through the shanty town, taking in the cold ambiance. The few people you encounter shy away from you, though you can not tell if it is in fear. You idly wonder if the gypsy Vistani will put in an appearance, or perhaps the master vampire Strahd, when a hand touches your shoulder.
“Shit!” You nearly jump out of your skin. Ally’s giggling relieves and irritates you.
“Chill out, and check out,” she grins, holding up her right hand to reveal a silver necklace, bearing a single ruby at its center. “Souvenir.”
Your eyes widen. “Yeah, it looks nice. Where’d…” You suddenly recall Ally’s preferred character class, stemming from her real-life tendencies.
“Dammit, Ally, why’d you do that?” Your compatriots join you in their stern glances.
She scoffs. “Cause I can! Not like they need it more than me, anyway. I don’t need you losers giving me a fu…”
The wind chills suddenly, brushing its way past John, Emily, and you. Ally seems to take the brunt of the sheer.
“No way,” Emily mutters. “Couldn’t be.”
You’re afraid to admit what she’s thinking. The strange wind ends suddenly, leaving Ally bewildered. She flexes her left hand idly, wincing in pain. You remember she’s left-handed, and most likely used that hand to boost the necklace.
“The Dark Powers,” John whispers. “I’ve used that breeze too often to mistake it.”
Ally’s eyes widen, quivering as she begins inspecting her hand. The tanned flesh pulsates, expanding and stretching as her polished red nails begin tapering to points. It pulls tightly against bone, an underlying framework that seems to be slowly losing definition within the lengthening digits.
The offender of the Dark Powers screams. Everyone else is not far behind.
“The Dark Powers can’t be real! They just can’t!” Emily is in near hysterics, clutching to John for support. Failed her Horror Check, you think.
In seconds, the transformation ends. Ally’s left hand now bears 10 inch-long gray fingers, like dried-out tendrils, tipped with wicked claws. Tiny suction cups adorn the undersides of her flexible digits. Experimentally, she curls the fingers around and flattens her hand, displaying the new ease she enjoys in squeezing into tight spaces.
“Wonderful,” Ally smiles, writhing her serpentine tendrils.
You swear something about her gaze looks slightly more…evil.
You pray its imagination.