One of my more enthusiastic players decided that he wanted to play a vampire this year. Now, since I didn’t have Heroes of the Shadow handy at the time, I told him that he’ll begin the game as a mortal and we’ll role-play his transformation when the book returns to me.
Today presented itself with a wonderful opportunity to make his vampirization memorable. The group is currently engaged in a mission to steal the home stone of an opposing city which they managed to infiltrate after the hero d'jour managed to get a hold of enemy uniform and impersonate a slain officer. The rest of the group posed as his prisoners, except for the shardmind, who posed as his bold choice of internal decoration.
After dark, he was to secretly release them, unwrap the shardmind and go on a commando mission to steal the home stone. He failed to take into account one thing. Namely, that I’m an ‘orrible bastard.
A few minutes shy of midnight, just as he was preparing to leave, there was a knock on his door and a pleasant young man came in and started talking with our hero. Soon, the player had realized that the young man was the son of a man who participated in a secret mission with the player’s current assumed persona. That officer was the only man to return alive... with the others’ equipment. Then came the inevitable question, “did you murder my father just for the money, or there were other reasons?”
Then came a bad Diplomacy roll.
Then came the young man’s seven brothers, daggers flashing in their hands, their knuckles white with cold rage.
Then came eight stabs by eight fighters who didn’t spare their daily powers.
Then came oblivion.
Half-dreaming, half-dying, the dying PC remembered being dragged by the brothers to an abandoned garbage dump where an open coffin awaited him. “Tell your excuses to earthworms and dust, traitor,” they said before they nailed the lid shut and earth started pouring on the coffin. This is not a situation one can escape... alive.
The rest of the group, meanwhile, waited and waited and waited until a most terrible realization downed on them – no one was going to release them. The plan had failed spectacularly and they were now truly stranded in a POW camp without weapons, allies or even precise knowledge of their location.
All hope now lies in the hand of an extremely bold choice of internal decoration gathering dust in a warehouse and a dead man whose black blood is now pumped by madness and hate as his claws his way from a cold, damp grave.
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