A ray of light shines through the mists, chaffing at the tiny water drops in the air; It shatters into seven hues, piercing the dull gray with bright colours.
Welcome, my rainbows in the mist!
Ravenloft isn't a tolerant place, to say the least. Life in the shadow of monsters teaches you to cling to the old and familliar. It's much easier to stay away from everything that feels 'off' than to toe the line between what's truly evil and what's simply... Queer.
But in this hell of a demiplane, some brave souls manage to break the mold and live as their true selves!
Quoth Zarovan is fleeing his clan to try and do this - but will he manage to change the fate assigned to him at birth?
Arthur Sedgewick & Alanik Ray are tracking a dangerous shapeshifter to avenge a victim that doesn't seem to exist - but will they finally solve the mystery of their hearts?
Adira Sceptre is trying to believe she isn't as damned as the undead she hunts, no matter how much she looks like them. But can she battle both the vampiress preying on the lesbians of Nova Vassa and her inner demons?
And at last - between the cracking of their egg, the awakening of their monstrous powers and 11th grade's finals, Lucy 'Liko' Colins is a very confused teenager. They know they should just 'be themself', but what does that even mean when 'yourself' keeps changing?
If only they could skip all the mess and be someone else, someone who already figured it out...
Join them in this thrilling series centered around LGBTQ+ heroes in the demiplanes of dread.
I can't promise I'll write everything, cause time, but I'm aspiring to:
< 4 fanfics as detailed above
< 6 character sheets you can use as NPCs or as starting points for your PCs
< 1 cursed item.
The first story will be posted tommorrow, on June 1st, and I hope you'll enjoy it.
Happy Pride Month!
Rainbows in the Mist - A Pride Month Anthology
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TheArcaneWeirdo
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 736
- Joined: Wed Oct 15, 2025 1:22 pm
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- Location: Jerusalem
Rainbows in the Mist - A Pride Month Anthology
"Not all that is violet is deadly, and not all that is deadly is violet." - "S", Gaz IV, page 13.
-
TheArcaneWeirdo
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 736
- Joined: Wed Oct 15, 2025 1:22 pm
- Gender: Other
- Location: Jerusalem
Re: Rainbows in the Mist - A Pride Month Anthology
Dangers of the Sight
This incident occurred while I was on a mission to Barovia - and for once, it wasn’t to hunt a vampire. There had been reports in Immol about a strange spirit manifesting only as a pair of eyes, said to cause the disappearance of any person who looked at it. I’d seen it once between two books on a shelf in the Teodorus Archives, and was determined to track it again. Young Mr. Weathermay (“For the fifteenth time, Rudolph - just George”) had already pointed out that this fascination is likely what had lured the victims of this peculiar abberration, so we must be twice as careful with our investigation. Damned abberrations. Undead are dangerous enough, but the clearer you see their powers and limitations, the safer you are. With aberrations, the sight itself might be the greatest danger, for to truly understand them, you must cross to the other side of the unfathomable abyss between us and them - and once you do, when you look back to the humanoid side - even assuming you retain your life and sanity long enough to do so - it will be the unknowable one.
We were eating dinner in the Bolting Stag - or, rather, George and Markil ate. I was too distracted by the mystery ahead of us to think of base matters such as food - after our second, mostly fruitless day in the town. We’ve gathered five testimonies of sights of the monster, but we couldn’t find a clue as to where its lair might be, or what is it up to.
“All victims so far were Thaani.” I pointed out. “This might have something to do with their Bluestpurian heritage. But it could easily be a matter of probability: they make about half of the population here.”
“Do you have Thaani blood?” George asked.
“Frankly, I have no idea.” I sighed. He laughed for a moment, then realised my seriousness.
“But surly an educated man such as yourself would know his own ancestry!” The young man seemed shocked.
“Darkon is an immigrant country, and we rarely remember our roots.” I shrugged, and watched the Mordentish struggling to wrap his head around the concept.
“It… It means that as far as we know, your great-grandfather could have been anyone?” He stared at me, wide-eyed. “Like, he could have been Kartakan? Lamordian? Even a Vistani?”
“Loas, it’d explain so much if Dolf was part-Vistani.” Markil smirked. “I read somewha that people usually have somewha down their bloodline the group they’re most racist to.”
I took a long breath and tried to respond to the accusation calmly.
“First thing first, if you started reading articles in your free time - more power to you.” I said with no little pride. When the Souragnien kid first joined us, I fought tooth and nail to convince him that written language was even worth learning. It just wasn’t in his lexicon (no pun intended): His friends couldn’t read, his parents couldn’t read, his Nana couldn’t read - he wasn’t sure even his plantation owner could read - and they were doing fine, so it never occurred to him it might be a valuable skill. It took me two months until he let me teach him the letters, and three more till he could read whole paragraphs. Within seven he was helping the team with research, and now, after less than a year, he was reading out of his own volition. “Second, I am not racist. I don’t see the Vistani as an inferior race. My problem is with their culture and value system.”
“Potato potato.”
“What do potatoes have to do with it?”
“I’m not sure either, but you really should try them.” George pointed at my plate. “They’re amazing, especially with the sausage.”
“We’re straying off the topic.”
“We already had. My original point was that you’re this thing’s next target. You’re getting obsessed - “
“Since when I’m not?”
“This time it’s worse. You haven’t eaten all day, Dolf. Usually you’re the one reminding us to take care of ourselves even during the stress of a hunt.”
“And my point is that I can’t see how hatin’ people based on cultah is bettah than hatin’ them based on race.”
“Culture is a choice, race isn’t.” I glanced at a Nova Vassan merchant who was sitting at the bar. “See that man. I wouldn’t hate him simply because he’s Vassi - there’s no reason to, and even if there was, it would be unfair: You can’t blame a man for the parents he was born to. However, if I knew that man was among the faithful of the Lawgiver, then I might have something against him, because it’s within his choice whether or not to support a religion that actively encourages tyranny.”
“Do the Vistani actively encourage tyranny?”
“They serve Strahd.”
“Doesn’t mean they like it.”
“Which makes it even worse. It’s one thing to be misled by your master, and another thing to know in your heart that a deed is wrong and still do it.”
“But,” Markil insisted, “You wouldn’t avoid talkin’ to the Vassi guy. Not if he knew somethin’ we need to find out.”
“What is your intent?”
“Ma intent, Dolf, is that a bunch of those gypsies made camp outside the village this afternoon. Prob’ly still there. If we can’t find this reverse beholdah ourselves - “
“ - Reverse beholder?”
“ - A beholdah kills ye by lookin’ at ye. That thing kills ye when ye look at it.” He explained. “I mean, if anyone can find somethin’ like that, it’s a seer.”
“Well…” I sighed. “I think we just need to find the pattern. If we don’t make any progress by tomorrow - “
“ - Another innocent villager could disappear.” George said coldly. “ I agree with Markil. We should take all the help we can get.”
I considered telling them to go find the camp themselves, but knew this would be unwise: The first rule of monster-hunting is to never split the party.
“Tomorrow morning, then.” I said finally. “I want a good night’s sleep tonight, the doom prophecies can wait a few hours. Just to show you two I’m not more obsessed than usually.”
George made the jesture commonly known by kids these days as ‘face-palm’.
“And anyway,” I added, “This whole argument might prove pointless. If the Vistani want to be found, rest assured that they’ll find us first.”
And one of them had.
Sooner than even I was expecting.
I opened the door to our bedroom, expecting a quiet night of recovery before the next stage of our operation, only to find someone was already there. A boy of fourteen or so, slight of frame, with round face, tan skin, dark green eyes and flaming red hair, wearing oversized brown cloths, was sitting on one of the beds.
“Hello, Dr. Van Richten!” I could see the anxiety behind his smile. “You can call me Quoth. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I stared blankly at the youth who broke into our room, knew my name and shared his own with a raven.
“Shauten let me in.” He answered my unspoken question. Mists, the mage was getting more and more mysterious lately. Half the time he was on side-quests of his own, and wouldn’t tell me where he was going. If only I knew what’s on his mind! “I see he didn’t tell you.”
“We have not seen him since morning.” I confirmed. “Do you know where he went?”
“I met him near the lake. He led me here, bought me lunch and told me I can stay with you for now, then left.” Quoth explained. “He said nothing as to where he’s going. I guess I could try to divinate, but it didn’t seem like my business. I’m sorry for burdening you, good men, but I have no where else to go.”
Wait. I thought. Divinate. This could mean one thing.
“It’s alright, alright. No burden at all.” I shook my head. No matter how much I dislike the Vistani, it’s not my custom to refuse aid to innocent teenagers in distress. “May I ask what trouble you got in to? Why can’t your tribe help you?”
“They’re the trouble.” He said, then put his hand on his mouth, as if shocked by his own words. “They…” He then opened and closed his mouth a couple of times without making a sound. “Madam Eva is trying to kill me. Help. Please.” A grim chuckle burst out through his closed lips. “Now these are words no prophecy in the world could predict I’d utter! This cannot, should not, be real! Let it all be a nightmare, one I shall wake from in a moment, finding myself back in my bunk. My sister, Isabela, would try to calm my down, and I’ll tell her I’m just fine, and cousin Papusza would ask who’s the lunatic who woke up everyone screaming in the middle of the night, and my mom would come in and ask what happened, and when I tell them of it all, they’d reassure me it was merely a bad dream, this and nothing more, and will never come true…”
“That’s what we all think, the first time we’re made aware of the world’s horrors.” I found myself saying. “Let such things not be real - and if they’re real, let them not exist here and now, but only in faraway lands or eras long-forgotten - and if they exist here and now, let them not happen to me and mine. That’s what I thought, I know. But we are thus unfortunate that such horrors are real, and exist here and now, and happened to us and ours. This world of us is cruel and unfair, perhaps more so than others. But let this be a consultation to you: We - and by ‘we’ I mean even the least powerful or significant people - can make it a little less cruel and more fair.”
This seemed to encourage the poor lad. I’d seen this effect on people. The mere loss of safety is frightening, but not nearly as much as the loss of agency. Give the most broken man or woman an assurance they can still do something about the troubles they’re facing, and you’ll have them made anew.
“So… Quoth is stayin’ with us for a while?” Asked Markil the next morning. We were standing in the corridor, as Quoth asked us to stay outside while he dresses up. I would’ve expected one who grew up in tight quarters as he had to be less shy, but as it gave us hunters time for discrete discussion, we cared not.
“I guess.” I yawned. “We can’t just let those warlocks have him.”
“And you don’t - “ George lowered his voice.
“No, I don’t care he’s a vistana. As I said yesterday, I’m not ra - “
“ - think it’s a little suspicious?” He pointed at the bedroom door. “I mean, we don’t know him. We find him in our room one night. He claims Shauten let him in, but how would we know it’s true? He could be lying. Maybe he just broke in - he’d know who we are by magic. Or maybe he charmed Shauten, or tricked him in some way. And that’s assuming we trust the wizard.”
“I’d trust Shauten with my life.” I stated.
“And normally so would I, but you have to admit his behaviour was a little odd lately. Odder than usual.” He counterargued. “Anyway, even if our little friend is telling the truth, I think there’s a very important question we’re forgetting: why do they want to kill him?”
“I don’t care what stupid reason they have! It’s a kid!”
“You assume their reason is stupid.”
“And I suppose that’s racist of me?” I rolled my eyes. “To not want a child of theirs to die?”
“No, that’s just lethally foolish.” He stared me. “The Vistani do nothing without cause. They know things we don’t, and ignoring their warnings is going toe-to-toe with fate.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked. “Do you really think an entire race is dedicated to some grand scheme? And that this conspiracy must be somehow for the better, more trustworthy than the simple, intuitive conscience the Overseer gave us?” I watched him blushing. “Frankly, it sounds to me more biased than anything I ever said about the gypsies, albeit to the other direction.”
“I’m not saying we should trust them blindly.” He retreated to a more moderate stance. “But right now, we only have one side of this story. How about, we hear the other side, figure out what’s really going on here - then find a solution that doesn’t get anybody killed?”
“At the same opportunity we can ask ‘em about the reverse beholdah.” Markil suggested.
I had to admit this was a fairly logical course of action.
“The problem is how to do this without putting Quoth at risk.” I pointed out. “We can’t ask them without revealing our involvement - oh…”
We three let out a collective sigh as we realised that our involvement must already be revealed. Using secrecy against prophets is about as useless as archeological research in Dementlieu.
“He’s still in there?!” Markil stared at the closed door. “How long does it take the kid to dress up?”
George nodded. “Almost like he’s doing something he doesn’t want us to know about…”
“Please no - “
He opened the door, and immediately startled, his face redder than Hazlik’s robes.
This time it was my turn to usefully adopt the ‘face-palm’ gesture.
It wasn’t as bad as I feared. He wasn’t naked. However, he wasn’t wearing a shirt - only a tight cloth-wrapping around his chest, the sort actresses sometimes wear as costume for a male role.
“Oopsie.” Said George, covering his eyes with his hands, and by this meant ‘Wow, this is awkward. Sorry for entering the room while a fair maiden such as yourself is undressed. Mercious Ezra, please don’t let any word of this get back to Mordentshire, and especially not to my mom!’
“Oopsie.” Said Quoth, snatching his (her?) shirt from the floor, and by this meant ‘Mists, I have some explaining to do!’
“So, long story short,” Quoth explained over breakfast. “Though female in body, I’ve long suspected that I possess the soul of a boy.”
“How?” Asked George. “Did you steal it?”
The vistana rolled his eyes.
“I know it might sound weird to giorgios - “
“ - Not at all.” I shook my head. “Gender dysphoria is a well-reccorded phenomenon. The medical community is divided about it, but I’m of the opinion that it’s a natural variance, not illness or preversion. What pronouns do you prefer?”
“Ugh… He?” He shrugged. “Are there other options?”
“They, it, ey - I met once a halfling who used ‘meow’.”
“ ‘Meow’ as a pronoun?”
“The world is full of wonders.”
“Wow. Ahem. I didn’t expect you to be so cool with it.” He chuckled. “My parents weren’t, and our raunie definitely wasn’t. The moment I told her, she started muttering a curse only my sister’s pleading stopped her from finishing. That night, Isabella gave me a bag of provisions and extra clothes, and told me to run where not even Madam Eva can find me. ‘run, Quoth’ she said - the first time she ever used my chosen name, and likely the last.” His face turned more somber as he recounted the tale. “I tried fleeing into the mists, but found myself on the same side of the mountains, not a hundred feet from where I entered.”
“We found the one Vistana who can’t navigate the mists.” I tried not to laugh.
“I can’t navigate, period.” He laughed shamelessly. “No sense of direction in that brain. The joke of the clan. But that night - the night before yesternight - it wasn’t a very funny joke. I thought I’d wander aimless in the woods until some wolf decides to make a meal of me - ”
“ - It’s actually pretty rare for wolves to attack humans unprovoked. They’re more afraid of you than you’re afraid of them, in my experience.” George shrugged. “The real danger in getting lost in the woods is dying of thirst.”
“Okay… Thanks for letting me know…”
“Droppin’ random wildreness lore is George’s way of makin’ new friends.” Markil explained. “It means he likes you.”
“And Markil’s way of making new friends is embarrassing his old ones.” George mumbled.
“Anyways,” He finished, “I did have the sense to look for water. At dawn I saw a lake in the distance and went there, and that’s where I met your wizard friend, collecting herbs on the shore. He saw I was in distress, and, after hearing my story, led me to the inn. And here we are.”
“As I said, stupid reason.” I eyed George.
“My apologies for suspecting otherwise.” He stuck out his hand to Quoth, who shook it hesitantly. “Mark, are you putting sausage pieces in your mamliga?”
“It’s not spicy enough without it.”
“I don’t think mamliga is supposed to be spicy.”
“What’s the point of food if it’s not spicy?”
“To provide nu - nevermind, I won’t even argue with that.”
“Are they always like that?” Quoth whispered.
“Only when their responsible adult - me, that is - isn’t sufficiently ridiculous.” I answered. “Jokes aside, we have a serious question at hand today: On the one hand, we’re in dire need of a clue as to the whereabouts of the ‘belook’ - more catchy than ‘reverse beholder’, isn’t it? - which I reluctantly admit a seer’s reading could easily provide; On the other hand, I’d be surprised if the caravan Markil mentioned yesterday isn’t Quoth’s own clan looking for him. Thus, how can we progress with our investigation without risking our new companion?”
Quoth raised his hand. “How about I do the reading for you? I don’t have too much experience with it, but I can try.”
“I hope your Sight is better than you navigation skills.”
“First the eldest.” Quoth sat cross-legged on George’s bed and shuffled his Tarrokka deck, and I nervously approached.
“Past.” He layed out the first card. “There are more tragedies in your life than any man should suffer, and you take blame for all of them but for the one you should.”
Great way to start, huh?
“Care to tell me which one I should take the blame for?” I asked without much hope.
“Man, I can’t see that specifically!”
“I hate seers.” I sighed heavily. “You always leave out the most important part!”
“And I hate giorgio! You always get mad for us not being omniscient!” He sighed too. “It’s art, not science. I’m looking at the cards, picking up the vibes - ”
“ - Making it up as you go?” I raised an eyebrow. There weren’t that many male seers, were they? I haven’t met many of them - usually I try my best to avoid the Vistani - but the few I met were all women. Maybe only they get the power. It makes sense that such a mystical ability would be tied to one’s soul rather than body. Quoth - a boy’s soul in a girl’s body, as he defined himself - simply couldn’t develop it, yet was expected to learn how. Maybe he just… learned how to pretend? “It’s okay if you can’t do it for real. You don’t have to fake it. We all have different talents and limitations - “
“I am doing it for real. I swear to fate itself. I’m just kinda new to this…” He breathed deeply then layed out the second card. “The present. You’d seen the belook, were marked by it. You’re tied to it like a fish to a rod. You might feel the line pulling you right now. Let it pull, and you’ll surly find it - but only the help of one who had not been pulled yet can stop the hunter from becoming the prey.”
I felt the ‘line’ he was talking about. The fixation that haunted me ever since I glimpsed upon it in the library, the urge to get a better look, as if I won’t rest until I know exactly what this fleeting sight was. It almost faded in the drama of Quoth’s arrival, but now reemerged. I suddenly knew I will see this monster again, even if it will be the death of me - and that was exactly the problem.
“And now the future. That’s always the most interesting part.” He examined the third card with appreciation. “Well… You’ll start - have already started, in fact - something that will far outlive you. But it’ll only do so if you remember that the pen really is mightier than the sword. It will make sense for you soon enough.”
“Do you mean I should stop running around hunting monsters and start writing a book?” I guessed.
“Why either or when you can have both?”
“Schedueling issues.”
At that he smiled. “Being an adult sucks, huh?”
Next was George’s turn. He approached far more enthusiastically. I suspect having his fortunes told was one of the ‘adventurous’ fantasies he was entertaining long before he decided to join me in my travels.
“The past,” Quoth repeated the ceremony. “is not as gloomy as you remember it. The family you left behind loves you far more than you articulate. They’re waiting for you, and I think they’d be proud if they knew what you became.”
“If my dad loved me more than I thought, he should have shown it while I was still around.” My apprentice answered grumpily, his excitement dissolving into thin air. “And the odds he’d be proud of me for turning into an adventurer are about the same as the odds Dolf will marry your raunie.”
“Well, I never met the man, so I don’t think it’s my place to judge.” Quoth shrugged. “Some parents are just Uoverensstemmende - I should know. But if he isn’t that bad, maybe you could, I don’t know, send a letter home or something? It just seems sad…”
George seemed embarrassed, as if suddenly recalling he was talking to one who ran away from his family too - not out of spite, but for his life.
“The present.” He continued. “You’re worried that the current threat will stand between you and your mentor. Let it do so, at the right place and time.”
“I suppose that once more you know not the meaning of your own riddle?” George remarked.
“Don’t have a clue.”
“Legit.”
“And for the future,” His face grew solemn as he turned the last card. “You and Markil have critisized your mentor for his prejudice of my people. For this I’m grateful. But will you withstand the test he failed? When the horrors of the world strike close to home, will you have the strength of will to not let them in to your heart?”
George suddenly seemed very interested in his shoelaces.
“My turn now?” Markil jumped from his seat.
“Sure.” Quoth prepared to start a third line of cards, when the door was suddenly opened.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but she was quite stubborn…” The innkeeper led into the room an elderly woman wearing a hooded cloak.
“Here you are, Inza.” She said with a husky voice. “We’ve been searching for you.”
“That’s not my name.” Quoth put the cards back in his pocket and pulled himself to the side of the bed that was closer to the wall. But his voice didn’t tremble as he spoke. “My real name is Quoth. If you are to kill me, grandma, at least have the dignity to let me die as myself.”
I shivered at that last bit.
“You aren’t dying today as anything, son.” I reached for my shortsword. “Madame, I have no idea what you think you’re doing, but if you’re messing with this kid, you’re messing with Rudolph van Richten. Ever heard the name?”
“Once or twice.” She stared me down. “Go back to your vampires, giorgio. You have no idea what you think you’re are doing.”
And I suddenly felt as if I really should as she said. I really didn’t know what I was doing. This was Vistani business, the sort of business I had been trying for the majority of my life to avoid. What say do I even have here? But a wise old woman like her surely knows what should be done, and why won’t I leave this matter to her judgment?
I looked back to Quoth. There was a person here, a child, whose life was at stake. This wasn’t ‘Vistani business’ - this was a woman preferring her twisted traditions over the life of her own kin, a despicable thing in every culture, and I hope my young comrades understood it too.
“When I don’t know something, Madame, I try to find out.” I responded. “Please enlighten me, for I truly am at my wit’s end. Bigotry is all too common in these lands, unfortunately, and I admit I am not completely exempt from it; but to be so devoted to your hatred that you may harm your own kin for its sake?! Where’s the sense - be it rational, emotional or spiritual - in that?”
I saw in her eyes a glimpse of pity, or at least sorrow. But whatever it was, it was not going to stay her hand from the killing. “Can you, Van Richten, of all people, not imagine a circumstance when one must slay their own offspring, as horrendous as the act is, to stop a greater evil?”
I gripped my sword as if I was hanging on it from a cliff’s edge.
Yes, I could imagine such circumstances. No, not imagine - recall.
“I would have given him my own blood if he’d take it.” Every word cut my throat from the inside as it came out. “I told him over and over again - maybe there’s a cure, maybe there’s a way he can live as a vampire without killing, maybe - he wouldn’t take that risk. He felt the instincts of undeath starting to replace those of life in him. He’d seen, before I had, what was the end result: a man to whom the lives and wills of other beings were of lesser interest than garlic peelings, who wouldn’t care enough to think of an ethical solution or stick to one that had been offerred. To be tortured by that man was bad enough - to know he was to become someone like him? That was too much for the poor kid. All that night we argued, as I tried to hold him back, keep him in the living world, and he tried to explain to me that the part of him I loved, the part of him I had hopes for, was already in the Grey Realm. And I still argue with myself, some nights - was there really no other way? Maybe I paid too much heed to words said in the momentary despair of a child who’d just gone through two days of living hell? And if so, does that not make me the monster? I would lose my mind over these thoughts had I not known that though I drove the stake through his heart, Erasmus would still be alive if not for your people and their twisted sense of justice. To think I would do that to him - or to myself - simply because he claimed to be something I didn’t understand or believe in - “
“ - Oh, you really have no idea!” Madame Eva sneered. “On the other hand, I am not sure even the kid understands. I had no time for explanations, and so I left a gap you filled with mundane prejudices…”
All four of us stared at her in confusion. So this wasn’t about Quoth’s gender identity?
“I understand you are a boy, Quoth.” She sat by his side, gently stroking his hair, looking almost maternal. He shrinked in fear under her touch. “I am more sure of it than you are, I am willing to bet, and was for quite a while. The signs were there since before you learned to speak, but that alone was alright. If only you hadn’t developed The Sight! But you had. And even then I decided to give you the benefit of doubt, for even I may err, but this week you approved my suspicions.” She sighed. “Oh, I perfectly believe you are a boy, my grandson - and this is exactly why you have to die.”
“It can’t be!” Qouth cried. “I’m not - “
“ - You know the prophecy as well as I do.” She said solemnly. “A man with The Sight - “
“ - But I don’t want to destroy our people! I don’t want to destroy anything!”
“You don’t want to, but you will. Such is your fate.”
“Then fuck fate!” He protested. “I. Won’t. Do. It. Don’t you trust me, granny?”
“It’s not in your control.”
“Do you really think any curse or prophecy can override one’s will so thoroughly?”
“It can and it had. I’ve seen it happening.”
George raised his hand, as if in class. “Any context for us ignorant giorgios?”
The raunie sighed heavily, then explained to us the prophecy of the Dukkar: That one day, a male seer would bring the end of the Vistani.
“So… Do you mean that every boy with The Sight will inevitably become a Dukkar, or that one day one of them will?” I asked at the end of the lecture. “If it’s the former, wouldn’t getting rid of Quoth’s divinitory power remove the danger? In case of the latter, what are the odds he’s the one? Would you kill him for that slim chance?”
Madame Eva said nothing.
“There are many questions that need asking here! A prophecy, even if true, can’t replace our critical thinking!” I continued. Here was the scientist’s advantage over the mystican - the daring to dissect tradition, break it down and tell the fact apart from the superstition and pre-assumption. If only our era’s arcanists could adopt this method, imagine what could be achieved! “I’m sure we could find a loophole of some sort, if we went over the exact wording of the prophecy.”
“I shall not take that chance.”
“Not even for your own flesh and blood?” I asked. “Well, too bad, for I shall. I couldn’t save Erasmus, but I will save Quoth. I swear.”
She gave me a long look - this time one that had none of the dominating power of her charms, only examination. For a second I feared we’d have to fight her off, but then she got up, saying:
“Well done. I shall entrust him in your hands, then. But don’t you dare, even for a split second, let him out of your sight.”
We spent that evening planning our next step, thinking who - barring Eva herself - could tell us more about the mysterious prophecy. I regret to inform you that I was quite distracted, for I had seen the eyes of the belook once more, under Markil’s bed. The third time will be last, I decided, and my comrades agreed. Next time we’d pursue it, no matter where and when.
We paid dearly for my obsession, though. This morning, I found Quoth and his bedroll gone, and this note over the hearth:
This incident occurred while I was on a mission to Barovia - and for once, it wasn’t to hunt a vampire. There had been reports in Immol about a strange spirit manifesting only as a pair of eyes, said to cause the disappearance of any person who looked at it. I’d seen it once between two books on a shelf in the Teodorus Archives, and was determined to track it again. Young Mr. Weathermay (“For the fifteenth time, Rudolph - just George”) had already pointed out that this fascination is likely what had lured the victims of this peculiar abberration, so we must be twice as careful with our investigation. Damned abberrations. Undead are dangerous enough, but the clearer you see their powers and limitations, the safer you are. With aberrations, the sight itself might be the greatest danger, for to truly understand them, you must cross to the other side of the unfathomable abyss between us and them - and once you do, when you look back to the humanoid side - even assuming you retain your life and sanity long enough to do so - it will be the unknowable one.
We were eating dinner in the Bolting Stag - or, rather, George and Markil ate. I was too distracted by the mystery ahead of us to think of base matters such as food - after our second, mostly fruitless day in the town. We’ve gathered five testimonies of sights of the monster, but we couldn’t find a clue as to where its lair might be, or what is it up to.
“All victims so far were Thaani.” I pointed out. “This might have something to do with their Bluestpurian heritage. But it could easily be a matter of probability: they make about half of the population here.”
“Do you have Thaani blood?” George asked.
“Frankly, I have no idea.” I sighed. He laughed for a moment, then realised my seriousness.
“But surly an educated man such as yourself would know his own ancestry!” The young man seemed shocked.
“Darkon is an immigrant country, and we rarely remember our roots.” I shrugged, and watched the Mordentish struggling to wrap his head around the concept.
“It… It means that as far as we know, your great-grandfather could have been anyone?” He stared at me, wide-eyed. “Like, he could have been Kartakan? Lamordian? Even a Vistani?”
“Loas, it’d explain so much if Dolf was part-Vistani.” Markil smirked. “I read somewha that people usually have somewha down their bloodline the group they’re most racist to.”
I took a long breath and tried to respond to the accusation calmly.
“First thing first, if you started reading articles in your free time - more power to you.” I said with no little pride. When the Souragnien kid first joined us, I fought tooth and nail to convince him that written language was even worth learning. It just wasn’t in his lexicon (no pun intended): His friends couldn’t read, his parents couldn’t read, his Nana couldn’t read - he wasn’t sure even his plantation owner could read - and they were doing fine, so it never occurred to him it might be a valuable skill. It took me two months until he let me teach him the letters, and three more till he could read whole paragraphs. Within seven he was helping the team with research, and now, after less than a year, he was reading out of his own volition. “Second, I am not racist. I don’t see the Vistani as an inferior race. My problem is with their culture and value system.”
“Potato potato.”
“What do potatoes have to do with it?”
“I’m not sure either, but you really should try them.” George pointed at my plate. “They’re amazing, especially with the sausage.”
“We’re straying off the topic.”
“We already had. My original point was that you’re this thing’s next target. You’re getting obsessed - “
“Since when I’m not?”
“This time it’s worse. You haven’t eaten all day, Dolf. Usually you’re the one reminding us to take care of ourselves even during the stress of a hunt.”
“And my point is that I can’t see how hatin’ people based on cultah is bettah than hatin’ them based on race.”
“Culture is a choice, race isn’t.” I glanced at a Nova Vassan merchant who was sitting at the bar. “See that man. I wouldn’t hate him simply because he’s Vassi - there’s no reason to, and even if there was, it would be unfair: You can’t blame a man for the parents he was born to. However, if I knew that man was among the faithful of the Lawgiver, then I might have something against him, because it’s within his choice whether or not to support a religion that actively encourages tyranny.”
“Do the Vistani actively encourage tyranny?”
“They serve Strahd.”
“Doesn’t mean they like it.”
“Which makes it even worse. It’s one thing to be misled by your master, and another thing to know in your heart that a deed is wrong and still do it.”
“But,” Markil insisted, “You wouldn’t avoid talkin’ to the Vassi guy. Not if he knew somethin’ we need to find out.”
“What is your intent?”
“Ma intent, Dolf, is that a bunch of those gypsies made camp outside the village this afternoon. Prob’ly still there. If we can’t find this reverse beholdah ourselves - “
“ - Reverse beholder?”
“ - A beholdah kills ye by lookin’ at ye. That thing kills ye when ye look at it.” He explained. “I mean, if anyone can find somethin’ like that, it’s a seer.”
“Well…” I sighed. “I think we just need to find the pattern. If we don’t make any progress by tomorrow - “
“ - Another innocent villager could disappear.” George said coldly. “ I agree with Markil. We should take all the help we can get.”
I considered telling them to go find the camp themselves, but knew this would be unwise: The first rule of monster-hunting is to never split the party.
“Tomorrow morning, then.” I said finally. “I want a good night’s sleep tonight, the doom prophecies can wait a few hours. Just to show you two I’m not more obsessed than usually.”
George made the jesture commonly known by kids these days as ‘face-palm’.
“And anyway,” I added, “This whole argument might prove pointless. If the Vistani want to be found, rest assured that they’ll find us first.”
And one of them had.
Sooner than even I was expecting.
I opened the door to our bedroom, expecting a quiet night of recovery before the next stage of our operation, only to find someone was already there. A boy of fourteen or so, slight of frame, with round face, tan skin, dark green eyes and flaming red hair, wearing oversized brown cloths, was sitting on one of the beds.
“Hello, Dr. Van Richten!” I could see the anxiety behind his smile. “You can call me Quoth. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I stared blankly at the youth who broke into our room, knew my name and shared his own with a raven.
“Shauten let me in.” He answered my unspoken question. Mists, the mage was getting more and more mysterious lately. Half the time he was on side-quests of his own, and wouldn’t tell me where he was going. If only I knew what’s on his mind! “I see he didn’t tell you.”
“We have not seen him since morning.” I confirmed. “Do you know where he went?”
“I met him near the lake. He led me here, bought me lunch and told me I can stay with you for now, then left.” Quoth explained. “He said nothing as to where he’s going. I guess I could try to divinate, but it didn’t seem like my business. I’m sorry for burdening you, good men, but I have no where else to go.”
Wait. I thought. Divinate. This could mean one thing.
“It’s alright, alright. No burden at all.” I shook my head. No matter how much I dislike the Vistani, it’s not my custom to refuse aid to innocent teenagers in distress. “May I ask what trouble you got in to? Why can’t your tribe help you?”
“They’re the trouble.” He said, then put his hand on his mouth, as if shocked by his own words. “They…” He then opened and closed his mouth a couple of times without making a sound. “Madam Eva is trying to kill me. Help. Please.” A grim chuckle burst out through his closed lips. “Now these are words no prophecy in the world could predict I’d utter! This cannot, should not, be real! Let it all be a nightmare, one I shall wake from in a moment, finding myself back in my bunk. My sister, Isabela, would try to calm my down, and I’ll tell her I’m just fine, and cousin Papusza would ask who’s the lunatic who woke up everyone screaming in the middle of the night, and my mom would come in and ask what happened, and when I tell them of it all, they’d reassure me it was merely a bad dream, this and nothing more, and will never come true…”
“That’s what we all think, the first time we’re made aware of the world’s horrors.” I found myself saying. “Let such things not be real - and if they’re real, let them not exist here and now, but only in faraway lands or eras long-forgotten - and if they exist here and now, let them not happen to me and mine. That’s what I thought, I know. But we are thus unfortunate that such horrors are real, and exist here and now, and happened to us and ours. This world of us is cruel and unfair, perhaps more so than others. But let this be a consultation to you: We - and by ‘we’ I mean even the least powerful or significant people - can make it a little less cruel and more fair.”
This seemed to encourage the poor lad. I’d seen this effect on people. The mere loss of safety is frightening, but not nearly as much as the loss of agency. Give the most broken man or woman an assurance they can still do something about the troubles they’re facing, and you’ll have them made anew.
“So… Quoth is stayin’ with us for a while?” Asked Markil the next morning. We were standing in the corridor, as Quoth asked us to stay outside while he dresses up. I would’ve expected one who grew up in tight quarters as he had to be less shy, but as it gave us hunters time for discrete discussion, we cared not.
“I guess.” I yawned. “We can’t just let those warlocks have him.”
“And you don’t - “ George lowered his voice.
“No, I don’t care he’s a vistana. As I said yesterday, I’m not ra - “
“ - think it’s a little suspicious?” He pointed at the bedroom door. “I mean, we don’t know him. We find him in our room one night. He claims Shauten let him in, but how would we know it’s true? He could be lying. Maybe he just broke in - he’d know who we are by magic. Or maybe he charmed Shauten, or tricked him in some way. And that’s assuming we trust the wizard.”
“I’d trust Shauten with my life.” I stated.
“And normally so would I, but you have to admit his behaviour was a little odd lately. Odder than usual.” He counterargued. “Anyway, even if our little friend is telling the truth, I think there’s a very important question we’re forgetting: why do they want to kill him?”
“I don’t care what stupid reason they have! It’s a kid!”
“You assume their reason is stupid.”
“And I suppose that’s racist of me?” I rolled my eyes. “To not want a child of theirs to die?”
“No, that’s just lethally foolish.” He stared me. “The Vistani do nothing without cause. They know things we don’t, and ignoring their warnings is going toe-to-toe with fate.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked. “Do you really think an entire race is dedicated to some grand scheme? And that this conspiracy must be somehow for the better, more trustworthy than the simple, intuitive conscience the Overseer gave us?” I watched him blushing. “Frankly, it sounds to me more biased than anything I ever said about the gypsies, albeit to the other direction.”
“I’m not saying we should trust them blindly.” He retreated to a more moderate stance. “But right now, we only have one side of this story. How about, we hear the other side, figure out what’s really going on here - then find a solution that doesn’t get anybody killed?”
“At the same opportunity we can ask ‘em about the reverse beholdah.” Markil suggested.
I had to admit this was a fairly logical course of action.
“The problem is how to do this without putting Quoth at risk.” I pointed out. “We can’t ask them without revealing our involvement - oh…”
We three let out a collective sigh as we realised that our involvement must already be revealed. Using secrecy against prophets is about as useless as archeological research in Dementlieu.
“He’s still in there?!” Markil stared at the closed door. “How long does it take the kid to dress up?”
George nodded. “Almost like he’s doing something he doesn’t want us to know about…”
“Please no - “
He opened the door, and immediately startled, his face redder than Hazlik’s robes.
This time it was my turn to usefully adopt the ‘face-palm’ gesture.
It wasn’t as bad as I feared. He wasn’t naked. However, he wasn’t wearing a shirt - only a tight cloth-wrapping around his chest, the sort actresses sometimes wear as costume for a male role.
“Oopsie.” Said George, covering his eyes with his hands, and by this meant ‘Wow, this is awkward. Sorry for entering the room while a fair maiden such as yourself is undressed. Mercious Ezra, please don’t let any word of this get back to Mordentshire, and especially not to my mom!’
“Oopsie.” Said Quoth, snatching his (her?) shirt from the floor, and by this meant ‘Mists, I have some explaining to do!’
“So, long story short,” Quoth explained over breakfast. “Though female in body, I’ve long suspected that I possess the soul of a boy.”
“How?” Asked George. “Did you steal it?”
The vistana rolled his eyes.
“I know it might sound weird to giorgios - “
“ - Not at all.” I shook my head. “Gender dysphoria is a well-reccorded phenomenon. The medical community is divided about it, but I’m of the opinion that it’s a natural variance, not illness or preversion. What pronouns do you prefer?”
“Ugh… He?” He shrugged. “Are there other options?”
“They, it, ey - I met once a halfling who used ‘meow’.”
“ ‘Meow’ as a pronoun?”
“The world is full of wonders.”
“Wow. Ahem. I didn’t expect you to be so cool with it.” He chuckled. “My parents weren’t, and our raunie definitely wasn’t. The moment I told her, she started muttering a curse only my sister’s pleading stopped her from finishing. That night, Isabella gave me a bag of provisions and extra clothes, and told me to run where not even Madam Eva can find me. ‘run, Quoth’ she said - the first time she ever used my chosen name, and likely the last.” His face turned more somber as he recounted the tale. “I tried fleeing into the mists, but found myself on the same side of the mountains, not a hundred feet from where I entered.”
“We found the one Vistana who can’t navigate the mists.” I tried not to laugh.
“I can’t navigate, period.” He laughed shamelessly. “No sense of direction in that brain. The joke of the clan. But that night - the night before yesternight - it wasn’t a very funny joke. I thought I’d wander aimless in the woods until some wolf decides to make a meal of me - ”
“ - It’s actually pretty rare for wolves to attack humans unprovoked. They’re more afraid of you than you’re afraid of them, in my experience.” George shrugged. “The real danger in getting lost in the woods is dying of thirst.”
“Okay… Thanks for letting me know…”
“Droppin’ random wildreness lore is George’s way of makin’ new friends.” Markil explained. “It means he likes you.”
“And Markil’s way of making new friends is embarrassing his old ones.” George mumbled.
“Anyways,” He finished, “I did have the sense to look for water. At dawn I saw a lake in the distance and went there, and that’s where I met your wizard friend, collecting herbs on the shore. He saw I was in distress, and, after hearing my story, led me to the inn. And here we are.”
“As I said, stupid reason.” I eyed George.
“My apologies for suspecting otherwise.” He stuck out his hand to Quoth, who shook it hesitantly. “Mark, are you putting sausage pieces in your mamliga?”
“It’s not spicy enough without it.”
“I don’t think mamliga is supposed to be spicy.”
“What’s the point of food if it’s not spicy?”
“To provide nu - nevermind, I won’t even argue with that.”
“Are they always like that?” Quoth whispered.
“Only when their responsible adult - me, that is - isn’t sufficiently ridiculous.” I answered. “Jokes aside, we have a serious question at hand today: On the one hand, we’re in dire need of a clue as to the whereabouts of the ‘belook’ - more catchy than ‘reverse beholder’, isn’t it? - which I reluctantly admit a seer’s reading could easily provide; On the other hand, I’d be surprised if the caravan Markil mentioned yesterday isn’t Quoth’s own clan looking for him. Thus, how can we progress with our investigation without risking our new companion?”
Quoth raised his hand. “How about I do the reading for you? I don’t have too much experience with it, but I can try.”
“I hope your Sight is better than you navigation skills.”
“First the eldest.” Quoth sat cross-legged on George’s bed and shuffled his Tarrokka deck, and I nervously approached.
“Past.” He layed out the first card. “There are more tragedies in your life than any man should suffer, and you take blame for all of them but for the one you should.”
Great way to start, huh?
“Care to tell me which one I should take the blame for?” I asked without much hope.
“Man, I can’t see that specifically!”
“I hate seers.” I sighed heavily. “You always leave out the most important part!”
“And I hate giorgio! You always get mad for us not being omniscient!” He sighed too. “It’s art, not science. I’m looking at the cards, picking up the vibes - ”
“ - Making it up as you go?” I raised an eyebrow. There weren’t that many male seers, were they? I haven’t met many of them - usually I try my best to avoid the Vistani - but the few I met were all women. Maybe only they get the power. It makes sense that such a mystical ability would be tied to one’s soul rather than body. Quoth - a boy’s soul in a girl’s body, as he defined himself - simply couldn’t develop it, yet was expected to learn how. Maybe he just… learned how to pretend? “It’s okay if you can’t do it for real. You don’t have to fake it. We all have different talents and limitations - “
“I am doing it for real. I swear to fate itself. I’m just kinda new to this…” He breathed deeply then layed out the second card. “The present. You’d seen the belook, were marked by it. You’re tied to it like a fish to a rod. You might feel the line pulling you right now. Let it pull, and you’ll surly find it - but only the help of one who had not been pulled yet can stop the hunter from becoming the prey.”
I felt the ‘line’ he was talking about. The fixation that haunted me ever since I glimpsed upon it in the library, the urge to get a better look, as if I won’t rest until I know exactly what this fleeting sight was. It almost faded in the drama of Quoth’s arrival, but now reemerged. I suddenly knew I will see this monster again, even if it will be the death of me - and that was exactly the problem.
“And now the future. That’s always the most interesting part.” He examined the third card with appreciation. “Well… You’ll start - have already started, in fact - something that will far outlive you. But it’ll only do so if you remember that the pen really is mightier than the sword. It will make sense for you soon enough.”
“Do you mean I should stop running around hunting monsters and start writing a book?” I guessed.
“Why either or when you can have both?”
“Schedueling issues.”
At that he smiled. “Being an adult sucks, huh?”
Next was George’s turn. He approached far more enthusiastically. I suspect having his fortunes told was one of the ‘adventurous’ fantasies he was entertaining long before he decided to join me in my travels.
“The past,” Quoth repeated the ceremony. “is not as gloomy as you remember it. The family you left behind loves you far more than you articulate. They’re waiting for you, and I think they’d be proud if they knew what you became.”
“If my dad loved me more than I thought, he should have shown it while I was still around.” My apprentice answered grumpily, his excitement dissolving into thin air. “And the odds he’d be proud of me for turning into an adventurer are about the same as the odds Dolf will marry your raunie.”
“Well, I never met the man, so I don’t think it’s my place to judge.” Quoth shrugged. “Some parents are just Uoverensstemmende - I should know. But if he isn’t that bad, maybe you could, I don’t know, send a letter home or something? It just seems sad…”
George seemed embarrassed, as if suddenly recalling he was talking to one who ran away from his family too - not out of spite, but for his life.
“The present.” He continued. “You’re worried that the current threat will stand between you and your mentor. Let it do so, at the right place and time.”
“I suppose that once more you know not the meaning of your own riddle?” George remarked.
“Don’t have a clue.”
“Legit.”
“And for the future,” His face grew solemn as he turned the last card. “You and Markil have critisized your mentor for his prejudice of my people. For this I’m grateful. But will you withstand the test he failed? When the horrors of the world strike close to home, will you have the strength of will to not let them in to your heart?”
George suddenly seemed very interested in his shoelaces.
“My turn now?” Markil jumped from his seat.
“Sure.” Quoth prepared to start a third line of cards, when the door was suddenly opened.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but she was quite stubborn…” The innkeeper led into the room an elderly woman wearing a hooded cloak.
“Here you are, Inza.” She said with a husky voice. “We’ve been searching for you.”
“That’s not my name.” Quoth put the cards back in his pocket and pulled himself to the side of the bed that was closer to the wall. But his voice didn’t tremble as he spoke. “My real name is Quoth. If you are to kill me, grandma, at least have the dignity to let me die as myself.”
I shivered at that last bit.
“You aren’t dying today as anything, son.” I reached for my shortsword. “Madame, I have no idea what you think you’re doing, but if you’re messing with this kid, you’re messing with Rudolph van Richten. Ever heard the name?”
“Once or twice.” She stared me down. “Go back to your vampires, giorgio. You have no idea what you think you’re are doing.”
And I suddenly felt as if I really should as she said. I really didn’t know what I was doing. This was Vistani business, the sort of business I had been trying for the majority of my life to avoid. What say do I even have here? But a wise old woman like her surely knows what should be done, and why won’t I leave this matter to her judgment?
I looked back to Quoth. There was a person here, a child, whose life was at stake. This wasn’t ‘Vistani business’ - this was a woman preferring her twisted traditions over the life of her own kin, a despicable thing in every culture, and I hope my young comrades understood it too.
“When I don’t know something, Madame, I try to find out.” I responded. “Please enlighten me, for I truly am at my wit’s end. Bigotry is all too common in these lands, unfortunately, and I admit I am not completely exempt from it; but to be so devoted to your hatred that you may harm your own kin for its sake?! Where’s the sense - be it rational, emotional or spiritual - in that?”
I saw in her eyes a glimpse of pity, or at least sorrow. But whatever it was, it was not going to stay her hand from the killing. “Can you, Van Richten, of all people, not imagine a circumstance when one must slay their own offspring, as horrendous as the act is, to stop a greater evil?”
I gripped my sword as if I was hanging on it from a cliff’s edge.
Yes, I could imagine such circumstances. No, not imagine - recall.
“I would have given him my own blood if he’d take it.” Every word cut my throat from the inside as it came out. “I told him over and over again - maybe there’s a cure, maybe there’s a way he can live as a vampire without killing, maybe - he wouldn’t take that risk. He felt the instincts of undeath starting to replace those of life in him. He’d seen, before I had, what was the end result: a man to whom the lives and wills of other beings were of lesser interest than garlic peelings, who wouldn’t care enough to think of an ethical solution or stick to one that had been offerred. To be tortured by that man was bad enough - to know he was to become someone like him? That was too much for the poor kid. All that night we argued, as I tried to hold him back, keep him in the living world, and he tried to explain to me that the part of him I loved, the part of him I had hopes for, was already in the Grey Realm. And I still argue with myself, some nights - was there really no other way? Maybe I paid too much heed to words said in the momentary despair of a child who’d just gone through two days of living hell? And if so, does that not make me the monster? I would lose my mind over these thoughts had I not known that though I drove the stake through his heart, Erasmus would still be alive if not for your people and their twisted sense of justice. To think I would do that to him - or to myself - simply because he claimed to be something I didn’t understand or believe in - “
“ - Oh, you really have no idea!” Madame Eva sneered. “On the other hand, I am not sure even the kid understands. I had no time for explanations, and so I left a gap you filled with mundane prejudices…”
All four of us stared at her in confusion. So this wasn’t about Quoth’s gender identity?
“I understand you are a boy, Quoth.” She sat by his side, gently stroking his hair, looking almost maternal. He shrinked in fear under her touch. “I am more sure of it than you are, I am willing to bet, and was for quite a while. The signs were there since before you learned to speak, but that alone was alright. If only you hadn’t developed The Sight! But you had. And even then I decided to give you the benefit of doubt, for even I may err, but this week you approved my suspicions.” She sighed. “Oh, I perfectly believe you are a boy, my grandson - and this is exactly why you have to die.”
“It can’t be!” Qouth cried. “I’m not - “
“ - You know the prophecy as well as I do.” She said solemnly. “A man with The Sight - “
“ - But I don’t want to destroy our people! I don’t want to destroy anything!”
“You don’t want to, but you will. Such is your fate.”
“Then fuck fate!” He protested. “I. Won’t. Do. It. Don’t you trust me, granny?”
“It’s not in your control.”
“Do you really think any curse or prophecy can override one’s will so thoroughly?”
“It can and it had. I’ve seen it happening.”
George raised his hand, as if in class. “Any context for us ignorant giorgios?”
The raunie sighed heavily, then explained to us the prophecy of the Dukkar: That one day, a male seer would bring the end of the Vistani.
“So… Do you mean that every boy with The Sight will inevitably become a Dukkar, or that one day one of them will?” I asked at the end of the lecture. “If it’s the former, wouldn’t getting rid of Quoth’s divinitory power remove the danger? In case of the latter, what are the odds he’s the one? Would you kill him for that slim chance?”
Madame Eva said nothing.
“There are many questions that need asking here! A prophecy, even if true, can’t replace our critical thinking!” I continued. Here was the scientist’s advantage over the mystican - the daring to dissect tradition, break it down and tell the fact apart from the superstition and pre-assumption. If only our era’s arcanists could adopt this method, imagine what could be achieved! “I’m sure we could find a loophole of some sort, if we went over the exact wording of the prophecy.”
“I shall not take that chance.”
“Not even for your own flesh and blood?” I asked. “Well, too bad, for I shall. I couldn’t save Erasmus, but I will save Quoth. I swear.”
She gave me a long look - this time one that had none of the dominating power of her charms, only examination. For a second I feared we’d have to fight her off, but then she got up, saying:
“Well done. I shall entrust him in your hands, then. But don’t you dare, even for a split second, let him out of your sight.”
We spent that evening planning our next step, thinking who - barring Eva herself - could tell us more about the mysterious prophecy. I regret to inform you that I was quite distracted, for I had seen the eyes of the belook once more, under Markil’s bed. The third time will be last, I decided, and my comrades agreed. Next time we’d pursue it, no matter where and when.
We paid dearly for my obsession, though. This morning, I found Quoth and his bedroll gone, and this note over the hearth:
Dear Dr. Van Richten,
Don’t get me wrong. I am forever in your debt for your defence last night. Few people would have had the courage or care to interfere there, and I’m lucky you’re one of those few.
However, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense to me that if there’s one way fate would turn me against my own people, it would be by spending too much time with you - a kind, open-minded person who nevertheless hates us. I hope someday you’d be disillusioned from your prejudices, but I’m afraid it will not be by my hand. The chance it will happen the other way round is too high, and when playing against Fate, leaving anything to chance is giving your rival an extra turn. Moreover, one must question why did my raunie miss that catch. I suspect she hadn’t - she simply didn’t expect me to survive very long in your company. Not through any fault of your own, Doctor - but you lead a dangerous life, and it’s made doubly dangerous by the shadow hanging over you. I’m not an expert on curses. If I were, I would stay by your side and help you break yours, just as you promised to help me with mine. As it is, I fear we’d only make things worse for eachother…
Remember my reading, all three parts of it. Good luck with your hunt.
May your roads all be short and straight,
Quoth Zarovan.
"Not all that is violet is deadly, and not all that is deadly is violet." - "S", Gaz IV, page 13.
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TheArcaneWeirdo
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Re: Rainbows in the Mist - A Pride Month Anthology
Dangers of the Sight - Annotations
First thing first: The 'Belook' Van Richten & Co are hunting is a homebrew monster by Antonio Demico (AKA Pointy Hat), my favourite DND YouTuber. (He didn't pay me to do this. I just like the monster and thought it would be fun. I tried to get his permission but he never answered, so I hope if he sees this he'd be like 'ooh, free advertisement' and not 'how dare you violate my copyrights?'.)
I intentionally kept the monster itself mentioned-only, to not spoil players the twist about it: it's one of those monsters where the way to defeat them is a bit like a riddle the party needs to figure out.
If you're a DM and you feel like running the belook, check the link bellow. If you're a player and you feel like fighting it, I reccomend you send the link to your DM without looking at what's inside, to avoid the spoiler.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2P ... CQLYUe/pub
Second thing second, here are two unrelated facts about me:
1) I'm jewish, and my one of my favourite subjects at school is the Talmud. The Talmud is one of the main religious texts in Judaism, the (incredibly messy) collection of sages' debates and interpretations over the Halacha. It basically takes all of these absolute, abstract commendants from the Bible, and breaks them down to specific cases. It always asks 'yeah, we have this general rule, but what if the situation is more complicated?'
This is an attitude I feel like I bring with me a lot to magic systems. We have these general rules that work most of the time, but at some point there'd be a situation that messes up with them. And that's when stuff gets interesting.
2) I'm non-binary (meaning I don't exclusively identify as a man or a woman. It can mean different things to different non-binary people, but in my case it means I'm fluid between both - sometimes I feel more masculine and sometimes more feminine.), meaning that by nature, I mess up with a lot of rules.
So I have this hobby of checking how trans people can mess with magic systems, prophecies and the like. Like, can the son of a trans man kill Macabeth, being 'of man born' rather than 'of woman born'?
A while ago I started reading the Wheel of Time series, and it occured to me that in that world, the twist would be horrifying, given that the masculine side of magic is tainted by evil: A transfeminine Aas Sadai's life could depend on her proving to the council that she really is a woman, while a transmasculine one could go through months of training before realising their magic is cursed!
When I read about the prophecy of the Dukkar I felt like it's pretty much the same conflict, and started toying with the idea of a trans Dukkar.
Is Quoth's story the best version I could write of it? I'm not sure. Maybe I should've written it from Quoth's own POV, putting more emphasis on his feelings than on outsiders' opinions. But I think it's good for a first try. I'd like to return to that concept some day.
Last thing last - This isn't the first time I'm writing about Dr. Van Richten, young George Weathermay, the scout Markil and the mage Shauten (both mentioned in Van Richten's Guide to the Lich) working together, but it's the first time that didn't get tragically erased due to technical issues. I had their team dynamics in mind for a while and had been toying with the idea of writing short stories of their adventures, so tell me if it's something you'd be interested in.
First thing first: The 'Belook' Van Richten & Co are hunting is a homebrew monster by Antonio Demico (AKA Pointy Hat), my favourite DND YouTuber. (He didn't pay me to do this. I just like the monster and thought it would be fun. I tried to get his permission but he never answered, so I hope if he sees this he'd be like 'ooh, free advertisement' and not 'how dare you violate my copyrights?'.)
I intentionally kept the monster itself mentioned-only, to not spoil players the twist about it: it's one of those monsters where the way to defeat them is a bit like a riddle the party needs to figure out.
If you're a DM and you feel like running the belook, check the link bellow. If you're a player and you feel like fighting it, I reccomend you send the link to your DM without looking at what's inside, to avoid the spoiler.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2P ... CQLYUe/pub
Second thing second, here are two unrelated facts about me:
1) I'm jewish, and my one of my favourite subjects at school is the Talmud. The Talmud is one of the main religious texts in Judaism, the (incredibly messy) collection of sages' debates and interpretations over the Halacha. It basically takes all of these absolute, abstract commendants from the Bible, and breaks them down to specific cases. It always asks 'yeah, we have this general rule, but what if the situation is more complicated?'
This is an attitude I feel like I bring with me a lot to magic systems. We have these general rules that work most of the time, but at some point there'd be a situation that messes up with them. And that's when stuff gets interesting.
2) I'm non-binary (meaning I don't exclusively identify as a man or a woman. It can mean different things to different non-binary people, but in my case it means I'm fluid between both - sometimes I feel more masculine and sometimes more feminine.), meaning that by nature, I mess up with a lot of rules.
So I have this hobby of checking how trans people can mess with magic systems, prophecies and the like. Like, can the son of a trans man kill Macabeth, being 'of man born' rather than 'of woman born'?
A while ago I started reading the Wheel of Time series, and it occured to me that in that world, the twist would be horrifying, given that the masculine side of magic is tainted by evil: A transfeminine Aas Sadai's life could depend on her proving to the council that she really is a woman, while a transmasculine one could go through months of training before realising their magic is cursed!
When I read about the prophecy of the Dukkar I felt like it's pretty much the same conflict, and started toying with the idea of a trans Dukkar.
Is Quoth's story the best version I could write of it? I'm not sure. Maybe I should've written it from Quoth's own POV, putting more emphasis on his feelings than on outsiders' opinions. But I think it's good for a first try. I'd like to return to that concept some day.
Last thing last - This isn't the first time I'm writing about Dr. Van Richten, young George Weathermay, the scout Markil and the mage Shauten (both mentioned in Van Richten's Guide to the Lich) working together, but it's the first time that didn't get tragically erased due to technical issues. I had their team dynamics in mind for a while and had been toying with the idea of writing short stories of their adventures, so tell me if it's something you'd be interested in.
"Not all that is violet is deadly, and not all that is deadly is violet." - "S", Gaz IV, page 13.
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TheArcaneWeirdo
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 736
- Joined: Wed Oct 15, 2025 1:22 pm
- Gender: Other
- Location: Jerusalem
Re: Rainbows in the Mist - A Pride Month Anthology
It takes me a while to write the next fanfic, so in the meanwhile I'll give you something smaller:
Isles of Tolerance
A list of locations in various domains that act as 'safe spaces' for their weirder (natural or supernatural weirdness kinds) inhabitants. Some of these can be places for the party to chill down in between horrors, but I'm also giving plot hooks for if you want to get them involved in the horror. Either way, they act as reminders that even in the most hateful domains, there are people worth protecting.
And let's start with Paridon.
The Mighty Pen, defined by it's members as a 'spoken poetry club', takes place every tuesday evening in the shoddily-furnitured but clean, well-lit and colourfully decorated basement of an old building in Southshore, Paridon. Members of every nationality, species, class, gender and orientation are welcome as long as they write poetry in a language most members would understand (that is, Zhestrian, Patterna or Darkonese) and adhere to the club's four tenants:
1) Be yourself
2) Be kind enough for others to feel comfortable being themselves
3) Don't tell strangers who else is in the club
4) Don't make noise while others are performing.
The club was founded by Mortimer Rupin (Fetch*, Lore Bard 5, he/him, CG), a literature teacher originally hailing from Mordent who seeked to give caliban and deathtouched youth a place to express themselves, as well as for the district's various immegrants a place to practice the local tongue free from judgement. The eccentric Mortimer is intelligent, charismatic and an empathetic (albeit easily distracted) listener. However, he's often unable to attend meetings due to his chronic fatigue - in such weeks, other members take up his mantle - often Penelope** (generic caliban, barbarian 1/commoner 3/expert 2, she/her, NG), the socially-anxious but talented reporter, or Tiffany*** (Tiefling, Spellcaster**** 1, she/they, CN), the laid-back satirican who's coming dangerously close to the realisation they have no idea what to do with their life other than making fun of others'.
Other members include Carol (witchspawn caliban, bard 1/artificer 1, xe/xem, CG), who actually wants to be an alchemist but has trouble (often of the explosive kind) with that due to xir dyscalculia, Brad (Ghedan*, fighter 1, he/him, NG) who has little to no feelings of his own since he came back to life but can intensly sympathise with other (real or imaginary) people's emotions, and many more.
**Yes, the same one from VRS Files: Dopplegangers. I suppose it's been long enough for sis to start coming out of her shell.
***I swear it's not anachronisic. Google up 'the Tiffany problem'.
****As per the sidekick class.
*****Sorry if it sounds less like a dread possibility and more like the outline of an entire novel trilogy, I got a little carried away.
Isles of Tolerance
A list of locations in various domains that act as 'safe spaces' for their weirder (natural or supernatural weirdness kinds) inhabitants. Some of these can be places for the party to chill down in between horrors, but I'm also giving plot hooks for if you want to get them involved in the horror. Either way, they act as reminders that even in the most hateful domains, there are people worth protecting.
And let's start with Paridon.
The Mighty Pen, defined by it's members as a 'spoken poetry club', takes place every tuesday evening in the shoddily-furnitured but clean, well-lit and colourfully decorated basement of an old building in Southshore, Paridon. Members of every nationality, species, class, gender and orientation are welcome as long as they write poetry in a language most members would understand (that is, Zhestrian, Patterna or Darkonese) and adhere to the club's four tenants:
1) Be yourself
2) Be kind enough for others to feel comfortable being themselves
3) Don't tell strangers who else is in the club
4) Don't make noise while others are performing.
The club was founded by Mortimer Rupin (Fetch*, Lore Bard 5, he/him, CG), a literature teacher originally hailing from Mordent who seeked to give caliban and deathtouched youth a place to express themselves, as well as for the district's various immegrants a place to practice the local tongue free from judgement. The eccentric Mortimer is intelligent, charismatic and an empathetic (albeit easily distracted) listener. However, he's often unable to attend meetings due to his chronic fatigue - in such weeks, other members take up his mantle - often Penelope** (generic caliban, barbarian 1/commoner 3/expert 2, she/her, NG), the socially-anxious but talented reporter, or Tiffany*** (Tiefling, Spellcaster**** 1, she/they, CN), the laid-back satirican who's coming dangerously close to the realisation they have no idea what to do with their life other than making fun of others'.
Other members include Carol (witchspawn caliban, bard 1/artificer 1, xe/xem, CG), who actually wants to be an alchemist but has trouble (often of the explosive kind) with that due to xir dyscalculia, Brad (Ghedan*, fighter 1, he/him, NG) who has little to no feelings of his own since he came back to life but can intensly sympathise with other (real or imaginary) people's emotions, and many more.
*As per A Primer to the Umbra Peoples, QtR 28Dread Possibility: Train of Thought*****
Lucy Colins, one of Mortimer's 10th grade students who, through his encouragement, joined The Mighty Pen half a year ago, has a unique poetry style. The youth's poems often seem to be composed out of the inner monologues of several people at once - at times directly quoted, at times told about from an outsider's perspective, and demonstrate a unique insight into the hearts of folks from all walks of life. When asked, Lucy revealed that since 8th grade she had access to a limited form of telepathy, which he doesn't quite understand himself, and that her special hobby is to open her mind to the thoughts of fellow travelers in the train on his way to and back from school then speculate about their lives. The club was pretty chill about that - what's one psionist compared to dhampires and cannibals (the subrace, not actual people who indulge in cannibalism. You have a pretty twisted mind.)?
However, recently Lucy went missing. The police is strangely reluctant to investigate the case, and Mr. Colins' immediate suspects are 'these freaks the girl had been hanging out with'. Mortimer feels obligated to bring his student to safety and clear his friends' names but has no experience in detective work outside of novels, and so asks for the group's help in tracking her.
In reality, Liko (Adolescent Dread Doppleganger, Bard 2, any pronouns, CG) has been slowly wakening to their powers over the past two years. They experimented mostly with their Detect Thoughts, using it for artistic inspiration, and trained themselves to read people's positive emotions as well as the negative ones, out of stubborn belief that everyone has some good in them deep down (for example, her father seems to be a narrow-minded, paranoid fool, but beneath that he geniunely loves her and just worries how she'd get along if she doesn't learn soon to fit the mold. She tried starting a heart-to-heart talk about how she knows he only wants the best for her but is confident she can do great things 'her way', but he's just not the type that does heart-to-heart talks.). They gained only basic control over their shapeshifting, mostly due to lack of motivation: Changing breast size according to their current gender is a dream coming true, and trying different hairstyles without spending a fortune or needing her parents to know has also been fun, but as a great believer in 'be yourself, everyone else is caught', it never occured to her to copy another person's face.
Liko has mixed feelings about his 'Harry, you're a doppleganger' revelation and the following weeks of training among his new clan. On the one hand, he's relieved to know the cause of his strange powers (as well as to find out, after a whole childhood of being called 'lazy' despite her best attempts, that this is a species-wide trait) and meet other people who share them, learning to use glamer is fun, and the whole thing feels like the typical plot of his favourite novels. But on the other hand, she's given constant reminders of her kind's complete disregard for human life. Torn between their conscience and their growing feelings of kinship towards the clan, Liko is rather frozen. He doesn't want to become part of the killing machine Paridon's mainstream doppleganger society is, but returning to her human guise knowing it's fake would be suffocating, like for a hatchling to be forced back into their egg. She wishes she could just live openly as a doppleganger, using her powers for art rather than deceit, but that's impossible, isn't it? More than anything he'd want Mortimer and Penelope's advice, but her mentor, KoDan (Adult Dread Doppleganger, Rogue 6, CE, It/Its) semi-convinced her that once they learn of her species, they'd see him not as their friend but as the monster that killed and replaced it.
KoDan is an amiable, sarcastic trickster with a dark sense of humour and a talent for brutally logical rhetoric that pass its mysanthropy and cruelity as 'just joking' or 'the truth is harsh' respectively. It admits to be not Liko's biological parent but its younger subordinate ordered by the busy imposter to babysit its kid and was initially rather grumpy about it, but over time started to like the teenager - witty, courageous, creative and with a knack for mischief. They have an ongoing debate over the dopplegangers' use of the 'it' pronoun (Liko views it as diminutive and prefers to go by a mixture of feminine and masculine pronouns and descriptors, while KoDan counterargues that 'it' is used not only for small objects but also for the greatest natural wonders and most admired abstract concepts: There's nothing shameful about sharing a linguistic catergory with 'mountain', 'sun', 'happiness', 'music', 'divinity' etc.), but KoDan thoroughly enjoys the opportunity for intelligent philosophical discussion, rare among its hedonistic kin.
But Liko's moral spine, while providing KoDan entretaining debate subjects, will soon become a major setback to his survival and integration in the clan. She needs (in its eyes) to learn that ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. The problem is this: For most young dopplegangers, the realisation of how alienated they are from humanity is enough to pit them against it and its ideals of compassion and truth. But Liko has the role model of her 'freak' friends: Unapologetically inhuman, but never letting this kill their kindness. KoDan fears words wont be enough to cut her bond to them once and for all, and has the perfect plan: To assassinate Mortimer Rupin wearing Lucy's face. Who'd ever believe 'I'd never kill him! It was a doppleganger! But I'm also a doppleganger, but a good one and absolutely not the one who killed him, I know it's weird I didn't know I'm a doppleganger until a month ago either...' ?!
**Yes, the same one from VRS Files: Dopplegangers. I suppose it's been long enough for sis to start coming out of her shell.
***I swear it's not anachronisic. Google up 'the Tiffany problem'.
****As per the sidekick class.
*****Sorry if it sounds less like a dread possibility and more like the outline of an entire novel trilogy, I got a little carried away.
"Not all that is violet is deadly, and not all that is deadly is violet." - "S", Gaz IV, page 13.
-
TheArcaneWeirdo
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 736
- Joined: Wed Oct 15, 2025 1:22 pm
- Gender: Other
- Location: Jerusalem
Re: Rainbows in the Mist - A Pride Month Anthology
Monster Idea:
I had a hard time coming up with a queer-inspired monster that isn't either a joke or a homophobic caricature. I tried to think about fears of people inside the community. Bigotry escalation? That's probably the worst one, but hard to interestingly embody in the effects of a single monster. Turning out to not really be the identity you think you are? I'm sometimes afraid of it, but that's because my OCD can bring up really weird doubts (Like 'what if you don't really love the boyfriend you'd been dating with for six goddamn years' or 'what if you'd been manipulating the people around you your entire life without realisting that'). In my experience, the queer community in general is pretty chill about members experimenting and changing their minds. It's not what lurks in our collective subconciousness waiting to attack.
Eventually I landed on the concept of 'deadnames'.
'Deadname' a community slang refering to a trans person's birth name, replaced with a chosen name more appropriate to their real gender after they came out. It represents the idea that the name and gender assigned to you at birth are 'dead', they're no longer you, you moved on from them. The core idea is great: None of us is the same as they were as children, and you shouldn't refer to people as what they no longer identify with. Don't call people by their deadname unless they explicitly consent. Better not to even ask what it is.
However, what I find quite chilling is the complete detachment some individuals have with their deadname - and their pre-transition identity as whole. Talking as if it was an actual, seperate person who died, or a fake identity that never really existed, rather than themselves before they found out something important about themselves. (Personally, I don't have a deadname. I chose to keep my birth name, Daphna, and add the name my parents would've given me had I been born male, Shmuel, as a second name, going by both (Daphna-Shmuel) or by the nickname 'Dash'. But of course every choice is valid.) I find it very strange, to shut away a huge part of your history and identity as if it never existed simply because you're different now. In the Thesaus' ship dilemma, I tend to believe that at least a living creature stays itself even when every single part of it had been replaced.
But the fun about writing is that you aren't here to critisize things. The storyteller's job, as Hoid said once, is not to tell people what to think, but to give questions to think upon - and TTRPG is excelent for this purpose, because eventually, no matter how much you plan, eventually the players choose what to make of your adventure and how to act inside it, and you can't predict what they'll do.
So let's think about it artistically - the idea that the person you once were is a seperate being, with its own will and personality, that might come back to haunt you.
It's not limited to trans people! A perfectly straight man might feel that his current existence as a busy, practical adult is wildly disconnected from the unruly, imaginative boy he once was; A woman with a criminal past who changed her name, moved to the other side of the world and started a new, decent and peaceful life for herself might be running not only from the police, but from the vile, messed-up person she used to be; One who'd gone through severe trauma might feel as if the innocent, mentally-well person they were a day ago has nothing to do with what they turned into now.
And that's talking real-world examples! What about a vampire or lich haunted by their living self? A hag or dread doppleganger haunted by the child they were when they still thought they're human? A darklord haunted by the pure and saintly person they were as a youth, or a level-10 adventurer haunted by their level-one version that had yet to go through any of the meaningful character arc they'd gone through and completely misunderstands their decisions?
This can be a nice way to bring a PC or NPC's backstory into the front story!
I think a ghost would fit this well. A ghost of the person you once were. But a corporeal or mutable ghost at that, one able to successfully imitate a living person.
I want to design it so the Deadname's proginator can accept it again as part of their identity, or just fight it and bring it down to 0 HP. Free choice.
You might notice there's no built-in damaging option for the Deadname. I just couldn't think of a thematically-appropriate one. Their 'soul siphoning' seems to me like a pretty serious debuff option, their AC is high enough for most attacks to miss them (allowing them to actually stand around talking the PCs into Lost Ones) and I imagine at least half of them would have class levels providing with a damage option. But their class levels are based on the original person's - how do you make a commoner's Deadname, or one based on the original person's childhood, at least a bit physically dangerous?
Offer suggestions in the Comments thread! Same for appropriate resistances and immunities!
Speaking of Soul Siphoning - you might notice it's the ability-draining version of a Death Spiral: The more charisma damage you take, the likelier you are to fail the next saving throw. The only way to save your sanity is to stop the conversation.
This is my first homebrew DND monster, and a crude draft at that, so I'll be glad for advice and constructive criticism, but please be kind.
Also, I'd be really glad if any of you playtest this and tell me your experience!
I had a hard time coming up with a queer-inspired monster that isn't either a joke or a homophobic caricature. I tried to think about fears of people inside the community. Bigotry escalation? That's probably the worst one, but hard to interestingly embody in the effects of a single monster. Turning out to not really be the identity you think you are? I'm sometimes afraid of it, but that's because my OCD can bring up really weird doubts (Like 'what if you don't really love the boyfriend you'd been dating with for six goddamn years' or 'what if you'd been manipulating the people around you your entire life without realisting that'). In my experience, the queer community in general is pretty chill about members experimenting and changing their minds. It's not what lurks in our collective subconciousness waiting to attack.
Eventually I landed on the concept of 'deadnames'.
'Deadname' a community slang refering to a trans person's birth name, replaced with a chosen name more appropriate to their real gender after they came out. It represents the idea that the name and gender assigned to you at birth are 'dead', they're no longer you, you moved on from them. The core idea is great: None of us is the same as they were as children, and you shouldn't refer to people as what they no longer identify with. Don't call people by their deadname unless they explicitly consent. Better not to even ask what it is.
However, what I find quite chilling is the complete detachment some individuals have with their deadname - and their pre-transition identity as whole. Talking as if it was an actual, seperate person who died, or a fake identity that never really existed, rather than themselves before they found out something important about themselves. (Personally, I don't have a deadname. I chose to keep my birth name, Daphna, and add the name my parents would've given me had I been born male, Shmuel, as a second name, going by both (Daphna-Shmuel) or by the nickname 'Dash'. But of course every choice is valid.) I find it very strange, to shut away a huge part of your history and identity as if it never existed simply because you're different now. In the Thesaus' ship dilemma, I tend to believe that at least a living creature stays itself even when every single part of it had been replaced.
But the fun about writing is that you aren't here to critisize things. The storyteller's job, as Hoid said once, is not to tell people what to think, but to give questions to think upon - and TTRPG is excelent for this purpose, because eventually, no matter how much you plan, eventually the players choose what to make of your adventure and how to act inside it, and you can't predict what they'll do.
So let's think about it artistically - the idea that the person you once were is a seperate being, with its own will and personality, that might come back to haunt you.
It's not limited to trans people! A perfectly straight man might feel that his current existence as a busy, practical adult is wildly disconnected from the unruly, imaginative boy he once was; A woman with a criminal past who changed her name, moved to the other side of the world and started a new, decent and peaceful life for herself might be running not only from the police, but from the vile, messed-up person she used to be; One who'd gone through severe trauma might feel as if the innocent, mentally-well person they were a day ago has nothing to do with what they turned into now.
And that's talking real-world examples! What about a vampire or lich haunted by their living self? A hag or dread doppleganger haunted by the child they were when they still thought they're human? A darklord haunted by the pure and saintly person they were as a youth, or a level-10 adventurer haunted by their level-one version that had yet to go through any of the meaningful character arc they'd gone through and completely misunderstands their decisions?
This can be a nice way to bring a PC or NPC's backstory into the front story!
I think a ghost would fit this well. A ghost of the person you once were. But a corporeal or mutable ghost at that, one able to successfully imitate a living person.
I want to design it so the Deadname's proginator can accept it again as part of their identity, or just fight it and bring it down to 0 HP. Free choice.
Yes, I'm using 5e stats here. This is simply the edition whose mechanics I know best. You're welcome to try and convert it if you want to, I don't think it would be too hard.The Deadname is formed when a person genuinely discards an identity they once seriously held. The identity must have been originally a serious part of their sense of self - characters one played in the theater, cinema or roleplay game, or fake identities used solely for deception, usually don't count (though there had been exceptions) - and discarded in the person's mind, not only in the eyes of other people (for example, using a fake name when ordering food at a cafe isn't really 'diiscarding your identity'. If one dons a false name for years over years - for safety reasons, for example - the Deadname wouldn't be formed until they start viewing their new identity as the real one.) Changes extreme enough to create a Deadname include but aren't limited to: coming out of or going back into the closet, religious conversion, alignment change, creature type change, certain mental disorders, and many more - though of course none of these is ensured to result in one's creation. To create a Deadname one must have a complete mental split between their former and current self, and have the dark powers (Or, in other worlds, gods of death and undeath) respond to this feeling.
Some Deadnames act as placeholders to your past life, playing your role while you're away and willing to hand it back to you if you want to return - but some take over it for themselves, and would do their best to eliminate their 'copy' if it threatens their position - or, on the contrary, invade the new life of the original person, even if they had no interest in going back, and torment them with reminders of their past selves or attempt to take over their current one. Deadnames are rarely able to personally evolve: They have an individual identity, but it's fixed in the point of time where they left. They remember new experiences, but have a hard time learning personal lessons from those.
The Deadname
(Medium Undead, typically the same alignment as the original person held at the time in their life the Deadname is based on, but one step closer to Lawful Neutral.)
AC: 18
HP: 4d20
Same ability scores and class/race features the original person had at the time in their life the Deadname is based on, but with the following changes:
-2 to wisdom (as the Deadname is unable to learn from experience)
Soul Syphoning: By conversing with a target for a minute (typically undermining its confidence with varying degrees of subtlity), the Deadname can force it to make a DC 15 charisma save or lose 1 point of charisma, which the Deadname gains instead. The deadname can use this feature repeatedly for up to 10 minutes, or until the target is out of hearing range, but cannot use it afterwards until they finish a long or short rest.
When using this feature on their original person, the Deadname gain 2 points of charisma for every point drained from the target.
The effects to either side fade after a week.
Battle of minds: When the Deadname touches the original person, both must make a contesting charisma check. If the Deadname wins, it possesses the original person: the Deadname disappears, and the original person has the Incapacitated condition and loses control of its body. The Deadname now controls the body, but the original person retains awareness. The Deadname can’t be targeted by any attack, spell, or other effect, except ones that specifically target Undead. The Deadname’s game statistics are the same, except it uses the possessed original person’s current Speed, as well as the original person’s current Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution modifiers.
The possession lasts until the body drops to 0 Hit Points or the Deadname leaves as a Bonus Action. When the possession ends, the Deadname appears in an unoccupied space within 5 feet of the original person, and the original person cannot be affected by this feature for 24 hours. If the original person succeeds, though, they can choose whether to accept the Deadname (in which case it is absorbed into their soul, returning to its place as an outdated but integral part of them, and ceases to exist as a seperate being, and they regain any charisma points they lost to it) or reject it (in which case the Deadname is shoved up to 30 feet away from them and takes 3d6 force damage).
You might notice there's no built-in damaging option for the Deadname. I just couldn't think of a thematically-appropriate one. Their 'soul siphoning' seems to me like a pretty serious debuff option, their AC is high enough for most attacks to miss them (allowing them to actually stand around talking the PCs into Lost Ones) and I imagine at least half of them would have class levels providing with a damage option. But their class levels are based on the original person's - how do you make a commoner's Deadname, or one based on the original person's childhood, at least a bit physically dangerous?
Offer suggestions in the Comments thread! Same for appropriate resistances and immunities!
Speaking of Soul Siphoning - you might notice it's the ability-draining version of a Death Spiral: The more charisma damage you take, the likelier you are to fail the next saving throw. The only way to save your sanity is to stop the conversation.
This is my first homebrew DND monster, and a crude draft at that, so I'll be glad for advice and constructive criticism, but please be kind.
Also, I'd be really glad if any of you playtest this and tell me your experience!
"Not all that is violet is deadly, and not all that is deadly is violet." - "S", Gaz IV, page 13.
-
TheArcaneWeirdo
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 736
- Joined: Wed Oct 15, 2025 1:22 pm
- Gender: Other
- Location: Jerusalem
Re: Rainbows in the Mist - A Pride Month Anthology
As I suspected, I couldn't keep up with the pace I set for myself for these stories.
Don't worry, I intend to keep working on them throughout the summer - we're queer all year long, after all!
In the meanwhile, here's another location in the Isles of Tolerance series:
Set on the border between Quartier Ouvrier and Quartier Publique of Port-A-Lucine, Le Cheval Rose (poor quality rooms, good quality meals) is a place where people put a mask to be their real selves. Being mainly a gaybar but also popular among non-humans, misfits of both fantastic and mundane sorts have found a second home in this disreputable tavern. In this highly sergerated city, Le Cheval Rose is one place where a noble-blooded art student, a homeless werewolf, a wizened wizard and a caliban who'd never been out of their mom's basement before can sit at the same table and have a drink.
Most clients don't use their real name in the tavern. Many resort to masks, elaborate makeup or even illusion magic to keep their outside lives outside. Some do this out of genuine fear for their reputation or safety, while others simply enjoy the chance to be a different, freer person for the night.
The tavern's clientele had developed a subculture of its own, a mixture and satire of the many, many walks of life from which they come - including a fashion style notable for the inspiration it draws from the Darkonese elvish style, for exaggerated decorations made in parody of the local nobility, and for complete disregard for gender or modesty norms.
That said, as enticing and inclusive as Le Cheval Rose is, it is by no means safe or free from the intrigue surrounding the rest of Port-A-Lucine:
- More than half the clients live a double life - respectable, normative citizens by day, scandalous party people by night - and the barkeeper, Charles Tyber (human, rogue 8, NE, he/him), knows this well, and despite his clients best attempts at disguise has learned enough to weaponize their identities against them. He earns more money from blackmail than from selling drinks, and is just fine with that.
- The volunrable circumstances in which many clients are, the unfiltered tolerance towards the supernatural and the (justified) policy of keeping the gendarmerie as far away as possible from the place unwittingly makes the travern a perfect hunting ground for all sorts of monsters. Classy vampiresses luring innocent young lesbians into their deaths, or dark mages drugging and kidnapping a 'disposable freak' for research purposes, are all too common and rarely ever investigated - a sad fact Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgewick are trying to change.
- Le Cheval Rose is a meeting place for many people who believe in equality, liberty and other ideals that often don't go along with Dementlieu's current social order. Lately, a growing group of well-intentioned political extremists had flourished there, and further radicalized by numerous factors in the city that are interested in chaos. If - not, When - the revolution breaks, the tavern would undoubtly be one of its strongholds.
Interesting personages:
- Adele Bonheures (Human, bard 2, she/her, NG), is one of the tavern's regular performers. Born as Adrian Babineaux, she was thrown out of the house by her stuffy aristocratic parents when they saw their 'son' trying on women's clothes. She made a living for herself as a 'crossdressing' singer and comedian in the shoddier part of the city, and soon became a local celebrity. Now in her late-twenties and relatively financially stable, she often tries to help others with their coming-out process, and aspires to build a strong, supportive community out of the loose network of the tavern's regulars. Beyond her beautiful performances, she's often credited as 'the glue that holds Le Cheval Rose' together'.
- Daeg 'The Bear' Finch (Bestial caliban, rouge 1/fighter2, he/him, CG) is, as you night guess, a caliban bearing a striking resemblance to a brown bear. A former thug trying to reform himself, Daeg is considered the tavern's hero for scaring away a mob of bigots once. Daeg isn't the brightest in scholarly terms but is very street-smart, and an excelent listener. Convinced his rough appearance dooms him for a life of loneliness and prejuice, Daeg is oblivious to the fact many of the lads are actually into it...
- Cinder (Human, wizard 4, she/they, N) is a talented illusionist and make-up artist, glad to give people their dream appearance for the night for a pair of copper pieces. However, their illusions tend to fade around midnight, so those relying on them for secrecy should plan their hangout (or mission) so they can go home before their disguise 'goes pumpkin'. There's poetry in that, as Cinder's precious hours of acceptance and friendship are too a fleeting illusion doomed to 'go pumpkin' once they come back home: They have yet to come out to their parents, which she still lives with and has to constantly make new excuses to to hide her disappearances. Cinder doesn't think their father would have any hard feelings regarding her gender identity - he's an old chap, but he'd seen weirder things. She's simply afraid Lord Balfour wouldn't allow a transfeminine non-binary, even his own daughter, to join the male-exclusive Fraternity of Shadows...
Don't worry, I intend to keep working on them throughout the summer - we're queer all year long, after all!
In the meanwhile, here's another location in the Isles of Tolerance series:
Set on the border between Quartier Ouvrier and Quartier Publique of Port-A-Lucine, Le Cheval Rose (poor quality rooms, good quality meals) is a place where people put a mask to be their real selves. Being mainly a gaybar but also popular among non-humans, misfits of both fantastic and mundane sorts have found a second home in this disreputable tavern. In this highly sergerated city, Le Cheval Rose is one place where a noble-blooded art student, a homeless werewolf, a wizened wizard and a caliban who'd never been out of their mom's basement before can sit at the same table and have a drink.
Most clients don't use their real name in the tavern. Many resort to masks, elaborate makeup or even illusion magic to keep their outside lives outside. Some do this out of genuine fear for their reputation or safety, while others simply enjoy the chance to be a different, freer person for the night.
The tavern's clientele had developed a subculture of its own, a mixture and satire of the many, many walks of life from which they come - including a fashion style notable for the inspiration it draws from the Darkonese elvish style, for exaggerated decorations made in parody of the local nobility, and for complete disregard for gender or modesty norms.
That said, as enticing and inclusive as Le Cheval Rose is, it is by no means safe or free from the intrigue surrounding the rest of Port-A-Lucine:
- More than half the clients live a double life - respectable, normative citizens by day, scandalous party people by night - and the barkeeper, Charles Tyber (human, rogue 8, NE, he/him), knows this well, and despite his clients best attempts at disguise has learned enough to weaponize their identities against them. He earns more money from blackmail than from selling drinks, and is just fine with that.
- The volunrable circumstances in which many clients are, the unfiltered tolerance towards the supernatural and the (justified) policy of keeping the gendarmerie as far away as possible from the place unwittingly makes the travern a perfect hunting ground for all sorts of monsters. Classy vampiresses luring innocent young lesbians into their deaths, or dark mages drugging and kidnapping a 'disposable freak' for research purposes, are all too common and rarely ever investigated - a sad fact Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgewick are trying to change.
- Le Cheval Rose is a meeting place for many people who believe in equality, liberty and other ideals that often don't go along with Dementlieu's current social order. Lately, a growing group of well-intentioned political extremists had flourished there, and further radicalized by numerous factors in the city that are interested in chaos. If - not, When - the revolution breaks, the tavern would undoubtly be one of its strongholds.
Dread Possibility: Caught in the Fray
It's no secret that the ownership of Le Cheval Rose is by no means legal.
However, few know it was founded as money laundring for the businesses of The Living Brain. The political groups gathering there are highly manipulated to fit the crimelord's agendas. Worried of what his rival might be plotting, Dominic D'Honaire had been trying to close the tavern for years. After financial pressure and gentle manipulations failed, the duke started seeking a legal excuse to shut the place down. Over the past few months, the gendarmerie inspected the tavern multiple times, and it's only a matter of time until they simply try to arrest everyone in it.
However, in this case, they'll find out that Le Cheval Rose's clientele has no intention to go quietly. These people had been beaten down for long enough, and they're about to rise up. The Living Brain, of course, will make sure to encourage the riots and spread the rumours all around town, so they may serve as an example to Port-A-Lucine's poor and oppressed...
Interesting personages:
- Adele Bonheures (Human, bard 2, she/her, NG), is one of the tavern's regular performers. Born as Adrian Babineaux, she was thrown out of the house by her stuffy aristocratic parents when they saw their 'son' trying on women's clothes. She made a living for herself as a 'crossdressing' singer and comedian in the shoddier part of the city, and soon became a local celebrity. Now in her late-twenties and relatively financially stable, she often tries to help others with their coming-out process, and aspires to build a strong, supportive community out of the loose network of the tavern's regulars. Beyond her beautiful performances, she's often credited as 'the glue that holds Le Cheval Rose' together'.
- Daeg 'The Bear' Finch (Bestial caliban, rouge 1/fighter2, he/him, CG) is, as you night guess, a caliban bearing a striking resemblance to a brown bear. A former thug trying to reform himself, Daeg is considered the tavern's hero for scaring away a mob of bigots once. Daeg isn't the brightest in scholarly terms but is very street-smart, and an excelent listener. Convinced his rough appearance dooms him for a life of loneliness and prejuice, Daeg is oblivious to the fact many of the lads are actually into it...
VIEW CONTENT:
VIEW CONTENT:
"Not all that is violet is deadly, and not all that is deadly is violet." - "S", Gaz IV, page 13.