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Rocket your D&D 5E and Level Up: Advanced 5E games into space! Alpha Star Magazine Is Launching... Right Now!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="stonegod" data-source="post: 3325409" data-attributes="member: 36973">As the words spill from Jarrith, his mouth remains open in shock. Only during the Last War had he seen conditions so stark. The inn was old---centuries, at least---and on a good day could hold a score or more people in its common room. But now... Now, every space was taken by families whose life had been torn apart.In the corner by the fireplace, a girl no more than four stared with haunted eyes at the fire. A girl, most likely her sister, sat by her, a bandaged arm hanging limp at her side. No mother or father comforted either of them.Under a side table huddled three young tikes, one clutching a sickly looking puppy. The moment the door opens, they duck under it in fear.On the stairs, three pair of mismatched faces only shared the same numb look. They leaned  almost lifeless against the balustrades.Every corner, every space was occupied by them. The living of Barovia. Perhaps the last of those who had not fallen. The last hold out in the tide of the black zombie plague.Before anyone can answer Jarrith's question, the two men of dark complex push their was past, muttering something in a thick tongue, and rejoin another of their own sitting at a table. The get back to playing a game of cards, ignoring the sorrow around them. The townspeople give them a wide berth.The barkeep, mindless wiping glasses that will never be fully clean, looks blankly at the Stalker a moment before answering. The man nods once in the direction of another mostly empty table. There, in a dark corner, sits a pale man of dark hair in what may have been fine fur clothes with rich trimming but are little more than dirty stale clothes now. The man nurses a glass of wine with a thick, red color, and only looks on silently at the newcomers, an inscrutable look on his face.</blockquote>

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