#dark accademic

[4mericana9othic]

#coquette moodboard #coquette #coquette aesthetic #nymphett #nymph aesthetic #nymphmoodboard #movies #film #filmstill #movie still #vampirecore #vampyr #vampcore #dark academia #light accademic #dark accademic #light academia #light academia moodboard #dark academia moodboard #vintage poster #movie poster #film poster #retro poster #1970s #the vampire lovers

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Cracking the Snowglobe

As the dark closes in and the cold weighs heavy on us on all, it’s important to remember that there is light and warmth to be had, if only we seek it out, and share it with others. Stories round the fire, good food shared with those we love, songs of hope sung in defiance of the bleak, all these things give the soul the tender it needs to burn on through the winter until the days begin to grow long again. 

Setup:  Decades after retiring from a busy life of adventuring, the local wizard Hypatia has fallen into a depressed bout of isolation, raising a barrier of magical force around her manor in the hopes of keeping out distractions while she works on yet another project she hasn’t the energy to complete.   Her old friend Moroz the outrider is having none of it, tired of being brushed off every when he visits and concerned about Hypatia’s wellbeing, he’s journeyed around gathering presents from all their old friends and allies as a reminder of the good times they spent together, and a symbol that people still care about her. His grand display of affection has been somewhat delayed when a gang of hobgoblins ambushed him on the road, stealing the majority of the gifts and leaving him for dead. 

When the party stumble across the scene of the ambush and follow the scatteres of red snow (and Toboggan, the distressed reindeer), they find Moroz crawling his way out of a ditch, alive, pissed off, and in need of some holiday helpers.

 Background: It has been some score of years since the wizard Hypatia walked the roads of the realm with her friends, using her magic and more often her wits to mend what’d gone astray.  She settled, as she had always wanted, into the life of a country wizard, persuing her own studies in a manor just far enough from town that neither she or the locals would bother one another unless the cause was worthwhile. While every shy accademic is due their alone time, decades and distance have not been good for Hypatia. More and more she has sunk into the lony existance she has made for herself, losing the strength to keep up correspondance with old allies, to visit the market for supplies, to even leave the little island she calls home.  She says she is working, but her work suffers too, the grand tretisies and formulations she hoped to write stagnate along with her mind, and frustration at being unable to focus on one thing she was good at has inspired her to cut herself off further, raising a globe of magic around her home and denying all visitors.

Moroz knows what it means to be alone.  The dwarven outrider has spent most of his life carrying messages between settlements and outposts for weeks at a time. He also knows how dangerous that loneliness can be, and that a life without other people in it is a life without hope, and the winter is not kind to those without hope.  The last time he saw Hypatia, when she came to turn him away from her door and raise her barrier, Moroz saw a look in her eyes that reminded him of travellers he’d found stranded in the snow, the look of slowly forgetting your reasons to live. He knows he must remind her, or he won’t see her again come the thaw. 

Adventure Hooks: 

The party could encounter Moroz on any wintry road (A mournfully bellowing Reindeer is one hell of a hook), but If you wanted to run this adventure as a oneshot, consider having the heroes be part of a search party specifically sent out to look for him after a snowstorm delays the local mail delivery.  

The hobs have taken their loot and fallen back to a deserted fortress half buried in snow. While most of what they’ve stolen are keepsakes destined to be sold off or tossed into the fire if the party doesn’t intervene, a few of the more interesting presents have some wizz-bang magical powers. Hopefully Hypatia doesn’t mind some of her gifts being used as powerups to help the heroes survive the dungeon.  

After they’ve recovered the majority of the gifts, Moroz and the party still have to break into the wizard’s warded fortress. The globe of force is highly impressive, but careful perception could reveal a few careful weaknesses.   There’s a boathouse left abandoned on the isle that happens to contain a forgotten tunnel leading into the manor proper (which just so happens to have a local river monster hibernating inside of it).    An eagle eyed scout might likewise notice that the dusting of snow on top of the globe isn’t uniform, and that there’s a thin spot riiiight above the manor’s chimney in order to let out the smoke. 

Once inside the party have other hurdles to face: the phantom servants that manage the grounds are also programmed to repel intruders… but they don’t seem to notice the sinister, shadowy entities that now lurk in the Manor’s unlit halls.  They’ll find Hypatia in a sorry state, having spent several days staring into the yawning mouth of a dark portal she doesn’t quite remember calling up.  After spending so long cut off, so long failing to achieve anything with the work that gave her purpose, despair overtook the wizard’s heart and the shadowfell called to her… she was not that long from answering it when the party intervened. They chose to care, and they ended up saving her life, and the life of her friend besides.  

After their tearful reunion Moroz decides to stay to help take care of his old friend, but extends an invitation to the party: The winter holidays are coming up and it is better to spend it with friends, perhaps they could help him decorate the manor, cook a couple meals, maybe head into town for supplies and get caught up in a snowball fight.  When the Festivities are done, Hypatia will extend the invitation even further: being alone is evidently bad for her, and she has so much space in her home it’d be a shame not to give the party a place to stay every time they stop in.  The party will have a new home base and a new reason to go out adventuring: what with Moroz retiring for the time being and needing someone capable to take over his role as outrider.  

Art 1

Art 2

#low level #winter #wintertide #ranger #wizard #goblins #Press Start #player home #winter dungeon #forest dungeon #ally wizard #ally ranger #encounter forest

[gremlin-who-lives-under-a-bridge]

Choatic academia

I see lot of things about light and dark academia but little to nothing about choatic. So I wanted to share what it is. Choatic academia is discussing accademic topics while using slang and cussing, it is about enjoying school but waiting till the last minute to submit an assignment, it is about wearing the school uniform wrong, it is about knowing way to much useless information, it is about writing poems on napkins and novels for fun, it is about "hypothetically" sneaking into librarys for fun even though it was open and you time in the day. I don't know if I explained it all to well but I hope you get an idea of what choatic academia is.

#chaotic academia

[cumbercookiebatchs]

I really need some drug addict Enjolras headcanons (you know who this is).

Hello my dear 💖💖

This turned out being a short fic-like thing, I hope you don't mind? I started thinking about what could make Enjolras fall into drugs and this happened -

Enjolras was fine, until he wasn't anymore.

His accademic career was brilliant, top of his classes, two loving parents and a little group of friends that shared his passion and fights.

Then the dreams started, filled his brain with people and places he didn't know, but seemed so familiar, so close, so terrible.

And it became an obsession, a nightmare come to life, so real and hurtful and taunting, it deleted time, never made a difference if he was awake or asleep, if it was day or night, blood and gunshots everywhere, sharp screams ringing inside his ears and the same pair of eyes, a sharp pang inside his chest, everything starting again, sharper and sharper every time.

Then everything shifted into place, every memory settled back, and made everything worse.

Remorse, pain, the uselness of his death, of his friends's death weighing on him, Grantaire's remarks ringing into his ears everyday, everytime he watched the news, capitalism laughing at his face and his back, had him crumbling down into an empty shell of himself. The thought of being the only one alive again, yet another cruel smack of fate, kindness being stepped on, killed, every day right in front of his eyes.

And do you know, how hard it is, to know you killed the one you loved for nothing.

Combeferre's sweet smile. Jean's beautiful poems. Courfeyrac's laughter. Bossuet, Grantaire, Eponine.

Gavroche.

Never there anymore.

That's how Enjolras fell into drugs.

A desperate try to send the pain away, a desperate try to forget, both himself and the pain he caused, and it was escape and punishment alike.

Then, punishment began to fade, blurred at the lines by the sheer euphoria he could feel, the euphoria that reminded him of the man he once was, when the fight had him feeling like that, when the warmth in his chest came from his friends, when the exited beating of his heart came from Grantaire's sharp comebacks.

He's not eating, he's not sleeping, living in memories and illusions alike. And he sees them, sees them everywhere, but they're happy now, they smile at him from the fog circling around their table, they tend their arms toward him, and Enjolras slips.

When he comes back to himself, it's to look into the same eyes he last saw more than a hundred years ago. There's a faint beeping, somewhere near him. Enjolras thinks he's dreaming again.

Grantaire's palm is warm on his cheeks, "is it really you?" he asks.

Enjolras screams, Enjolras cries. Grantaire's not real, Grantaire's not there, Grantaire's made up by his fucking brain and his own guilt and remorse, and he screams and screams and screams until he's sleeping again.

He wakes up alone in his room. It's dark, he breaths out, maybe he'll get some peace finally, but his veins thrums and he's feeling nauseous, and Grantaire's voice is still swirling inside his head.

It takes a lot. A lot of effort. A lot of failed tentatives to escape, to run away. He wants a dose, he needs it. He can't breathe.

He's in a clinic, he realizes after maybe a week. He doesn't really know.

Grantaire comes back, maybe he's not really Grantaire, maybe Enjolras's brain is just fucked.

But with his blood clean and this boy looking at him with tenderness and worry, Enjolras's guilt is back, and he spends his days in a daze, spends his nights crying and screaming, tied on his bed, blood hot in his veins, abstinence like damnation.

Grantaire's voice is a soothing, perpetual murmur, Enjolras doesn't know if he's making it up.

Then, then he wakes, the days feels less blurred, his head hurts a bit less.

He's calmer, and everything looks more focused. He still wants to start all over again, but the frenzy went away.

Grantaire's there. Grantaire is still there. Grantaire is real. Grantaire is alive.

Enjolras starts crying, ugly hiccups wrenching his body, shaking him whole, "I'm not alone", "I'm sorry", "It was all my fault".

Grantaire sits on his bed, hugs him tight to his chest.

He's crying too, Enjolras realizes. "I thought you'd never come back to me".

#I didn't touch the Rehab part too much because I don't know much #It didn't feel right for me to assume #I tried to focus on the emotional part but please come tell me if this goes over the line in any way #Hope you liked this ❤️❤️ #Enjoltaire #Enjolras #Enjolras headcanon #Enjoltaire headcanon #Enjoltaire reincarnation au #tw drugs #tw death mention #tw depressing stuff #riri's writing

[cicerobussytransplant]

Hannibal is CLEARLY Edward. Pretentious, dramatic, doesn't know how to hit on someone in a normal way, wants to share his dark secret with Will no he doesn't yes he does ❤, eats people which is 1 step away from drinking blood... And s1 Will already dresses like Bella so :)

im sorry caro, but from my accademical knowledge of twilight (which is to say, none) I have to disagree.

the entire conflict revolves around Edward being the coward version of a vampire who goes 'oh stay away from me bella. in case you haven't noticed, I'm weird. im a weirdo. I dont F I T in'. while bella is all horny and like 'come on do it. eat me. eat my ass'. and if those aren't, RESPECTIVELY, will and hannibal then what is the point.

#.ask #youlovedme-never #i do not accept rebuttals uwu #cannibal circus: the series

[brunhiddensmusings]

So I haven't been on your blog for very long but you seem like someone who has a good taste in books. Basically I was wondering if you could recommend some good Terry Pratchett books for people like me who are new to him? (Sincerely someone who has never read a single one of his books but is interested anyway)

okay, theres a great many good books i can reccomend but Terry Pratchett’s discworld novels i can reccomend to basically everyone while still understanding that entering it may be quite daunting because its a complicated question to answer likely, start where i started, with a book thats not even one of the mainline 'paths’ of discworld, has little continuity with any of the other stories, but does a good job of at least touching base on a wide selection of the myriad cast of the world and does an excelent job of at least giving you the FEEEL of discworld complete with stunning artwork The last hero, a discworld fable

after this brief introduction of equal parts humor, philosophy, satire, and gutpunch feels you can make a decision on which ‘path’ of novels to start on next which is usually where people get lost because theres a wide selection of flowcharts that look like a troubleshooting guide for soviet agracultural equipment considering many of them end with “3.0″ or have sections crossed out and arrowed over to the left ill make it simpler, breaking it into introductory and intermediate chunks beginner- which of the following sounds more appealing to you? a retelling of macbeth in a setting where witches act like actual old ladies who get into everyone elses business which repeatedly gets elbow deep in folklore punctuated with light slaps towards shakespear or a crime/detective story set in a city where a troll/dwarf racewar is always on the back burner, the thieves guild and assassins guild are prominent political powers, and ‘wizards did it’ is a legitimate possibility to most crimes if the first is your choice start with Wyrd Sisters (also available as an animated movie but read first as much of the humor doesnt translate well from page to screen), first of the witches of Lancre path... well okay ‘equal rites’ is technically before that but its a more intermediate book you can tackle later. you dont have to immediately read the rest of the witches line unless you feel like it instead of exploring the other paths but they very much have to be read in order otherwise- the order being wyrd sisters, witches abroad, lords and ladies, masquerade, and carpe jugulum before branching off to the tangent tiffany novels Wee free men, Hatfull of sky, and Wintersmith if the second choice appeals more then sit down to Guards Guards, first of the nights watch novels and unlike the witches novels i would highly reccomend going from one to the next immediately instead of waiting till you feel ready to come back and deeply have to be read in order because a lot changes and a lot of continuity happens everywhere that gets deep. the nights watch novels are likely what i would suggest to most readers to start but i also hesitate a bit because it gets heavy in the...  heavyness. some of the best detective stories and political commentary out there. the order is Guards guards, Men at arms, Feet of clay, Jingo, the fifth elephant,Night watch, Thud, and Snuff with honorable mention children's book ‘wheres my cow’ intermediate the death novels, by now you will have met Death with a capital D and know he has all the best lines. good news! he has his own path of books with Mort, Reaper man, Soul music, Hogfather, and overlap with Thief of time. it should not be a surprise that these are also on the heavy side, the humor is a bit more dry and dark, but also surprisingly uplifting. if youve ever seen this comic you now know hwere its from

the novel where Death and his granddaughter save christmas equivalant from being destroyed by a particularly cunning assasin plot to destroy the world -good news again, that particular book is available as a movie, and Christopher Lee voices death as is the only correct human possible to even try Monstrous regiment also goes here, its fantastic with deeply political lesbian energies as well as the ‘industrialization’ and ‘moist von lipwig’ path of Moving pictures, The Truth, Going postal, and Making money. these books are where technology and economy collide headfirst with the fantasy setting youve come to know finally the advanced novels better left till after youve read a few of the others here, ironically, we put the first novels writen in the series and introduce whats arguably the most central figure in the setting, Rincewind and the wizzard path with The colour of magic, which shows its age more then the other novels as the world hadnt been finalized quite yet, its also available as a movie thats fairly decent

you will notice DRASTIC changes as you continue the wizzard path with The light fantastic, Sourcery, Faust Eric, Interesting times, The last continent, Unseen accademicals, and circling back to The last hero theres also assorted miscellaneous novels in the discworld that aren't in one of these paths such as Small gods, Pyramids, The amazing Maurice and his educated rodents, and the short story Troll bridge as well as the previously mentioned Equal rites if you want a brief synopsis of any particular book before hunting it down to know if you want to pursue it ill be happy to comply

ook

[mkharikumar]

knowledge of discovering things  /by    Sukshmananda  swamy

  ”.There are different types of ambitions and additions in the air. But nothing is tangible.” Harikumar wrote. This kind of knowing and feeling is very evident in his works, mainly in his column AKSHARA JAALAKAM’ .I think that by criticising the myriad aspects of our life , he has broken the old intellectual conservative acceptablity of the accademic thoughts. I think by criticising the traditional ways of thinking, especially in the interior mechanism of making ideas , we are used to experience all forms of art, but a lot of it has to be replaced. It is possible only by this brave attempt to think as a free man . It is the relevance and significance of Harikumar. I have great trust in him.Harikumar’s talks and his writings are very organic and sincere. He has a profound knowledge of discovering things and meanings in the pursuit of Truth. We all know every walks of life is now rapidly becoming inorganic and artificial .It is a continuous process of compromise and surrender. It is a feeling of synthetic and superficial touch. As a writer Harikumar is totally different from this in more than one way. He is so simple, at the sametime very profound. Similarly, his concern to this world and to the other world is very much sane and very balanced. It is laudable. I cannot ignore the liberative effect in his writings.The essential part of it is a new invention of human vision and future.The present scenario in the world of writing is not much encouraging, a visible poverty of insights and lack of grand new perceptions seems to be one of the many reasons for this retarded like situation in our literature.Harikumar is a rare exemption and he is able to address this retardedness and capable to give assistance to the liberating process. In order to go beyond the retardations , let’s listen to him to know in the way how he deals it. Read his poem: Oh, sunset why are you in grief? Have the primitive times wept about us? No, never. Because we have been flag bearers of primordial love. Then, why sunset, you are in grief? Is it true grief? Or are you in moments of prayer within the miniscule, surreptitious molecules assembled within your heart? Why your color-changes are so momentous? Oh how aged are the sobs that you carry within you? The chronology of memoirs in which human souls stroll: The pictures you painted with ancient myths. An anonymous voice from somewhere asks “why you are in chronic grief?” It spreads like a shooting pain from deep within. You are the sole witness t o all the lust, passion and orgasmic ectasies; Life drenched in dreams withers on the way side. As you chant mutely the vedic mantras they turn into a collage of portraits true to life A breeze gives wings to the broken pieces of the past The grief of the sundown turns into immortal temptations of existence dried up by oceans. The distressin g repetition of romantic images; You always flee; your journey itself is your doom; Your entire words are just statutes of beauty which helps you to hide from haunting alphabets; Are you putting out the fire of our sexual passions? They were just within our grasp, but shattered during th e sky-splitting festival fireworks. Why are you silent even to miserable lovebirds like the two of us? The voluminous glossary and depressing color schemes in your silence- Are they your creative self or not? Why do you gather strands of darkness and bring them back always? What is there in your eyes? Are they monuments of beauty demolished by history? Are you letting your silence devour the agony and ecstasy of others? Oh, sunset why are you knitting the night clouds? Will you le nd your garments to cover my nudity? The paddy fields celebrate your gloom. Are you packing off those who lost their smiles in the streets blanketed by blood? An axe is heading towards you; Are you going to hide once again in the echoing spiritual hymns mounting from within the temple walls? Who accompanies you in the journey across unknown galaxies? Birds or bird flights? We are degenerating everyday by using the superficial art and its many manifestations. We are misguided and misled by these propaganda.Some people determine the worst thing as super, then many people come forward and try to establish this.Here, Harikumar makes a different way to feel one’s own inner state .His notion of writings is changed much.He can nurture the freedom of thought in all respects.If one can experience the freedom of contemplation , he can attain the supreme reality.We are chained in our thoughts.So we have to free ourselves. That Harikumar does.Gathering the facts of knowing and acquiring the inner depths is more difficult. Our literary scene is lacking a deep understanding of the contemporary world view. Instead Harikumar treats every bit of knowledge as a ladder to enter in the more sensible awareness of the universe.Here thoughts have no rest.It is endless.    

#sukkshmananda swami

[frukheaven]

I don't agree with that annoying anti anon, and I just wanted to tell you I appreciate your headcanons, even if I don't ship Lichtenstein/Prussia (I HC her as like 14 and ship her with Latvia whoops lol) but I can see both Prussia and France as being weird older brothers! (I think she needs a break from Switzerland's seriousness sometimes lol tbh) Anyway, sorry to clutter up your ask box! Love you!

Nah =3 You don’t need to apologize. It is ok =3

Those are only headcanons, and since Lichtenstein doesn’t have a canon age, it is open to interpretation.

Same with shipping! Honestly, just ship what you like and tag accordingly (because some people ship things that make others unconfortable, but it is nothing that a good tagging and blacklist system can’t solve).

Seriously, nobody is getting hurt, and even if that was a “problematic” headcanon, this is only fiction and is not hurting anyone (I can provide links of accademic research telling that it is only fiction and that it is ok to people to like dark/problematic stuff in fiction -_- I know those papers exist because of the antis on the Voltron fandom)

You can adapt those headcanons if you want, so Lichtenstein is dating Latvia instead of Prussia =3 (Like, You can headcanon that she married Francis in a political marriage to make both noble families stronger, but Francis was like “WTF is wrong with you people!? She is 14! I’m not going to touch a 14 years old!” and was cool with her dating someone of her own age) =D

Feel free to change things to adapt to your liking =3

#Anonymous

[4mericana9othic]

#interior #interior design #interior decor #gallery wall #interior design stiles #fairy cottage #cottage ore #coquette moodboard #coquette #nympette #nymph aesthetic #design #chaotic academic aesthetic #chaoticaccademia #lightaccademia #light accademic #girlblogging #sofia coppola #dark moodboard #dark aesthetic #dark fantasy #fantasy moodboard #messy aesthetic #moodboard aesthetic #digital scrapbooking #digital journal

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: Old Crow Tower

“Nobody has any business going up there save for days where the headsman plies his trade. Why not let that place and all those birds be, eh? ”

Setup:  As one of the settlement’s oldest fortifications, this watchtower and it’s walled square have collected all manner of ghost stories, tales of rumored torment for those imprisoned inside over the years, and the many dying curses spat from the lips of the condemed as they awaited the drop or the last swing of the ax. Even to this day the area still plays hosts to a massive clan of crows, still waiting to feast on the flesh of the guilty. 

Perhaps the most memorable and unnerving of all these stories is that of the so called “Stricken Prince”, a bastard of noble lineage who was none the less so wicked as to have his name and entire existence erased from all records by royal decree. Surviving only as a rumor, there is some debate between tellings as to whether he was some offshoot of the royal line or the prevailing duchess’s illegitimate heir, but all agree that he was an accademic of some kind, indulged with a life of learning to keep him from the public eye. Debate rages on whether the Stricken prince was born wrong, or it was the things he learned while away in forign courts that broke him, but the consensus is that after he came back from study abroad, the prince made no secret of his occult dabblings, working wicked magic on members of the court and holding audience with dark spirits. 

Regardless of the (lurid, likely indulged) details of his crimes, the Prince lived out the rest of his life in the Old Crow Tower,  ten or so years a prisoner before they finally dragged him out and severed him from his obviously troubled head. Since then there have been no prisoners kept in the tower, and fewer and fewer executions in the square, truly making it a place for the birds. 

Adventure Hooks: 

While the promise of loot or a drunken dare might get some parties to explore the old execution grounds, some others might need a little convincing: A noblewoman visiting friends in town has managed to lose her wedding ring, snatched out of her jewlerybox by a crow after the window slipped open at night. Everyone knows that almost all the gallowsbirds in town roost in the tower so surely the party would be able to find such a large and well-decorated bauble there, yes? She’d hate to have to return home without it. 

Among the wealth of trinkets gathered by the crows over the years, the party manages to find a yellowed old journal hidden away between the bricks in one of the uppermost chambers of the tower. Having heard stories of the stricken prince, they decide to take it with them to read, thinking that there may be arcane or political secrets within. Thereafter the party will be followed by an unusual number of corvids every time they come back into town, though whether this is the birds seeking a return of their shinnies, or something more sinister is unknown. 

The journal does indeed belong to the infamous bastard, though seems more of a philosophical ramble on the nature of imprisonment than any tome of occult knowledge. Still, the secrets are there and bleed through in time, with a few spell formulae scribbled in the margins as well as a map or two of different levels of the prison long thought berried but accessible through a secret passage highlighted within the pages.  The last few pages seem at first glance to be nothing but incoherent ramblings, but upon closer investigation reveal that a message has been hidden in invisible ink: more spells are revealed throughout the journal, along with several entries addressed to the anonymous reader, claiming that the stricken prince hid his greatest treasure behind a magic door in the prisons lowest level, and through the ritual forging of a particular key, they might gain access to this trove. 

Further Adventures: 

If the party are the type to do their homework before entering a contract, they may come to realize that the noblewoman’s story of a thieving bird is frankly implausible, in no small way evidenced by the distance between the tower and her residence. There’s also whispers about a number masked nobles visiting a house of ill repute some nights ago ( no shame in that) and one of their number raising an awful ruckus the next morning, claiming that a bird had stolen something from her room. As it turns out, their employer had left her ring on the sill of a upper room window before receiving some bedside entertainment, and is desperate to reclaim the item before her husband finds out about her indiscretion. Will the party keep her secret? Squeeze her for a bonus? or perhaps ( if they have the stomach for heartless politics) hold it over her head for blackmail and connections. 

Forging the Prince’s key is no easy feat, as it not only requires a sufficient artisan with a diagram of the object ( provided in the journal), but an inlay of shadow-infused ivory, and a refined quality of “orphaned silver”. The former can be claimed from the bones of any creature touched by darkness, but the latter is an obscure alchemical term referring to silver melted down  from keepsakes that have been “reclaimed” from a grave. discovering the origin of this term may require a trip to the local archives, and procurement of the actual materials may require the help of an experienced tombrobber

With key in hand, the door reveals itself before them, and completing a short ritual presented in the journal (to deactivate the wards, it explains). The party finds themselves accessories in a near century long necromantic prison break.  The hallway beyond the door leads not to some hidden treasure room but to the underworld, and as soon as it’s cracked open the Stricken Prince’s spirit will come spectrally sprinting down it in an attempt to return to the world of the living. If the party manage to close door before the apparition makes it beyond the threshold, they’ll trap the prince between the worlds, and find him watching, whispering and promising all the while.  If the party let him come through, the Prince is intent on rewarding them as dutiful courtiers, likely possessing one of them after another to ensure negotiations go “smoothly”. 

While content to pay in eldritch secrets and slightly cursed magical items, The Prince is willing to establish a bond of patronage with the party should they be willing to help him. First order of business is finding him a new vessel ( yay, more graverobbing), and then on to securing a suitable residence where his experiments will go unnoticed. Somewhere along the way between infiltrating the halls of power and raiding dungeons for ritual components the party may have a “are we the baddies?” moment as they realize they’ve become less adventurers and more “ low level minions of a powerful undead spellcaster”, the sort that other adventurers often kill for pocket change. Do they see things through with their dark lord employer, or get out while the getting is good before a band of heroes armed with silver and sunlight kick down the door on their lair home base. 

#Press Start #Homebrew Adventure #evil party #Adventure #Dungeons and Dragons #dungeon #dare #nobility #patron #warlock #Occult #Cultists #Dungeon Crawl #D&D adventure #treasure hunt #low level #treasure #court intrigue