Context: I am DMing a group of players through an amped-up version of the Death House from Curse of Strahd. This is meant to be a one-shot mini-campaign where many (if not all) of them will die, so I’m doing my best to make things as dangerous and scary as possible, including playing creepy music which has them all on edge. The group has made it to the third floor of the house and found two doors, one locked and one unlocked. This takes place after they fail to open the locked door.
Player 1: So the other door is unlocked, right?
Player 1: I go to open the door… 13 for perception?
DM: As you look around your notice this room is mostly empty save for a desk with a large iron key on top of it. There is also a window on the far wall and sitting on it as a porcelain doll with a faded yellow dress. It’s eyes seem to follow you.
Player 1: Nope! Fuck that! I close the door.
Player 3: But the key! What if it unlocks the other door?
Player 1: Ugh, fine. I open the door again.
DM: You see the same scene, but the doll is no longer on the windowsill.
Player 1: Uh, perception 17 to see where it is?
DM: You cautiously pure around the room, looking for any signs of a faded yellow dress, however seen nothing… Until you look down.
Player 3: NO.
DM: Yes. The doll is standing by the partially open door, looking up at you with blue glass eyes.
Player 2: I roll to fucking punt it across the room! *rolls a 2*
DM: You take a step forward and go to kick the doll with all your might… only to have it grab your boot with its tiny porcelain fingers.
Player 2: HOLY SHIT! BURN IT! BURN IT!
Player 1: I ROLLED A 15 TO CAST FIREBOLT ON THE DOLL!
DM: You hear a high pitched shriek echoing from the room as the doll’s head explodes into flames, it’s worn yellow dress catching almost immediately. You watch in abject horror as it releases its grip and stumbles back. As its hair burns away, its glass eyes roll upwards to look at you before beginning to melt back into its porcelain skull.
Player 3: NOPE! I roll to slam the door shut!
DM: The door slams shut without a problem and the screaming stops abruptly.
Player 1: Guys… we still need that key…
After some argueing about whether or not getting the key and potentially unlocking the other door was “worth all this horror movie bullshit”, Player 1 again steps up.
Player 1: Okay, I open the door again and get a 14 perception.
DM: The first thing you notice is an eerie silence followed by the distinct smell of sulfur and burning hair, and lastly you see the remains of the doll. Her body is charred black, her hair has burned away along with the clothes she was wearing, and the sockets which once held blue eyes are empty, yet somehow you still feel as if you are being watched. She sits upon the desk, holding the iron key in her lap.
Player 1: FUCK IT, I’M GONNA SPRINT IN THERE, SNATCH THE KEY AND GET THE FUCK OUT AS FAST AS I CAN!
DM: Roll me an athletics check.
Player 1: 19?
DM: You do so easily, slamming the door behind you. Congratulations, you got the key.
Queue having to take a 10 minute break as the DM laughed about their reactions and everyone shared their mutual terror of babydolls, agreeing that after this all was over they were going to burn the whole house down.
Sherlock Holmes curls his fingers around his daughter’s tiny, perfectly formed foot.
Feels the weight of it, the warmth of it, press against his palm.
Quite without his consciously deciding to, he brings it to his mouth to kiss and as he does he finds his throat has suddenly grown tight-
She is small, and vulnerable, and perfect, his daughter, and the knowledge of this fills him up with more feeling than he can possibly articulate.
So he closes his eyes. Doesn’t even try to. Molly lies asleep to his left, breathing softly, her hair matted against her head and bedraggled, her face pale from tiredness. She still smells vaguely of blood and sweat; The birth had been hard on her, harder than Sherlock had prepared himself for, and now she needs to rest-
As he thinks this, as he remembers this morning’s panic, the fear that his Molly would be taken from him, he has to force himself not to grip the baby tighter-
He has, after all, learned the hard way about holding onto things too tightly.
And for that reason he makes himself loosen his grip. Makes himself breathe deeply and calmly. He doesn’t want to alarm his daughter, or her mother: The danger from both is past. In the morning, he tells himself bracingly, in the morning Molly will wake up and he’ll show her the wonderful little being they made together. They’ll talk about a name, though personally Sherlock’s rather set on “Mary.” They’ll coo and smile at their child, and be thankful for her presence, and when he imagines that Sherlock’s heart feels so great and mighty and full in his chest that he fancies it might burst-
And so he holds his daughter close.
Breathes in the scent of her.
She gurgles slightly in her sleep but doesn’t wake; Feeling thankful for her continued slumber, Sherlock returns his investigations. He feels the delicate porcelain of her skull and marvels that it take up little more than a quarter of his palm. He touches her toes. Her pudgy little hands. In length, each one matches his thumb, they’re so small. They flex reflexively, even in sleep. He runs his knuckles gently over ten miniscule, perfect toenails, their edges scratching slightly against his skin, and smiles at the marvellous symmetry of it all-
Beside him Molly turns in her sleep, murmuring his name. Reaching out for him. He takes her hand and feels, for the first time in his life, that he has something truly precious in his keeping.
He is glad of it.
When John finds him later that night, he’s fallen asleep.
One hand is in Molly’s, and his little daughter is curled in against his chest.
A new extension of my artwork. ive started a side business called “Skeletthuset”. Skeletthuset is vintage style tea cups and sets wit my personal designed skulls adorning them. the above are ready and available. all enquiries to be made to email@example.com
1 x 5 piece set 2 x 4 piece set 1 x 3 piece set
All artwork and design is copyrighted to me as PoisonBlackheart. Skeletthuset is my brand and cannot be used by anyone with out my express permission. infringe on my artworks and brand, i will come after you with every inch of legal proceeding imaginable. Do not copy or rip off my hard work.
This is my Fall Altar dedicated to Luna )0( It is full of crystals, “witchy” books and family heirlooms. The porcelain skull belonged to my Grandmother in which she used as a coffee mug! X) Blessed be♡