This session marked the moment when the party’s joke about “just following the plot” became a nervous reality. After the bandits, after the creeping fog, after the sense of something watching them—the road ahead led them straight into the arms of the unknown.

Surviving the Bandit Ambush

The session opened with the last echoes of last week’s chaos. The bandits lay scattered around the path, the players standing victorious—but shaken. The fight had been a reminder: whatever Barovia is, it isn’t a place that forgives.

The group searched the bodies, compared battle scars, and shared a few relieved laughs. They had lived. That was something.

“Well… that was almost really bad.”

And then, as the fog swirled around their boots, something darker appeared ahead.

A Body in the Road — and a Letter

Not fifty yards down the muddy trail, they found him: a lone corpse lying facedown in the cold dirt. His clothes were torn. His hands were stiff. Whatever happened to him… happened recently.

A quick investigation revealed a letter tucked into his coat.
A strange one.
Unsettling.
Heavy with implications the party didn’t yet understand.

The words hit them harder than the ambush had. Something was wrong here—something bigger than a few robbers in the woods. And the deeper they read, the more it felt like Barovia itself was trying to warn (or mislead) them.

The atmosphere changed. The table got quieter. The house—though still unseen—felt suddenly closer.

The Children in the Road

Then it happened.

Two small figures stood silently behind the party in the road—a boy and a girl, pale, frightened, and seemingly appearing from nowhere.

The girl spoke first, voice trembling but determined:

“Please… you have to help us. There’s a monster in our basement.”

That line alone drew a couple raised eyebrows.
But then she added:

“And it’s going to get our baby brother, Walter.”

That’s when one of the players muttered:

“Oh, shit.”

And the entire table nodded in agreement.

The children begged the party to help.
They pointed to a tall, dark townhouse looming through the mist.

Durst Manor.

The players exchanged a look.
They already knew where this was going.

The definition of bravery is being afraid of something and doing it anyway.
They were scared.
They went anyway.

Entering the Durst Manor

The front door creaked open with a sigh, as if the entire house were bracing for the intrusion.

Inside, everything felt… wrong.

Too clean.
Too polished.
Too empty for a house that was supposedly under siege by a monster.

The party moved through the foyer, inspecting ornate woodwork, tracing carved patterns along the walls, and peering into the strange stillness of the hallway beyond. Nothing seemed overtly dangerous—but nothing felt safe.

In the dining room, the table was set with polished silverware and a meal that looked fresh, almost inviting. Naturally, the group did what every D&D party does:

They stole the silverware.
And then they tasted the food.
Because of course they did.

“It’s either a free meal… or a trap. Honestly? I’m okay with both.”

After exploring the downstairs, they started climbing the stairs—only to pause, glance at one another, and decide absolutely not. Instead, they retreated to the main hall of the first floor to take a short rest.

Whether that makes them smart, lucky, or simply delaying the inevitable… well, time will tell.

---

A House That Watches Back

Nothing attacked them.
Nothing moved.
But several players reported feeling like something was watching them the entire time—especially during the rest.

Good.
They’re supposed to.

Death House always begins quietly, luring adventurers into a false sense of control. Session 3 was the calm before the storm—a chance for the party to get comfortable, just long enough for the house to start peeling those comforts away.

The children had asked them to save Walter.
The man in the road had died with a letter that made no sense.
The fog still curled outside the door like a closing fist.

And the house was waiting.