This is one of the most adventurous and out-there things I've ever written. If it doesn't work for you, I would love to hear why either via DM or comment. Thanks for reading!
* * *
Eve collapsed into the long bench, thankful to finally be off her feet after such a long day. Farming may have been a nightmare in eternally wet and dreary Travania, but that didn't mean any less farming needed doing. Only a few sturdy plants reliably grew in these cursed lands, and the peasants sustained themselves almost exclusively off their roots and stems. Travania was a land of cold and mud and hunger, but its people were trapped; for the path out of Travania was unknown.
The hour of this day was late and their meager sunlight was fading, so the tired and hungry villagers crowded into modest huts where those who could make do with bare kitchens prepared food for everyone. Some farmed, some sewed, others cooked, and all traded; because money was forbidden Travania. The elders whispered stories of the before times when things had been better, but now their Lord would have none of it. He defined strict rules and brutally saw to their adherence.
A serving girl, probably ten years old and already fully accustomed to days of hard labor, walked down the long table full of farmhands and plopped down small bowls of boiled leaves and roots. The bench that stretched down the table was packed full of villagers, and Eve shifted to scoot her arm in front of her to eat. She picked up a boiled carrot in her muddy fingers and turned it over several times. On the spectrum of possible meals, boiled carrots ranked right about in the middle for Eve. The vegetable was moderately filling and offered a mild sweetness that few other roots or leaves could offer. She chomped her first carrot in one big bite, squishing it in her mouth with her tongue. It was objectively a poor meal, but she was objectively hungry.
"Did you see the wagons?" asked a peasant to her right, an older man named Clarius.
"Wagons?" another peasant echoed.
"Aye, wagons," Clarius confirmed. "Fancy ones, by the looks of 'em. I think he's having guests again."
"Already?" asked yet another peasant, this time a young mother of two named Maralyn. "That was already a year ago?!"
"There there, Maralyn," comforted an old crone by her side. "We'll all lie low this year, you'll see!"
The peasants of Travania lived on this pitiful land, spread across leaking hovels and swampy farms all arranged around a singular grand castle. That central estate, home to the dread Lord Varyn, was a singularly beautiful structure; though that alone could never warm their hearts to what it signified. It seemed that once a year, their Lord hosted guests from across for several nights at a time. Luxurious and ornate wagons, pulled by immaculate draft horses that ate better than any Travanian, emerged from Travania's foggy outer ring and rode straight through the castle's main gate, not to emerge again for several days. Each year around that event, various peasants were drawn into twisted games for the entertainment of the guests, most of which involved a significant amount of spilled blood.
"I saw the wagons," a young boy confirmed with a youthful voice that was mixed with the raspiness of an oncoming chest cold. "They're here, alright."
Just then, the already dim candlelights in the peasants dining hut began to flicker and wane. Fear swept across the twenty or so farmhands crowded in to eat. Some cried out and scurried away, abandoning their lone meal of the day. Others froze or looked about frantically like cornered animals.
"He is coming..." a lone voice sounded ominously.
Eve gulped. The clicking sound of boots on stone outside their hut thundered in her mind. Those boots made a rich, luxurious sound on stone, which added insult to the threat of injury. She considered running, as sometimes Lord Varyn reveled in explicitly random torment to create maximum fear among the peasantry. Other times he focused on those who ran, punishing their audacity to decline his presence. Whatever his mood was today, Eve's legs were simply too tired to move, and so she sat.
The tall, black clad shape of their Lord appeared in the broad entryway. He was tall - well over six feet, with ageless skin and chiseled features. His dark, slicked hair contrasted sharply with his bony white skin. His eyes were sharp and cruel, and all in Travania avoided their gaze. He wore tight black riding leathers and an extravagant cloak that could keep a man warmer than anyone in Travania had ever known. This was particularly insulting to the peasants, of course, as Lord Varyn was neither cold nor warm nor thought anything of either.
"My people," said Lord Varyn, dramatically drawing out each word with feigned joy. "It is so good to see you!"
"Please, my Lord! We ourselves have barely eaten - surely we could not sustain you!" cried Clarius.
"Don't you worry, I've had my fill manyfold over today," Lord Varyn said with a patronizing pat on the man's head. He held his focus on the brave peasant for a second, eventually licking his uncomfortably dark lips. "Though I could
always
go for dessert!" His fangs flashed and the peasants cowered. "Settle, settle," Varyn said. Again, his tone sounded comforting, but it was all an insult.
Eve eyed the door behind Lord Varyn. It was close by, and sitting at the edge of the table, she might be able to tiptoe her way out and avoid whatever was to come. That was one upside of cold, bare feet - quieter footsteps.
"No, today I am here with something of a prize. An award! I am inviting someone to come live inside the castle and enjoy its infinite comforts for the rest of your days."
"Are you going to...
turn...
one of us?" a woman asked. Charlotte Dryer, if Eve remembered her name right. Word had it that someone in Charlotte's family had been turned by Lord Varyn and now lived in the castle, forever a thrall to his dark whims.
"The nature of this gift will never be known to any but that who receives it, and the winner will never return to...
