This is a short tale I wrote as a writing project a while back. It is a retelling of an old Russian folk tale. It is interesting to take and old story and reframe it. I did some further polishing before posting it. I hope people like it.
Come closer, says I. It is time to tell the story of Vasilisa, the Beautiful, and of her terrible light. It is time to tell of her journey and troubles, of the old crone, Baba Yaga. I will not bite, my children. Not yet, at least. This is time for a story. There is time enough for you to land in the cook pot later, yes.
I recently offered to run the alternate, off-week, D&D game for the group I play with on Tuesdays. I would be the fill in guy for weeks when the normal DM did not want to run. My offer was generally greeted with some enthusiasm. The normal DM and another player expressed a desire for Eberron. Now, I love me some Eberron. I could wax rhapsodic about it for days. It is a setting with a wider range of setting conventions than are found in Forgotten Realm. And then there is Sharn: City of Towers.
That said there are some issues with running it in 5th edition, at the moment. Some things just haven’t been written yet. They only now released The Mystic (see also Psionics) and the Artificer. They do have some race stats for some of the races, like the Warforged, on the Wizards of the Coast site. Others have not been done. Also Dragonmarks have been accounted for, but I feel like they need some clarification. I will tackle those another time, but the race I was asked for was Kalashtar. There are some fan versions out there, but nothing definitive. I figured I would take a pass at it.
“I need your help,” the voice called to Kenet. The place was dark about him, and memory eluded him. Where am I, he thought? He cast around the place, looking for something to tell him where he was. Dim fog filled the air, and shadows stretched across towards him.
The figure stepped from shadow. It was Ele, her slight form cloaked in little more than shadow. She looked at him with sad, loving eyes. Her broken and blood-splattered hand reached for him. The deep cut in her throat made a sickening movement and spilled blood with her every breath. Her lips moved as if to tell him something, but Kenet only heard the sound of wind.