Gravestones on the DM Screen: A High School Foray into Ravenloft
As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, high school was a golden era
of gaming for our group—and few sessions were as brutal or
memorable as our run through I6: Ravenloft. This isn’t a formal
review of the module. Instead, it’s a blood-soaked recollection of
how one sadistic DM tossed us headlong into the Barovian meat
grinder—and gleefully hung gravestones for every fallen PC.
The players were
mostly the same usual suspects: Dave, Jim, Daryl, Tom, Mike, and
myself. Jeff, of course, was behind the screen. We'd just wrapped THECAMPAIGN and dabbled in some Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay and Twilight
2000 before returning to AD&D for this deadly one-shot.
Jeff gave us some
leeway with character creation, including a starting XP allotment and
a short list of magic items (subject to DM approval). I rolled up a
6th-level human cavalier named Sir Alexander Silverglade—an
absurdly noble name for a high schooler to dream up, though
apparently I went all-in: Alexander William Christian Edward Kenneth
Silverglade. Upper-Upper Class. Tenth in line to something or other.
Clearly royalty, and clearly doomed. Naturally, Sir Alex for short.
I still have the
character sheet. He wore full plate, carried a shield +2, and wielded
a Rod of Lordly Might Jeff had forgotten the functions of—thankfully
for me. My attempt to sneak in a +1 Flame Tongue sword was denied and
replaced with a vanilla +2. But with high stats (18s in STR, DEX, and
CON), full armor, and a preposterously low AC of -6, he was built
like a tank. Cavalier perks from Unearthed Arcana gave him damage
absorption, fear immunity, and mind control resistance.
Did it help? Only
just, perhaps not even.
We were allowed
three magic items. I picked strategically—borderline exploitative,
really—but it didn’t save us. The adventure began in classic
Ravenloft fashion: dropped into Barovia at dusk, wolves howling,
villagers fearful, and death already sniffing around the edges.
We made a brief stop
at the “Blood on the Vine” Tavern, then poked around Bildrath’s
Mercantile and scraped together what we could. It wasn’t much. With
night fast approaching, we barricaded ourselves inside an abandoned
house to wait for dawn before approaching Castle Ravenloft.
Big mistake.
If you’ve read I6,
you know the nighttime random encounters are no joke. Every three
turns, 1–2 on a d6? With encounters like wolves, zombies, wraiths,
ghosts—and oh yeah, Strahd himself, with his bat and wolf
entourage? We got the full buffet:
- Strahd showed up
with wolves and bats.
-
Zombies broke
through.
-
Wraiths seeped
in.
-
A ghost floated
through the walls.
-
At least one PC
was level-drained.
-
My character was
aged 40 years by the ghost.
I argued (rules
lawyer alert) that my cavalier’s immunity to fear should also cover
the ghost’s aging effect. Jeff didn’t buy it. Sir Alexander aged
from 22 to 62 in an instant. The following week, Jeff reduced it to
10 years—maybe out of mercy, maybe not. Either way, I claimed a
moral victory.
But the real gut
punch came when Jeff unveiled a house rule (and a flair for the
dramatic): whenever a character died, he’d hang a printed gray
tombstone on his DM screen with the fallen’s name written in
Sharpie. The first casualty? My squire, William, mauled by wolves in
a side room. Jeff hung his gravestone like a trophy, grinning as the
rest of us sat in stunned silence.
By the end, the
screen was covered in tombstones.
We eventually made
it into Castle Ravenloft—barely. Through random encounter rolls and
pure chance, we ended up starting on the upper levels, near the
“Rooms of Weeping.” I was the party mapper, so I still recall the
progression ending abruptly near rooms K36–K46. We didn’t get
much farther. Supposedly the hilt I carried was the Sun Sword, and
the blade was in K41. Not that it mattered.
The final battle was
a bloodbath. I remember Strahd attacking with a pack of specters and
wraiths. Our cleric died almost instantly. I think I was the only
fighter type left standing. Thanks to my AC and cavalier resistances,
I tanked most of the assault while the rest of the group got drained
or shredded. I was eventually dropped to 4th level by two wraith
hits—but I lived. Barely.
Sir Alexander was
the sole survivor.
The game ended
there.
Jeff ruled that the
mists of Ravenloft wouldn’t let him escape, so in my headcanon he
found refuge at the chapel in Barovia, helping Donavich defend it
nightly. Still aging, still armored, still bitter. I always thought
that if I ever ran I6 myself, I’d reintroduce him as a weary old
knight clinging to his code in a world long since lost to darkness.
We never played
Ravenloft again. Our group wasn’t that into gothic horror, and
while I later picked up the module (still in pristine condition),
I’ve always felt the random encounters were more dangerous than the
rest of the dungeon. Still, it was a hell of a session—especially
the gravestones. That image of Jeff’s DM screen, covered in the
names of fallen PCs, has stuck with me for decades.
And no, I’m not
being paid for this—but if you want a legal, affordable copy of I6:
Ravenloft, you can find it here.