Chapter 21 | Knives

Ashley Warren
Jul 10, 2017 · 5 min read

Thick, black smoke choked and blinded Akra as she climbed up into the den, and she stumbled into the back of a chair. She held up her shield to block the plume coming from the hearth, just barely visible through the haze, and it chugged and wheezed an endless stream of blackness into the air.

Her senses were overwhelmed. She couldn’t see clearly, and the smoke bottled in her sinuses, and a sharp whirring sound filled her ears. She felt someone of small stature collide into her thigh, and another fall against her injured arm, and she hissed in pain.

“Go back through the door!” she shouted, pushing at whoever was nearest. But as she turned and fell to her knees next to the trap door, the outline of it faded into the floor. She smacked her palm where it once was, and felt nothing but the grooves in the hardwood. “It’s gone!”

The warlock held her scarf over her mouth as a filter, eyes streaming from the smoke, and coughed, “We’re close to the front, we can make it out!”

But the house was retaliating, and that would be easier said then done. The once-gleaming room was now aged and caked in dust, and the hearth churned like a boiler. Akra saw a blur of gray and silver filling the doorway. She moved closer to it: the swirling vortex was comprised of dozens of razor-sharp knives.

Ruh Ruh pulled a chain shirt from his knapsack, and tossed it upward into the vortex. A horrible sound emerged as the knives chewed up the chainmail, and spit it out on the other side of the door in a knotted, dented bundle. Akra held up her shield. The knives bounced against the metal, leaving tiny dents in the once-pristine facade.

“I don’t think we have any options,” Phaedrus said. “We’re just going to have to run through it.”

Hoben didn’t wait to confirm this plan. Akra watched, her mouth open in a near-shout, as he darted head-first into the vortex. To her surprise, and relief, he came out unscathed on the other side.

“I can see outside!” Hoben shouted through the door in the den, coughing from the smoke emanating from the front hearth, and confirmed that the front door, too, was also filled with whirring weapons. They’d all need to pass through two to make it out.

Ruh Ruh went next, and gritted his teeth before bounding through. His new cloak remained whole, and nothing scratched his muscled arms.

Maybe they could make it out without injury. That seemed like a miracle to Akra, still reeling from their recent battle. She still felt the excruciating snap of her bones breaking, the slimy tentacle clamped over her mouth, her breath caught and trapped in her lungs…

Amira gripped Akra’s arm in solidarity before running through the knives. The warlock was less lucky. She screamed as the blades attacked her, and she emerged on the other side, ravaged and bleeding. Phaedrus went next, and moved with swiftness through the door, to no injury.

Akra’s stomach turned as Liam followed, and she forced herself to watch as he went through. The knives clanged against his armor, and he made a guttural, angry noise. But he was still standing when he made it to the other side, and there was no one left in the den but Akra.

She took a deep breath, held up her shield, and ran into the vortex.

Every edge and point of the knives found every exposed piece of skin; she felt the sharpness of them perforate her face and neck and hands, and her damaged armor gave way to any knife that wanted a taste of her blood. She stumbled into the hall, and Liam steadied her. Her eyes burned from pain and smoke. She had never before been in such distress.

“We’re almost out,” Phaedrus cried, and the outside street was just barely visible through the quickly-moving metal. Akra fixed her eyes on the gray beyond the knives. They were so close, now, to freedom.

Hoben once again went first, skipping almost gracefully through the doorframe. Ruh Ruh and Phaedrus went after. Akra felt an inkling of hope.

Her stomach sank a moment later as Liam ran through, and stumbled, his roar of pain echoing in her head and squeezing her heart. Amira fared worse as she passed through, crying in agony, and collapsed into a heap at Phaedrus’s feet.

Akra prayed desperately that there would be someone to catch her on the other side, that they wouldn’t abandon her — and she leapt through the doorway to the outside world, the knives biting and slicing at her limbs and face, and everything went black.


If this was the afterlife, it was very… hairy.

Through half-opened eyes, she saw something moving above her, but lacked the energy to care, or worry. She felt calloused hands gently cupping her face, and the dull sting of the dozens of lacerations covering her body pulsed feebly. The ground beneath her was hard and uncomfortable, and her bones ached.

As the world reformed around her, she looked up into the face of a dwarf. Ruh Ruh smiled down at her. Despite everything, she smiled back.

“Welcome back,” he said.

With effort, Akra pulled herself up, and briefly panicked — did everyone make it out?

She looked first for Liam, who was conscious and sitting cross-legged on the ground, watching the halfling dancing in front of him, amused.

Liam and Akra met eyes, his face displaying the relief she felt.

Beside him, Phaedrus helped Amira stitch a severe gash in her arm. Her cloak was in shreds. She gritted her teeth in pain as he pulled the needle through her skin, but once the wound was sealed, the slightest hint of color returned to her face.

Her heart swelled as she looked at the group. The anger and hurt she had felt in the house began to dissipate. She’d been near death, twice in mere hours, and both times they’d banded together to pull her from it. They protected her, and healed her, and that was true loyalty, more than any she had ever experienced.

Akra glanced behind her. The mist swallowed up the house, so dense she couldn’t see through, and it enveloped the portico and the gate and the brick facade. Good riddance. Barovia would be better for it.

Above her, the mist dispersed the tiniest bit to reveal a sliver of a glorious gray sky. The faintest ray of sun touched her eyelids, and it felt like the warmest embrace.

The Tavern Burners

Adventures of a D&D Party. Currently playing through Curse of Strahd.

Ashley Warren

Written by

The Tavern Burners

Adventures of a D&D Party. Currently playing through Curse of Strahd.

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