D&D Campaign Journal

Session 21: The Feast of Gluttony

Characters Present: Zoran, Luan, Brannor, Andy, Grusnarv

Recap

Having barely escaped the wizard’s crypt with their lives and a mysterious amulet, the party catches their breath in the mountain tunnel. Zoran’s transformation from his bargain with Greed is now impossible to hide.

Narrative Summary

Strange Returns

In the darkness between worlds, their fallen companion Caston stirred. Death had changed him — his consciousness remained, but his form was different. He existed as shadow and relief rather than color and substance, able to see the world but bound by invisible barriers of mist. The dead surrounded him as indistinct shapes, but Caston retained his memory and sense of self. He could move, though something pulled him back when he strayed too far. Freedom seemed possible, if only he could learn to clear the mist.

The party didn’t know. They were too focused on what had happened to Zoran.

Aftermath of the Blood Altar

The tunnel air felt cool and damp after the bone crypt’s necrotic heat. Luan examined Zoran with concern, checking vitals with a medicine roll. What he saw defied medical explanation.

Zoran should have been dying. He’d lost so much blood the altar grooves had overflowed. But instead he looked perfect — muscles sharply defined like a Greek statue, skin tight and dry like beef jerky stretched over impossibly sculpted flesh. No trace of the wound remained.

“You should be on the brink of death,” Luan said quietly.

“Well, I’m not at the moment,” Zoran replied, deflecting. “Let’s have a conversation about that a little bit later. For now, I think we should get the fuck out of here.”

Brannor and Luan discovered red, rusty rashes where they’d touched Zoran during the blood altar incident. The marks remained even after the wounds healed, as if his transformed blood had burned them.

Grusnarv examined the amulet they’d claimed from the crypt. His arcane knowledge identified it as radiating with powerful magic. Brannor’s Divine Sense confirmed the worst: the amulet felt unholy. They’d stolen something dark from that crypt, though its exact purpose remained unclear.

Behind them, the sound of rattling bones echoed through the tunnel. The skeletons were still coming.

“I say we go further into the tunnel,” Zoran said, decisive. “We came this far now.”

No one argued.

The Path Downward

The tunnel system opened into a cavern with three paths. One led up toward fresher air. One descended deeper into the mountain. And one — Grusnarv kicked a skull down it experimentally — led who knew where.

The downward path smelled like food.

Not just any food — good food. Roasted meat, herbs, something cooking with skill and care. In a land where everything smelled of decay and mist, the scent was impossibly enticing.

“Someone is cooking something,” Zoran observed.

The tunnel descended steeply, growing colder but more refined. Natural cave walls gave way to smooth, hand-carved stone. Someone had built this place with intention. The stairs were massive — each step sized for someone much larger than human.

“Big stairs means big people,” Grusnarv noted.

Zoran’s enhanced senses caught firelight ahead. Luan extinguished Brannor’s torch with druidic magic, letting them approach in darkness. Those with darkvision took the lead.

At the tunnel’s end stood an enormous door — wood and iron, bound with massive cast-iron rings. The smell of food poured from beyond it.

“Knocking is for vampires,” Brannor said.

They debated tactics. Whatever lay beyond was large and potentially dangerous. Grusnarv cast Invisibility, shrouding Andy, Luan, and himself in magical concealment. Brannor and Zoran would be the visible representatives, while the others watched for threats.

Brannor pulled the rings. The massive door didn’t budge.

Zoran grabbed them as well. His transformed muscles tensed, growing rigid and fixed. Where soft tissue should compress, his body became impossibly hard. Together, with supernatural strength, they pulled the door open.

Welcome to the Ballroom

The room beyond was enormous — a proper ballroom, though sized for giants. A chandelier of wrought iron hung from the ceiling, firelight dancing from its candles. A round table dominated the center, surrounded by six smaller tables arranged in a hexagon. Rich red carpet covered the floor.

And everywhere, music.

Kobolds filled the room, playing instruments — trombones, harps, bass, violins. The melody was jovial and slightly off-beat, like a drunken celebration. But something was wrong. Luan, with his high perception, noticed the details: shackles on their wrists, collars around their necks, tears streaming down their faces even as they played cheerful songs. They looked like dead men playing at life.

At the far end of the hall, rising from beneath the floor on a throne, came their host.

He was massive — three meters tall, obscenely fat, with dirty hairy fingers that danced to the music. A white chef’s hat perched on his head. A white scarf draped over his shoulders, barely containing the enormous belly beneath. His face was elf-like but grotesque, stretched and distorted by excess flesh.

Zoran and Brannor recognized him immediately, though he was much larger here than at Strahd’s dinner table.

Gluttony.

The lights blazed brighter as the door closed. Zoran’s enhanced vision overloaded — too much light, too much sensory input. For a moment he was blind, overwhelmed by stimulus. Then his senses normalized, adapting to Gluttony’s presence.

“You have finally come to me,” Gluttony said, his voice thick and slobbering. “I am very relieved. Welcome to my feast.”

All the kobolds echoed: “Hey!”

Negotiations with a Sin

Gluttony knew them. He’d seen them at Strahd’s dinner. He knew there should be more of them — specifically the “bulky one” in armor.

“He’s no longer with us,” Zoran said carefully.

“Oh?” Gluttony’s interest peaked. “Do tell.”

They explained about Envy, though they tread carefully. This was a sin, after all — unpredictable and dangerous. Gluttony accepted the news about his “sister” with disturbing casualness.

He sensed the invisible party members. “I kinda sense… smell… taste that there’s some more of you.”

“We have a very tight connection with each other,” Zoran deflected. “You smell particularly funny.”

Gluttony laughed, a wet sound. “You look particularly funny. You look like the sun.”

The sin’s power washed over them. Zoran felt his supernatural tension ease slightly — not weakening, but becoming less rigid. Brannor and Zoran both felt sudden, intense hunger. Not normal appetite, but a desperate, gnawing need. Gluttony’s very presence made them ravenous.

“So,” Gluttony smiled, showing too many teeth. “Are you hungry?”

The Cooking Contest

What followed was surreal even by Barovia’s standards. Gluttony proposed a challenge: a cooking contest. Brannor would prepare his favorite dish. Gluttony would do the same. They would both taste each other’s food. Whoever made the better meal would win.

“If you make something better than me,” Gluttony said, “I’ll let you leave through those doors.”

“You swear on the mist?” Brannor asked.

“I swear on meat,” Gluttony corrected.

The terms were clear. Win, and they’d go free. Lose, and they’d become dinner.

The kobolds scurried through a small door, returning with cooking equipment. The ballroom transformed into a kitchen — pans, fires, stoves, ingredients. Gluttony’s cooking area required three tables arranged in a U-shape to contain his bulk. Brannor got a single table, human-sized.

“Walk to your designated table,” Gluttony commanded. “Sit down. Come on, both of you.”

While the visible party members dealt with Gluttony, the invisible members assessed threats. Two exits: the door they’d entered through, and a small kobold-sized door on the opposite side. Gluttony had risen from beneath the floor, suggesting tunnels below. And everywhere, the kobolds played their miserable music.

The situation felt dangerous but not immediately hostile. Yet.

The Prophet of the Kobolds

While Brannor prepared to cook and Andy watched nervously, Grusnarv made a choice. He followed the kobolds through their small door into the back chambers.

What he found was grim: breeding chambers, filth, chains. The kobolds lived in squalor, enslaved by Gluttony’s power. But they could speak Draconic, and Grusnarv could understand them.

“We want to be free,” one kobold whispered when Grusnarv revealed himself and offered help.

It should have been a simple revolutionary moment. Instead, it became bizarre. The kobolds, desperate for hope and perhaps mad from captivity, latched onto Grusnarv as something more than a rescuer. They called him “prophet” and began chanting “tiki-taki” — some kind of prophecy or cult belief that had sustained them in darkness.

One female kobold named Viola stepped forward. “You will bear our child,” she declared. “The child is the savior. The prophet of tiki-taki.”

Grusnarv, deeply uncomfortable but committed to freeing them, promised they could fight back. “At my command, we will charge out.”

“With what?” a kobold asked, gesturing at their instruments. “We don’t have weapons.”

“You have instruments,” Grusnarv reasoned. “And we have a party of very strong fighters. Together we can kill him.”

The kobolds were terrified but determined. What choice did they have? Continue as slaves, or risk everything for freedom?

“On your command, prophet,” they agreed.

Grusnarv had accidentally started a kobold revolution.

Let the Festivities Begin

Back in the ballroom, preparations continued. Brannor washed his hands, contemplating his favorite dish: fresh pork with honey glaze, rosemary, and a hint of pepper. Plus his mother’s “jungle juice” — whatever that was.

Gluttony swelled larger, inflating like a balloon. The ballroom barely contained him now. His voice echoed with anticipation: “Are you all ready?”

“Do we have a choice?” Brannor muttered.

“No.”

“Then I suggest we start.”

Gluttony began a timer.

In the back rooms, Grusnarv prepared his signal. When the moment came, he’d rally the kobolds to attack. A hundred enslaved musicians against a sin of tremendous power, aided by invisible party members and a half-giant paladin.

What could possibly go wrong?

“Let the festivities begin,” Gluttony announced.

And there, with ingredients laid out and fires burning, with kobolds poised to rebel and a cooking contest that would determine their fate, the session ended.

Key Discoveries & Decisions

Open Threads

Notable Quotes

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