In Search Of... Castle Greyhawk

 I started this post once before, but I am returning to it now. Especially now with so much new Castle Greyhawk material to be had.  I also wanted to do another of my In Search Of... feature.

In Search Of... Castle Greyhawk

Castle Greyhawk has been a quasi-mythical dungeon. It did exist, in one form or another, and was part of Gary Gygax's own D&D campaign. It was rumored to be anywhere between 13 levels, to 70 to 100s of levels. It was merged with Rob Kuntz's "El Raja Key" at some point and made even larger. The full Castle Greyhawk had always been promised to us but only partially delivered. I'll have some links below so you can read more on all of these topics.

The Published Castles Greyhawk

Despite never getting a full and proper publication, many Castles Greyhawk have existed over the years. Some official, others...well, less so, but all fit the spirit of the idea of Castle Greyhawk. I will cover them below with my own experiences.

WG7 Castle Greyhawk

I remember being quite excited about this one. The *real* Castle Greyhawk. Finally! Well...that is not the case, really. I like humor in my games, but this was not a great adventure nor a particularly good "joke" one. There are some good bits here. I loved the idea of multiple levels. I loved the idea of a different author/designer taking on each one. Some of the levels were also fun send-ups of my early D&D tropes like "The Temple of Really Bad Dead Things." Sadly, it all never really worked.

Getting different designers to cover each level was fun in theory. They never connected at all. Some were even so bad that I had my players bypass them altogether. For example, when they got to Level 8, I put a "handwritten" sign (in ketchup, no less) up outside the entryway saying, "Food fight in progress, please proceed to Level 9."  Eventually, the whole thing collapsed under the weight of its own silliness. 

There are some good ideas here. There are some good hooks, and I like the introduction and the first level. Though I do remember some awkwardness in the transitions between levels. One I recall was Level 10, which assumed that you had gone all the way back up to Level 1. Seemed to run counter to the stated reality of the adventure. The maps are good, the art, for the most part, is fun, and again, pulling it all apart to make a bunch of unrelated mini-adventures might be the way to go.

However, I can't help but think that there was a little bit of vindictiveness in having such a high-profile and "bad" adventure carry the name Castle Greyhawk come out in the days after Gary Gygax had been let go.  Given that the previous WG7 was supposed to have been a high-level adventure from Gygax called Shadowlands. There is a lot of evidence against this, but thinking back to 1988 and knowing that Gary had been booted. Plus, at the time, I was connecting with other gamers from all over the state, and we shared our pre-Internet opinions. Well, conclusions, truthful or erroneous, can be drawn, and opinions die hard.

Don't misunderstand me; I know Gary loved a good funhouse dungeon. And really, is this one any more ridiculous than "Tomb of Horrors" or the really awful puns in the graveyard of Castle Ravenloft? This one, however, feels like a bridge too far.  It was too bad, really. I was in the midst of my "Greyhawk renaissance" at the time, and I wanted to consume anything and everything related to Greyhawk, but mostly official Greyhawk material, rather than the pastiche I had built over the years. 

I had a copy, but I lost it many years ago, and I recently reacquired my copy from my old DM's collection. I have the PDF, but I never had a desire to grab a new PoD version. However, I did think about it back in my early days working with Eden Studios, when I read the WitchCraft short story "The House that Dripped Clichés." I wanted to make something good of the Castle Greyhawk adventure. But ultimately, I reasoned I would be better off making my own. Thankfully, I didn't have to.

WGR1 Greyhawk Ruins (2e)

After the misfire of WG7 Castle Greyhawk, TSR had another go at presenting the legendary dungeon in print. This time, in 1990, they gave us WGR1 Greyhawk Ruins, written by Blake Mobley and Timothy Brown, for 2nd Edition AD&D.

On the surface, this one looked like a course correction. Gone was the parody tone, gone were the ketchup-smeared signs, and in their place was a serious attempt to frame Castle Greyhawk as an honest-to-goodness megadungeon. The adventure describes the ruins of the Castle aboveground, and beneath them, three partially intact towers that served as gateways to the deeper dungeon levels.

This felt much closer to what I had always imagined Castle Greyhawk to be. The presentation was straightforward: keyed maps, monsters, treasure, and plenty of challenges. In many ways, it’s a classic meat-and-potatoes dungeon crawl, and for DMs who wanted a usable Greyhawk megadungeon without wading through parody, it delivered.

But there were two problems. First, no published module could ever live up to the myth of Castle Greyhawk by this point. Gamers had been hearing about Gary’s original for over fifteen years, and expectations had grown to impossible heights. Second, the stink of WG7 still lingered. After being burned once, many fans weren’t ready to embrace a new “official” Castle so soon. That left Greyhawk Ruins in a tough spot: serious in tone, expansive in scope, but struggling to shake off its predecessor’s shadow.

I also have to admit, I’ve never been a fan of the cover. It doesn’t capture the sense of awe and menace I wanted from the ruins of the game's greatest dungeon. Inside, though, the content is solid. Twenty-five plus levels of dungeon to explore, each with its own flavor, from ruined laboratories to caverns crawling with monsters. It’s not subtle, but it is dangerous, and it can easily keep a party busy for years of game time.

Looking back, WGR1 Greyhawk Ruins represents the first truly earnest attempt to give us Castle Greyhawk as an actual megadungeon. It wasn’t Gary’s Castle, and it wasn’t Rob’s either, but it was playable, and it kept Greyhawk alive at the table in the early 2e era. For me, it feels like the first step toward reclaiming the myth after WG7, even if it never stood a chance of satisfying everyone’s expectations.

This is another old adventure of mine that was in the collection of my old DM. I think I bought it with the idea that he would run me through it, but it was the 1990s, and I was still finishing up my undergrad studies and likely never got around to it.

Expedition to the Ruins of Castle Greyhawk

By the time 2007 rolled around, I had already been through the highs and lows of Castle Greyhawk in print. WG7 had left a sour taste, WGR1 had done some course correction, but the mythical real Castle Greyhawk still seemed just out of reach. Then came Expedition to the Ruins of Castle Greyhawk for D&D 3.5. On paper, this was the one that might finally get it right.

This was a big (224 pages), glossy hardcover and part of Wizards’ “Expedition” series that included Expedition to Castle Ravenloft, Expedition to the Demonweb Pits, and Expedition to Undermountain. These books were meant to be love letters to classic adventures, rebuilt for the then-current edition. And with writers like Jason Bulmahn, James Jacobs, and Erik Mona (names I respected then and now), I had reason to hope.

The book immediately set itself apart from WG7’s funhouse antics. Instead of a parody, it gave us a full-on campaign, a sprawling dungeon crawl combined with political intrigue in the Free City of Greyhawk. Iuz, Zagyg, my ex-girlfriend Iggwilv, and even Zuoken show up, giving the adventure cosmic stakes beyond just “loot the dungeon.” It’s pitched for characters of about 8th–13th level, which honestly felt right. By that point, adventurers are strong enough to tangle with demigods, but not so epic that the whole thing feels like a superhero comic.

The design is ambitious. You don’t just get dungeon rooms mapped and keyed; you get partial maps, encounter tables, and plenty of blank space to make the Castle your own. That’s clever; it echoes the fact that Gary’s original Castle Greyhawk was never static. It was a living, changing environment, tailored to the players at the table. Of course, the downside is obvious: if you're looking for a completely mapped, plug-and-play megadungeon, you won’t find it here. DMs had to be ready to improvise and prep.

I ran pieces of it rather than the whole campaign. Some of the encounters, especially with the new monsters (the aurumvorax got a facelift here, and the cataboligne demon was nasty), were deadly even for 13th-level PCs. My players loved that sense of danger, though — it felt like the dungeon had teeth again.

But did it finally give us the “real” Castle Greyhawk? Well. That depends on what you were hoping for. If you wanted Gary’s original notes, this wasn’t it. If you wanted a megadungeon that was both a campaign centerpiece and a love letter to Greyhawk lore, it largely delivered. It felt like Mona and Jacobs, in particular, were saying, “Yes, Greyhawk matters. Here’s why.”

I remember closing the book after my first read-through and thinking: this is probably as close as we’re ever going to get to a “canon” Castle Greyhawk. Not Gary’s, not Rob’s, but a 3rd Edition interpretation that pulled from the mythos, built a strong framework, and left room for each DM to add their own touch. Say what you like about 3rd Edition, but at the time, respect for Gary was at an all-time high. 

Thankfully, it was not the last word. 

Castle of the Mad Archmage

If Expedition to the Ruins of Castle Greyhawk was Wizards of the Coast’s official attempt to canonize the Castle for 3rd Edition, then Castle of the Mad Archmage was the fan-driven answer — and in many ways, it feels closer to the dream of a “true” Castle Greyhawk than anything TSR or WotC ever put out.

Joseph Bloch, the “Greyhawk Grognard,” originally released Castle of the Mad Archmage starting in 2009. His idea was simple: if Wizards of the Coast wouldn't and TSR couldn't (because they were gone) give us the real Castle, then he would build one in the old school spirit, level by level, and let people play in it. Later, he expanded and polished the whole into a professional print version through his company, BRW Games. You honestly have to admire that. 

This is a megadungeon in the classic sense, sprawling, multi-layered, with dozens of levels stacked on top of each other. Unlike WGR1 or Expedition, Bloch’s Castle doesn’t pull back. It goes all in. If you want a dungeon that feels like it could go on forever, with weird sub-levels, eccentric monsters, and dangerous tricks, this is it. The DNA is clearly Gygaxian: funhouse elements mixed with deadliness, nods to pulp fantasy, and the sense that anything could be around the next corner.

When I first cracked it open, I remember thinking: “This is what I wanted WG7 to be.” It’s not parody. It’s not restrained to three towers. It’s not half-mapped. It’s a full megadungeon you could run a whole campaign in, or strip for parts if that’s more your style. And it’s very much meant for old-school play, resource management, exploration, and danger at every turn.

Is it Gary’s Castle Greyhawk? No, of course not. But in spirit, it comes closer than most. Bloch captures that sense of scale and unpredictability that the Castle always promised. For me, this book represents what the fan community can do when official channels fall short: keep the torch burning, keep the dungeons sprawling, and keep Greyhawk alive at the table.

Now I am a bigger fan of "Expedition to the Ruins of Greyhawk" than Joseph is. But I am happy to have both in my collection.

There are several "flavors" to choose from to suit your gaming needs.

• Castle of the Mad Archmage (5E Edition) Digital + Print Bundle
• Castle of the Mad Archmage (Pathfinder Edition) Digital
• MA1 Castle of the Mad Archmage - The Core Levels
• MA2 Castle of the Mad Archmage Level 3 East, The Museum and the Watery Caves
• MA3 Castle of the Mad Archmage Level 4 South, The Gardens
• MA4 Castle of the Mad Archmage Level 9 West, The Brumal Realm

There will likely be more.

Castles & Crusades Castle Zagyg Yggsburgh

When Gary Gygax himself returned to publishing in the early 2000s, hope flared again that we might finally see his Castle Greyhawk the original megadungeon that started it all. Of course, Wizards of the Coast owned the Greyhawk name, so Gary couldn’t publish it directly. Instead, he partnered with Troll Lord Games and released it under the title Castle Zagyg (Zagyg being Gary’s famous mad archmage, his own anagram).

The first product in this line was Castle Zagyg: Yggsburgh in 2005. Rather than plunge straight into dungeon levels, this hefty book detailed the city of Yggsburgh, Gary’s version of the Free City of Greyhawk. It was written for Castles & Crusades, Troll Lord’s ruleset that deliberately hewed close to the feel of old-school AD&D, but conversion to earlier editions was painless.

Yggsburgh wasn’t the dungeon itself, but it was meant to set the stage: a living, breathing city that adventurers could use as their home base before venturing into the nearby Castle. The book offered districts, NPCs, and hooks galore. For those of us who had been following the “Castle Greyhawk saga” for decades, it was tantalizing. At last, we had something directly from Gary’s hand.

The plan was to follow this up with the dungeon levels themselves, released as boxed sets under the Castle Zagyg name. A few pieces trickled out, Castle Zagyg: The East Mark Gazetteer and The Upper Works (2008), before Gary’s death in March 2008. After that, the line was discontinued. For various reasons that I don't really need to get into now the line would remain dead for the next 15 years.

In 2023, Troll Lord Games released a 256-page Classic Reprint of Yggsburgh through DriveThruRPG and their own website, making this long out-of-print title available again to fans who missed it the first time. It’s a facsimile edition, preserving the original text and layout; a chance to finally own one of the last projects Gary worked on. Not only that, the maps are by none other than Darlene herself.

So, what we got in Yggsburgh was a glimpse of what could have been: Gary’s vision of the city that would sit at the foot of his legendary Castle. The megadungeon itself never fully saw print. That fact alone makes this one bittersweet. Reading through Yggsburgh now, you can see the connective tissue to Greyhawk, but also Gary striking out on his own terms, freed from TSR and later WotC.

For me, Castle Zagyg: Yggsburgh is less about the content (though it’s rich with Gary’s flavor and quirks) and more about the promise it represented. We almost had the real thing. We almost got to walk the halls of the original Castle with Gary as our guide. Instead, we’re left with fragments. 

And the myth grows ever larger.

How to Reconcile All These Castles Greyhawk?

Regardless of what version of Castle Greyhawk you prefer, someone else has a different opinion. How can we have ALL the Castles Greyhawk in a game? 

Well. We borrow from the real world. 

Zagig Yragerne as Ludwig II of Bavaria

Known as "The Mad Archmage," Zagig Yragerne was the builder of Castle Greyhawk. But what if the Mad Archmage had something in common with another famously "Mad" person? In particular King Ludwig II of Bavaria, also known as "The Mad King."  Why was he mad? He built castles. Lavish ones at that.  Neuschwanstein Castle, Linderhof Palace, and Herrenchiemsee. Neuschwanstein is a "fairy tale" castle and is the model for the castles of Disney World and Disneyland. There is even a tenuous connection to Castle Falkenstien here that I might explore later on. 

So what if all the Castle Greyhawks are real? All were built by Zagig Yragerne, and all of them were called at one point or another "Castle Greyhawk?"

Which leads me to my next thought.

Castle Greyhawk as a Pan-Dimensional Altgeld Hall

On five Illinois college campuses, castles were built during the time of Gov. John Altgeld. These buildings are all called Altgeld Hall, and all resemble Gothic Revival Castles. There has been a long-standing rumor that you could take these buildings and put them together to form one massive castle. There is no evidence of this, but it was a powerful idea. Plus, having walked by Altgeld Hall at SIUC for years, it left a powerful image. One too good to ignore. 

What if all of the various Castles Greyhawk are connected somehow? Not like I suggested with the Temple of Elemental Evil (one location that exists simultaneously across multiple realities), but one supermassive structure built in different pieces in different locations. 

What was Zagig trying to accomplish? Was he going to build these different castles and link them? Merge them across time and space? This may explain why WGR1 Greyhawk Ruins and Expedition to the Ruins of Castle Greyhawk have similar maps in some places but very different ones in others.

Maybe I could tie this into my whole idea of Erde/Oerth/Arth/Urt/Learth/Ærth, where there is a Castle Greyhawk on the various connecting planes, and they are the point of contact. From the Castle's perspective, it is one massive structure; it's just that mortals only see what is on their own plane. Now, are the castles there because the planes are connected? OR are the planes connected because the  Castles are there? 

There is at least some published evidence to this. Erde/Aihrde, the world of Castles & Crusades, has its own Castle Yggsburgh, AND for a time, they were the publisher of Lejendary Adventures. So maybe Erde/Aihrde is what I jokingly refer to as Learth. 

Frank Mentzer gave us Urt, an earlier name for Mystara which is Earth circa 150 MYA. And we know that he was working on the other side of Oerth; Aquaria. It is not a stretch then that there is a Castle Greyhawk on Mystara/Urt too. Those with the knowledge can move from to the next and thus cross realities.  NOTE: I am not going to explain why Empyrea failed here. There are more sites on the net that have gone over that far more in-depth than I will or even want too. 

By this logic, there could be more Castles Greyhawk out there in the D&D multiverse just waiting to be discovered. 

In Search Of the Real Castle Greyhawk

At the end of this long journey through the printed Castles Greyhawk, I keep coming back to the same realization: there was never just one Castle Greyhawk. Every attempt to capture it on paper; from the parody of WG7, to the earnest sprawl of WGR1 Greyhawk Ruins, to the ambitious but incomplete Expedition to the Ruins of Castle Greyhawk, to Joseph Bloch’s Castle of the Mad Archmage, and finally Gary’s own Castle Zagyg: Yggsburgh; all circle the same mythic source but never quite touch it.

Part of that is simple: Gary’s Castle was never a finished product. It was a living dungeon, reshaped by play, rebuilt after disasters, improvised week after week for the players in his original group. You can’t publish that experience whole cloth. At best, you can give glimpses, fragments, or homages. It will never be the late 1970s in Lake Geneva, WI ever again.

But maybe that’s the true legacy of Castle Greyhawk. Not the maps, or the monsters, or the towers above the Free City, but the idea that the dungeon is never done. It’s always changing, always waiting for the next group of adventurers to descend into its depths. Every version we’ve looked at, official or unofficial, serious or silly, carries a spark of that truth.

Gary himself got closest with Castle Zagyg, and though his death left that project unfinished, what we did get reminds us that the Castle was never about completeness. It was about potential. It was about mystery. It was about a group of players gathered around a table, wondering what lay behind the next door.

So, in a sense, the real Castle Greyhawk has always been with us. It’s in every megadungeon we map, every ruin we stock with monsters, every campaign we launch into the unknown. The Castle is a myth, yes, but it’s a myth that keeps inspiring us to build, to imagine, and to play.

And maybe that’s the best tribute of all.

Links

This is not an exhaustive list, it is the one I used when researching this post. 

• Castle Greyhawk at the Greyhawk Online Wiki
• Castle Greyhawk at Grognardia
• Castle Greyhawk at Swords & Stitchery
• Castle Greyhawk at Zenopus Archives
• Gygax's Yggsburgh (2005) available once again
• Castle Greyhawk at Greyhawk Musings (I especially enjoyed the stuff on the Circle of Eight)
• Castle Greyhawk at Greyhawkery
• Castle Greyhawk Comic
• Greyhawk Grognard, who has forgotten more than I know about Castle Greyhawk
• Posts about Castle Greyhawk
• Posts about the Castle of the Mad Archmage
• Castle of the Mad Archmage 10th Anniversary edition
• Wikipedia
• Castle Greyhawk
• Castle Greyhawk (module)
• El Raja Key
• Gary’s Immersion in Castle El Raja Key: The Four-Way Footsteps, EN World by Rob Kunzt
• Kunzt Bibliography
• El Raja Key Archive
• El Raja Key Archive and the Mapping Styles of Kuntz & Gygax
• Frank Mentzer notes
• Empyrea and  Aquaria, east of Gygax’s World of Greyhawk Setting
• Empyrea at ENWorld
• Empyrea at Dragonsfoot (with the disappointing ending of it all)

How Wizards of the Coast Really Dropped the Ball on D&D 50

via Hasbro

I am preparing to wrap up my year-long celebration of 50 years of Dungeons & Dragons. 

I have talked about my experiences, I have shared a lot of characters I have used over the years, talked about all sorts of D&D games. I have spent time talking about the Forgotten Realms, Ravenloft, and, as always, Mystara. While I personally feel like I could have done a lot more I am confident in one thing,

I did a lot more talking about D&D 50th anniversary than Wizards of the Coast.

Yes. There was the giant "The Making of Original Dungeons & Dragons" book which seemed to please and piss people off in equal measure. There were some 50th Anniversary minis, and yes, the new edition of D&D, which they missed the mark on by having the Monster Manual out in 2025. But in truth, there has been...very little.

Look, I don't like to spend time here on things I don't like. Sure, I could rage about this game or that and bitch and moan and complain. But honestly, we have enough people that do that on blogs and on YouTube, and it is fucking boring. I don't give a fuck about the shit you hate. Tell me about what you love. Get excited. Geek out over a game or a new dice mechanic or something. But I honestly don't care what you think of "those kids today." It makes you sound old and irrelevant. 

But I can't let this year pass and not mention how badly the ball was dropped here.

Wizards has not been having a great couple of years. From the OGL fiasco to sending hired goons after Magic players to massive layoffs and declining quality of their adventures, it would be all too easy to pick on them. I am only going to focus on couple of things though.

50 Years Should Mean Something

Ok. So we had the "The Making of Original Dungeons & Dragons" book which was cool and some minis. But what else?

I mentioned the minis. There was also the Quests from the Infinite Staircase which had some great classic adventures updated to D&D 5. But it wasn't released with as much fanfare as I would have suspected.

There was quite a bit of fanfare for the 10th Anniversary, same for when Wizards did the 25th Silver Anniversary Edition. Was I anticipating more? Yeah, I certainly was. Was I wrongfully anticipating more? That I don't know.

How about a comparison.

The 10th Anniversary set included: D&D Basic Rules (Player's Guide and DM's Guide, BECMI), D&D Expert Rules (Expert Rulebook, BECMI), D&D Companion Rules (Player's Guide and DM's Guide, BECMI), D&D Character Record Sheets (1981, BX), MSOLO1 Blizzard Pass (with 2 pens), B1 In Search of the Unknown (Fourth print), B2 Keep on the Borderlands (Fourth print), X1 Isle of Dread (Fifth print), AC2 Combat Shield and Mini-Adventure, AC3 Kidnapping of Princess Arelina, and six dice and a dice crayon. All in a faux-leather slipcase with gold lettering. Essentially, it is an homage and celebration of the Basic-era rules.

The 25th Anniversary set included: Facsimiles of the original modules featured in TSR’s Silver Anniversary releases: B2 Keep on the Borderlands, G1 Steading of the Hill Giant Chief, G2 The Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl, G3 Hall of the Fire Giant King, I6 Ravenloft, and S2 White Plume Mountain. A replica of the original Dungeons & Dragons rulebook. A 32-page book outlining the history of TSR - including a retrospective essay by Gary Gygax. L3 Deep Dwarven Delve - a recently recovered, never-before-released Original Edition adventure by Len Lakofka. A specially created, suitable for framing art print by Jeff Easley. All in a silver slip case. No dice, but a new never before published adventure. 

The 50th has largely been represented by the new rules (5.5), The Making of Original Dungeons & Dragons, and Quests form the Infinite Staircase. Fun, but does it really fit the celebration bill? Are these books that will command collector's prices in 10 or 25 years?  I am going to say no.

Where are the Baldur's Gate 3 Tie-ins?

Baldur's Gate 3 was the top-played game of 2023 and 2024. It won every single Game of the Year award and awards in general sci-fi and fiction, and many of the voice actors are now considered up-and-comers in terms of entertainment. It has won BAFTAs, Hugos, Nebulas, and GLAAD media awards. To downplay its success is either to be completely out of touch or willfully ignorant.

Yet. NOTHING for the game has come from Wizards of the Coast. No minis (they are coming out next year), no adventures or starter sets (there is one coming in the Fall 2025, but I can't determine if it has Baldur's Gate material). There are new Forgotten Realms books coming in late 2025. But all of this feels like too little too late.

Now. One could argue that Larian Studios, the creators of Baldur's Gate 3 only within the last few month gave Wizards back the license. But see it is a license. Wizards could have been doing tie-in stuff from August of 2023 when it became obvious that this game was going to be a mega-hit. Look what they did for Baldur's Gate 2 back in the late 1990s. They had Volo's Guide to Baldur's Gate out for the game. So much so that the books was actually titled "Volo's Guide to Baldur's Gate 2."

I talked about this before. They could have had an adventure or something out. "Love the video game? Continue your adventures here! Take your characters beyond 12th level in the table-top version!"

Spend any time on any Baldur's Gate discussion board, and two things are obvious. First, people LOVE these characters. Secondly, people want more with these characters. 

While this is not necessarily 50th anniversary related, it is undoubtedly a fumble of epic proportions.

They do talk about Baldur's Gate 3 in their upcoming digital tabletop, but again, that is not out now. I am not looking for a huge expenditure of cost here, a one-shot with the characters at first level (Larian already made character sheets for that), or how about Monster Manual-like entries for people to download some of the monsters/NPCs in the game. Larian Studios spent more time and effort on freaking Wulbren Bongle than Wizards has on all the other characters combined.

What Would I Have Done?

To be honest, this is pretty loaded. I have only nostalgia to guide me and no budgetary concerns or stockholders to appease. That being said, I am sure I could come up with some better ideas.

First, Books and sets. The Making of Original Dungeons & Dragons book was a good one, but they should not have stopped there. I would have redoubled the efforts to get all the OD&D books on DriveThruRPG into Print on Demand and get them sold. Not everyone will shell out $100 for the making of OD&D, but many will shell out $20.00 or so for a new version of OD&D. They can even use the new "white" covers they all have. We know they have print ready files from the OD&D collector's set they published a while back.

Second, Constant celebration. Wizard should have gone to all the popular actual play streamers and had them run a classic adventure. Vox Machina going through The Tomb of Horrors, get the Baldurs Gate voice actors to go the Caves of Chaos. White Plume Mountain and Ilse of Dread. Make these place names something that the newer generations want to know about.  And honestly while it would not matter if these were played in 5e or not, I would like to have seen some of these groups try AD&D 1st ed. I know Mercer could do it, that is where he started, so let's see some of these big streamers talk THAC0 for a session or two.

Third, Social Media involvement. Yes this means people acting for the company and thus paid, but it still should be done. It gets people talking about the brand AND maybe mends some fences broken by Wizard's recent less-than-stellar behavior. What would they do? How about D&D Trivia to win a copy of "Making of" or the giant art book they made. I am sure they have a few of those still lying around.  OR send out goodie bags to smaller streamers and bloggers to make the case for them. Wizards should have had places where people could tell their stories of adventures of the last 50 years. Friends made, battles won, or lost and what D&D means. Normal people and the occasional celebrity as well. They should have sent people to Cons to record these and play them back on YouTube. 

Fourth, Game Stores. Game Stores still are the heart of many RPGs. So send them material like organized play and host old-school D&D tournaments using AD&D tournament rules. Include prize support. Survive the Ghost Tower with the most points? Here is your special, not-for-retail-sale set of Ghost Tower dice. Provide Game Stores with special items to draw in customers. 

Fifth, Reprints. I know. Reprints are expensive. Distribution is expensive. But I also know that gamers would have eaten it up. A copy of Ravenloft I6 with 50th Anniversary gold trim? Come on, I would have bought that in a heartbeat. Limited run to conserve cost, but make it a Game Store exclusive. Original content. Chose some of the best from all areas of D&D. Yes, Infinite Staircase kinda, sorta does this, but I am talking adventures and books just like the 10th and 25th Anniversary did. 

Sixth, BALDUR'S F'ING GATE. Look, I can't stress enough how much of a missed opportunity this was. While the game is still riding high and will be for a while, each day that goes by is one more day of lost revenue. People have hundreds, even thousands of hours, in this game. They should be able to take their "Tavs" (and honestly, you should know who Tav is) and move them to the tabletop. And when they got there, Karlach, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Scratch should all be there waiting.

I am sure I could come up with more. But I am approaching bitching about level and that means a good place to stop. 

The 50th should have been a reflection on what made D&D so great. Not a litany of missed opportunities or near misses. 

Dracula, The Hunters' Journals: 5 November; Van Helsing's Memorandum and Dr. Seward's Diary

More updates from Van Helsing and Dr. Seward

Memorandum by Abraham Van Helsing (cont).

5 November, morning.—Let me be accurate in everything, for though you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad—that the many horrors and the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.

All yesterday we travel, ever getting closer to the mountains, and moving into a more and more wild and desert land. There are great, frowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem to have held sometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and sleep; and though I did have hunger and appeased it, I could not waken her—even for food. I began to fear that the fatal spell of the place was upon her, tainted as she is with that Vampire baptism. “Well,” said I to myself, “if it be that she sleep all the day, it shall also be that I do not sleep at night.” As we travel on the rough road, for a road of an ancient and imperfect kind there was, I held down my head and slept. Again I waked with a sense of guilt and of time passed, and found Madam Mina still sleeping, and the sun low down. But all was indeed changed; the frowning mountains seemed further away, and we were near the top of a steep-rising hill, on summit of which was such a castle as Jonathan tell of in his diary. At once I exulted and feared; for now, for good or ill, the end was near.

I woke Madam Mina, and again tried to hypnotise her; but alas! unavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark came upon us—for even after down-sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the snow, and all was for a time in a great twilight—I took out the horses and fed them in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire; and near it I make Madam Mina, now awake and more charming than ever, sit comfortable amid her rugs. I got ready food: but she would not eat, simply saying that she had not hunger. I did not press her, knowing her unavailingness. But I myself eat, for I must needs now be strong for all. Then, with the fear on me of what might be, I drew a ring so big for her comfort, round where Madam Mina sat; and over the ring I passed some of the wafer, and I broke it fine so that all was well guarded. She sat still all the time—so still as one dead; and she grew whiter and ever whiter till the snow was not more pale; and no word she said. But when I drew near, she clung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook her from head to feet with a tremor that was pain to feel. I said to her presently, when she had grown more quiet:—

“Will you not come over to the fire?” for I wished to make a test of what she could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step she stopped, and stood as one stricken.

“Why not go on?” I asked. She shook her head, and, coming back, sat down in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of one waked from sleep, she said simply:—

“I cannot!” and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what she could not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might be danger to her body, yet her soul was safe!

Presently the horses began to scream, and tore at their tethers till I came to them and quieted them. When they did feel my hands on them, they whinnied low as in joy, and licked at my hands and were quiet for a time. Many times through the night did I come to them, till it arrive to the cold hour when all nature is at lowest; and every time my coming was with quiet of them. In the cold hour the fire began to die, and I was about stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flying sweeps and with it a chill mist. Even in the dark there was a light of some kind, as there ever is over snow; and it seemed as though the snow-flurries and the wreaths of mist took shape as of women with trailing garments. All was in dead, grim silence only that the horses whinnied and cowered, as if in terror of the worst. I began to fear—horrible fears; but then came to me the sense of safety in that ring wherein I stood. I began, too, to think that my imaginings were of the night, and the gloom, and the unrest that I have gone through, and all the terrible anxiety. It was as though my memories of all Jonathan’s horrid experience were befooling me; for the snow flakes and the mist began to wheel and circle round, till I could get as though a shadowy glimpse of those women that would have kissed him. And then the horses cowered lower and lower, and moaned in terror as men do in pain. Even the madness of fright was not to them, so that they could break away. I feared for my dear Madam Mina when these weird figures drew near and circled round. I looked at her, but she sat calm, and smiled at me; when I would have stepped to the fire to replenish it, she caught me and held me back, and whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so low it was:—

“No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe!” I turned to her, and looking in her eyes, said:—

“But you? It is for you that I fear!” whereat she laughed—a laugh, low and unreal, and said:—

“Fear for me! Why fear for me? None safer in all the world from them than I am,” and as I wondered at the meaning of her words, a puff of wind made the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on her forehead. Then, alas! I knew. Did I not, I would soon have learned, for the wheeling figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever without the Holy circle. Then they began to materialise till—if God have not take away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes—there were before me in actual flesh the same three women that Jonathan saw in the room, when they would have kissed his throat. I knew the swaying round forms, the bright hard eyes, the white teeth, the ruddy colour, the voluptuous lips. They smiled ever at poor dear Madam Mina; and as their laugh came through the silence of the night, they twined their arms and pointed to her, and said in those so sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said were of the intolerable sweetness of the water-glasses:—

“Come, sister. Come to us. Come! Come!” In fear I turned to my poor Madam Mina, and my heart with gladness leapt like flame; for oh! the terror in her sweet eyes, the repulsion, the horror, told a story to my heart that was all of hope. God be thanked she was not, yet, of them. I seized some of the firewood which was by me, and holding out some of the Wafer, advanced on them towards the fire. They drew back before me, and laughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the fire, and feared them not; for I knew that we were safe within our protections. They could not approach, me, whilst so armed, nor Madam Mina whilst she remained within the ring, which she could not leave no more than they could enter. The horses had ceased to moan, and lay still on the ground; the snow fell on them softly, and they grew whiter. I knew that there was for the poor beasts no more of terror.

And so we remained till the red of the dawn to fall through the snow-gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror; but when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again. At the first coming of the dawn the horrid figures melted in the whirling mist and snow; the wreaths of transparent gloom moved away towards the castle, and were lost.

Instinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam Mina, intending to hypnotise her; but she lay in a deep and sudden sleep, from which I could not wake her. I tried to hypnotise through her sleep, but she made no response, none at all; and the day broke. I fear yet to stir. I have made my fire and have seen the horses, they are all dead. To-day I have much to do here, and I keep waiting till the sun is up high; for there may be places where I must go, where that sunlight, though snow and mist obscure it, will be to me a safety.

I will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will to my terrible work. Madam Mina still sleeps; and, God be thanked! she is calm in her sleep....

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

5 November.—With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany before us dashing away from the river with their leiter-wagon. They surrounded it in a cluster, and hurried along as though beset. The snow is falling lightly and there is a strange excitement in the air. It may be our own feelings, but the depression is strange. Far off I hear the howling of wolves; the snow brings them down from the mountains, and there are dangers to all of us, and from all sides. The horses are nearly ready, and we are soon off. We ride to death of some one. God alone knows who, or where, or what, or when, or how it may be....

Dr. Van Helsing’s Memorandum.

5 November, afternoon.—I am at least sane. Thank God for that mercy at all events, though the proving it has been dreadful. When I left Madam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way to the castle. The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from Veresti was useful; though the doors were all open I broke them off the rusty hinges, lest some ill-intent or ill-chance should close them, so that being entered I might not get out. Jonathan’s bitter experience served me here. By memory of his diary I found my way to the old chapel, for I knew that here my work lay. The air was oppressive; it seemed as if there was some sulphurous fume, which at times made me dizzy. Either there was a roaring in my ears or I heard afar off the howl of wolves. Then I bethought me of my dear Madam Mina, and I was in terrible plight. The dilemma had me between his horns.

Her, I had not dare to take into this place, but left safe from the Vampire in that Holy circle; and yet even there would be the wolf! I resolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the wolves we must submit, if it were God’s will. At any rate it was only death and freedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been for myself the choice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were better to rest in than the grave of the Vampire! So I make my choice to go on with my work.

I knew that there were at least three graves to find—graves that are inhabit; so I search, and search, and I find one of them. She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunset come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss—and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire fold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!...

There is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the mere presence of such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb fretted with age and heavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that horrid odour such as the lairs of the Count have had. Yes, I was moved—I, Van Helsing, with all my purpose and with my motive for hate—I was moved to a yearning for delay which seemed to paralyse my faculties and to clog my very soul. It may have been that the need of natural sleep, and the strange oppression of the air were beginning to overcome me. Certain it was that I was lapsing into sleep, the open-eyed sleep of one who yields to a sweet fascination, when there came through the snow-stilled air a long, low wail, so full of woe and pity that it woke me like the sound of a clarion. For it was the voice of my dear Madam Mina that I heard.

Then I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by wrenching away tomb-tops one other of the sisters, the other dark one. I dared not pause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest once more I should begin to be enthrall; but I go on searching until, presently, I find in a high great tomb as if made to one much beloved that other fair sister which, like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms of the mist. She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in me, which calls some of my sex to love and to protect one of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion. But God be thanked, that soul-wail of my dear Madam Mina had not died out of my ears; and, before the spell could be wrought further upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work. By this time I had searched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I could tell; and as there had been only three of these Un-Dead phantoms around us in the night, I took it that there were no more of active Un-Dead existent. There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, and nobly proportioned. On it was but one word

DRACULA.

This then was the Un-Dead home of the King-Vampire, to whom so many more were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain what I knew. Before I began to restore these women to their dead selves through my awful work, I laid in Dracula’s tomb some of the Wafer, and so banished him from it, Un-Dead, for ever.

Then began my terrible task, and I dreaded it. Had it been but one, it had been easy, comparative. But three! To begin twice more after I had been through a deed of horror; for if it was terrible with the sweet Miss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones who had survived through centuries, and who had been strengthened by the passing of the years; who would, if they could, have fought for their foul lives....

Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher work; had I not been nerved by thoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung such a pall of fear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and tremble even yet, though till all was over, God be thanked, my nerve did stand. Had I not seen the repose in the first place, and the gladness that stole over it just ere the final dissolution came, as realisation that the soul had been won, I could not have gone further with my butchery. I could not have endured the horrid screeching as the stake drove home; the plunging of writhing form, and lips of bloody foam. I should have fled in terror and left my work undone. But it is over! And the poor souls, I can pity them now and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full sleep of death for a short moment ere fading. For, friend John, hardly had my knife severed the head of each, before the whole body began to melt away and crumble in to its native dust, as though the death that should have come centuries agone had at last assert himself and say at once and loud “I am here!”

Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never more can the Count enter there Un-Dead.

When I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, she woke from her sleep, and, seeing, me, cried out in pain that I had endured too much.

“Come!” she said, “come away from this awful place! Let us go to meet my husband who is, I know, coming towards us.” She was looking thin and pale and weak; but her eyes were pure and glowed with fervour. I was glad to see her paleness and her illness, for my mind was full of the fresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep.

And so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go eastward to meet our friends—and him—whom Madam Mina tell me that she know are coming to meet us.

Notes: Moon Phase: Waning Gibbous

More text and imagery here that Dracula, and Mina now to a greater degree, sees his "Vampire Baptism" as a dark marriage of sorts.  I am going to assume this is the source of all the Immortal Beloved nonsense we see in the movies. I mean there is a seed here obviously, but as we see with the Brides he has (and then doesn't have anymore thanks to Van Helsing), they are not equals to him; they are possessions. 

Before he does that we see Van Helsing casting a magic circle around Mina. Well, that is what he is doing in all but name. Seems to work well enough. Though Mina does show a kin-ship, or better yet, a sisterhood with Dracula's other Brides now that they are closer. 

With the magic circle in place the Brides can't take Mina, nor feed on Van Helsing, so they attack the horses.  This was all wonderfully done in the FFC movie.

Seward and Holmwood find the body of a Szgany. So death is all around everyone. 

Van Helsing creeps into Dracula's castle with more ease than Jonathan had in getting out. He dispatches the Vampire Brides, but even while they sleep that cast a powerful spell allure on him. 

Mina tells us "my husband...is coming towards us."  But does she mean Jonathan or Dracula?

Review: Ravenloft for D&D 4e

Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition is not really remembered by many very fondly. I felt it had some great points, and I had fun with it, but it catered to a particular type of play, and Ravenloft wasn't really that well suited to it. But that didn't mean Wizards of the Coast didn't try.

Castle Ravenloft Board Game

This was a board game/RPG hybrid based on the D&D 4e rules. I played it, it was fun. 

The thing that gets me, though, is why Ravenloft?  Other than vampires, hags, some undead, and things like that, I see no reason this had to be set in Castle Ravenloft.  I get the dungeon-crawlyness of it, and I understand the desire to tie it in with a Classic product, but the game could have just as easily been the Tomb of Horrors Board Game or Expedition to the Barrier Peaks Board Game.  Frankly, I could swap out Strahd for Acererak and keep everything else the same (hear that WotC, your next boxed Board Game, can be Tomb of Horrors, and I want a cut!).   Of course, there is an obvious reason.  I got this sight unseen and wanted it largely because it was Ravenloft. 

Dragon #416 (4e)

October 2012

At this point Dragon and Dungeon went back to Wizards of the Coast and were released as online versions only. As such they were formated to fit a computer screen and not really as print media.

This issue covers a variety of Ravenloft topics, including the ongoing fight between Strahd and Van Helsing.  

We also get some character options for Ravenloft native characters. Claudio Pozas has a history on Lord Soth, and Ed Greenwood is back with Awakened Golems.

Dungeon #207 (4e)

October 2012

The companion magazine to Dragon features a number of adventures set in Ravenloft and/or horror-themed settings.  

Claudio Pozas is here as well with "Fair Barovia."  This adventure puts the adventurers and Strahd on the same side of the battle to save Barovia. "Timbergorge" among other things makes the connection between Ravenloft and the 4e Shadowfell. 

Both magazines amount to the most said about Ravenloft in stand-alone products. There were bits in the Shadowfell book and the Undead book. 

I would have liked to have seen more, but maybe this fine as is. Like I said, 4e catered to a different sort of game.

Dracula, The Hunters' Journals: 30 September; Many entries

Our heroes are connecting the dots of this mystery. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

30 September.—Mr. Harker arrived at nine o’clock. He had got his wife’s wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true—and judging by one’s own wonderful experiences, it must be—he is also a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet, business-like gentleman who came here to-day.

 

Later.—After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room, and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife’s typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here it is....

Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be the Count’s hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters relating to the purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh, if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collating his material. He says that by dinner-time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have found the dates otherwise....

I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge at once. I believe that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a brief time of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire’s ultimate triumph? Stay; he is himself zoöphagous, and in his wild ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house he always spoke of “master.” This all seems confirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came away; my friend is just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions. He might begin to think, and then—! So I came away. I mistrust these quiet moods of his; so I have given the attendant a hint to look closely after him, and to have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal. (cont)

30 September.—The station-master was good enough to give me a line to his old companion the station-master at King’s Cross, so that when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival of the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with the proper officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the original invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here limited; a noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was compelled to deal with the result in an ex post facto manner.

From thence I went on to Carter Paterson’s central office, where I met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in their day-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King’s Cross office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the teaming were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sending also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeing exactly; the carriers’ men were able to supplement the paucity of the written words with a few details. These were, I shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequent thirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked:—

“That ’ere ’ouse, guv’nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but it ain’t been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick in the place that you might have slep’ on it without ’urtin’ of yer bones; an’ the place was that neglected that yer might ’ave smelled ole Jerusalem in it. But the ole chapel—that took the cike, that did! Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn’t never git out quick enough. Lor’, I wouldn’t take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark.”

Having been in the house, I could well believe him; but if he knew what I know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.

Of one thing I am now satisfied: that all the boxes which arrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old chapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have since been removed—as from Dr. Seward’s diary I fear.

I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax when Renfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn a good deal.

 

Later.—Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers into order.

Mina Harker’s Journal

30 September.—I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself. It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had: that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has, however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and hope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night. I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not human—not even beast. To read Dr. Seward’s account of poor Lucy’s death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one’s heart.

 

Later.—Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it brought back all poor dear Lucy’s hopes of only a few months ago. Of course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van Helsing, too, has been quite “blowing my trumpet,” as Mr. Morris expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what to say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so they had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be to post them in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward’s diary that they had been at Lucy’s death—her real death—and that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband and I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming got his and turned it over—it does make a pretty good pile—he said:—

“Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?”

I nodded, and he went on:—

“I don’t quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good and kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I have had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man humble to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy—” Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is something in woman’s nature that makes a man free to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for when Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he didn’t think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it afterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I know he never will—he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I could see that his heart was breaking:—

“I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were to her. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won’t you let me be of some little service—for Lucy’s sake?”

In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with emotion.

We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above smaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big sorrowing man’s head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.

After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that for days and nights past—weary days and sleepless nights—he had been unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was surrounded, he could speak freely. “I know now how I suffered,” he said, as he dried his eyes, “but I do not know even yet—and none other can ever know—how much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shall know better in time; and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me be like a brother, will you not, for all our lives—for dear Lucy’s sake?”

“For dear Lucy’s sake,” I said as we clasped hands. “Ay, and for your own sake,” he added, “for if a man’s esteem and gratitude are ever worth the winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future should bring to you a time when you need a man’s help, believe me, you will not call in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the sunshine of your life; but if it should ever come, promise me that you will let me know.” He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would comfort him, so I said:—

“I promise.”

As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window. He turned as he heard my footsteps. “How is Art?” he said. Then noticing my red eyes, he went on: “Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poor old fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he is in trouble of the heart; and he had no one to comfort him.”

He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realise how much I knew; so I said to him:—

“I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? You will know, later on, why I speak.” He saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:—

“Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so long as ever you live!” Then he went into the study to his friend.

“Little girl!”—the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but he proved himself a friend!

CHAPTER XVIII

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

30 September.—I got home at five o’clock, and found that Godalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker and his wonderful wife had made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to the carriers’ men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since I have lived in it, this old house seemed like home. When we had finished, Mrs. Harker said:—

“Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary interests me so much!” She looked so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; so I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: “Why?”

“She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it,” I answered. “Oh, very well,” he said; “let her come in, by all means; but just wait a minute till I tidy up the place.” His method of tidying was peculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was jealous of, some interference. When he had got through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully: “Let the lady come in,” and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head down, but with his eyelids raised so that he could see her as she entered. For a moment I thought that he might have some homicidal intent; I remembered how quiet he had been just before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I could seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. She came into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once command the respect of any lunatic—for easiness is one of the qualities mad people most respect. She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and held out her hand.

“Good-evening, Mr. Renfield,” said she. “You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you.” He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, he said:—

“You’re not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can’t be, you know, for she’s dead.” Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied:—

“Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.”

“Then don’t stay.”

“But why not?” I thought that this style of conversation might not be pleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in:—

“How did you know I wanted to marry any one?” His reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turning them back again:—

“What an asinine question!”

“I don’t see that at all, Mr. Renfield,” said Mrs. Harker, at once championing me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as he had shown contempt to me:—

“You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is of interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenchi.” I positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet lunatic—the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met with—talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker’s presence which had touched some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any way due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or power.

We continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favourite topic. I was again astonished, for he addressed himself to the question with the impartiality of the completest sanity; he even took himself as an example when he mentioned certain things.

“Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief. Indeed, it was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my being put under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live things, no matter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of his blood—relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, ‘For the blood is the life.’ Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarised the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn’t that true, doctor?” I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what to either think or say; it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat up his spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my watch, I saw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs. Harker that it was time to leave. She came at once, after saying pleasantly to Mr. Renfield: “Good-bye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself,” to which, to my astonishment, he replied:—

“Good-bye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May He bless and keep you!”

When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first took ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he has been for many a long day.

Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a boy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying:—

“Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come here to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I have much to tell. Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And Arthur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!”

As I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker’s suggestion; at which the Professor interrupted me:—

“Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man’s brain—a brain that a man should have were he much gifted—and a woman’s heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are determined—nay, are we not pledged?—to destroy this monster; but it is no part for a woman. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer—both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. And, besides, she is young woman and not so long married; there may be other things to think of some time, if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she must consult with us; but to-morrow she say good-bye to this work, and we go alone.” I agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what we had found in his absence: that the house which Dracula had bought was the very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemed to come on him. “Oh that we had known it before!” he said, “for then we might have reached him in time to save poor Lucy. However, ‘the milk that is spilt cries not out afterwards,’ as you say. We shall not think of that, but go on our way to the end.” Then he fell into a silence that lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare for dinner he said to Mrs. Harker:—

“I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your husband have put up in exact order all things that have been, up to this moment.”

“Not up to this moment, Professor,” she said impulsively, “but up to this morning.”

“But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all the little things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one who has told is the worse for it.”

Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, she said:—

“Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. It is my record of to-day. I too have seen the need of putting down at present everything, however trivial; but there is little in this except what is personal. Must it go in?” The Professor read it over gravely, and handed it back, saying:—

“It need not go in if you do not wish it; but I pray that it may. It can but make your husband love you the more, and all us, your friends, more honour you—as well as more esteem and love.” She took it back with another blush and a bright smile.

And so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are complete and in order. The Professor took away one copy to study after dinner, and before our meeting, which is fixed for nine o’clock. The rest of us have already read everything; so when we meet in the study we shall all be informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with this terrible and mysterious enemy.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

30 September.—When we met in Dr. Seward’s study two hours after dinner, which had been at six o’clock, we unconsciously formed a sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary; Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris—Lord Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the centre. The Professor said:—

“I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the facts that are in these papers.” We all expressed assent, and he went on:—

“Then it were, I think good that I tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of this man, which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss how we shall act, and can take our measure according.

“There are such beings as vampires; some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane peoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not that through long years I have train myself to keep an open mind, I could not have believe until such time as that fact thunder on my ear. ‘See! see! I prove; I prove.’ Alas! Had I known at the first what now I know—nay, had I even guess at him—one so precious life had been spared to many of us who did love her. But that is gone; and we must so work, that other poor souls perish not, whilst we can save. The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear at will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; he can, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the bat—the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strike to destroy him? How shall we find his where; and having found it, how can we destroy? My friends, this is much; it is a terrible task that we undertake, and there may be consequence to make the brave shudder. For if we fail in this our fight he must surely win; and then where end we? Life is nothings; I heed him not. But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we become as him; that we henceforward become foul things of the night like him—without heart or conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us for ever are the gates of heaven shut; for who shall open them to us again? We go on for all time abhorred by all; a blot on the face of God’s sunshine; an arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face to face with duty; and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say, no; but then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow; but there are fair days yet in store. What say you?”

Whilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when I saw his hand stretch out; but it was life to me to feel its touch—so strong, so self-reliant, so resolute. A brave man’s hand can speak for itself; it does not even need a woman’s love to hear its music.

When the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and I in his; there was no need for speaking between us.

“I answer for Mina and myself,” he said.

“Count me in, Professor,” said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual.

“I am with you,” said Lord Godalming, “for Lucy’s sake, if for no other reason.”

Dr. Seward simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after laying his golden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I took his right hand, and Lord Godalming his left; Jonathan held my right with his left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our solemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not even occur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the serious work had begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way, as any other transaction of life:—

“Well, you know what we have to contend against; but we, too, are not without strength. We have on our side power of combination—a power denied to the vampire kind; we have sources of science; we are free to act and think; and the hours of the day and the night are ours equally. In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered, and we are free to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, and an end to achieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much.

“Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us are restrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us consider the limitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in particular.

“All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do not at the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and death—nay of more than either life or death. Yet must we be satisfied; in the first place because we have to be—no other means is at our control—and secondly, because, after all, these things—tradition and superstition—are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest for others—though not, alas! for us—on them? A year ago which of us would have received such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We even scouted a belief that we saw justified under our very eyes. Take it, then, that the vampire, and the belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for the moment on the same base. For, let me tell you, he is known everywhere that men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome; he flourish in Germany all over, in France, in India, even in the Chernosese; and in China, so far from us in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples fear him at this day. He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the devil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. So far, then, we have all we may act upon; and let me tell you that very much of the beliefs are justified by what we have seen in our own so unhappy experience. The vampire live on, and cannot die by mere passing of the time; he can flourish when that he can fatten on the blood of the living. Even more, we have seen amongst us that he can even grow younger; that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty. But he cannot flourish without this diet; he eat not as others. Even friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never! He throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand—witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help him from the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as bat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create—that noble ship’s captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distance he can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust—as again Jonathan saw those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small—we ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the tomb door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from anything or into anything, no matter how close it be bound or even fused up with fire—solder you call it. He can see in the dark—no small power this, in a world which is one half shut from the light. Ah, but hear me through. He can do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay; he is even more prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in his cell. He cannot go where he lists; he who is not of nature has yet to obey some of nature’s laws—why we know not. He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come; though afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases, as does that of all evil things, at the coming of the day. Only at certain times can he have limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he is bound, he can only change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. These things are we told, and in this record of ours we have proof by inference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when he have his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide at Whitby; still at other time he can only change when the time come. It is said, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or the flood of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has no power, as the garlic that we know of; and as for things sacred, as this symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to them he is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off and silent with respect. There are others, too, which I shall tell you of, lest in our seeking we may need them. The branch of wild rose on his coffin keep him that he move not from it; a sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill him so that he be true dead; and as for the stake through him, we know already of its peace; or the cut-off head that giveth rest. We have seen it with our eyes.

“Thus when we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can confine him to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know. But he is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make his record; and, from all the means that are, he tell me of what he has been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the ‘land beyond the forest.’ That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave, and are even now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as ‘stregoica’—witch, ‘ordog,’ and ‘pokol’—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken of as ‘wampyr,’ which we all understand too well. There have been from the loins of this very one great men and good women, and their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in all good; in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest.”

Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window, and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room. There was a little pause, and then the Professor went on:—

“And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed. If the latter, we must trace——”

Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house came the sound of a pistol-shot; the glass of the window was shattered with a bullet, which, ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked out. The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris’s voice without:—

“Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it.” A minute later he came in and said:—

“It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely; I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on the window-sill. I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I have seen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art.”

“Did you hit it?” asked Dr. Van Helsing.

“I don’t know; I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood.” Without saying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began to resume his statement:—

“We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so to speak, sterilise the earth, so that no more he can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak.

“And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part to-night, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are men and are able to bear; but you must be our star and our hope, and we shall act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such as we are.”

All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem to me good that they should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen their safety—strength being the best safety—through care of me; but their minds were made up, and, though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me.

Mr. Morris resumed the discussion:—

“As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house right now. Time is everything with him; and swift action on our part may save another victim.”

I own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even leave me out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax, with means to get into the house.

Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep; as if a woman can sleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he returns.

Notes: Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous

Another very busy day for our hunters. Seward makes the connection between Renfield and the Count. 

Harker starts to use his connections to track down all the Count's earth boxes, and he even uses a telephone! In 1892, the telephone was in use, having been invented in 1876 and seeing more use by the 1890s.

In a simple one-line, Harker tells us Mina worked all day on the various transcripts.

Mina details her day and shows why she is the real hero of the tale by getting everyone one to open up to her and share their information. 

At this point, some analyses of the novel, namely Leonard Wolf's, suggest that this is when Dracula begins to take an interest in Mina.

Seward arranges a visit between Mina and Renfield. If Dracula's attentions were not on her already this would certainly put her I his radar. 

Van Helsing says here that the Vampire's power ceases in daylight, but more exactly, he is weakened as we have seen Dracula moving about during the daylight hours. 

Quincey shots at a bat, presumably the Count in bat form, but it has no effect. It does mean that Dracula is aware of the plot against him.