>>6471550Time has no meaning in the world of the dead. You cannot tell how long it is until you become conscious again. But you do feel a presence in the crypt once more.
Three men enter the chambers of the dead. Wilhelm, the head of the house leads the way. He walks with a cane decorated with the head of a raven, though he still looks vital enough to not need it yet. Behind him trail Friedrich and Jakob. Friedrich looks much better now, his face is once again cleanly shaven, and he wears the Wolf pelt mantle of his father and a sword at his hip. Behind him walks Jakob. In his hands he holds a big book and a small wooden box atop it. They come to a standstill before the grave of the founder. Wilhelm takes the wooden box from Jakob and opens it. Inside is something you immediately recognize. A knife you once held before in your hands, when you still had flesh, when you still had breath. It’s long, thin blade is of the finest steel, and the handle is carved from the antler of a stag you hunted yourself. Though it’s not as opulent as the keepsakes of other households, it has been passed down from father to son for more then two hundred years.
Wilhelm takes the blade in his hands and cuts his ring finger with it. He lays his bleeding hand on your stone sarcophagus, where a furrow has been carved in the stone for the blood to flow down.
“I pledge myself, my duty, my honour and my blood to my family. I will work tirelessly to uphold the magnificence of the name ‘Von Rabenfels’. The blood courses in me.”
Friedrich takes the blade next. He struggles with it and Jakob tries to help, tries to take the blade from him. But Friedrich snaps at his cousin.
“Don’t touch it, I can do it on my own!”
He holds the blade in his one hand and flicks his thumb roughly over the edge. The wound it cuts is deep and bleeds well. He gives the blade back to Jakob and puts his hand on Wilhelms. He repeats the words of the old man loudly.
Jakob takes the Knife and gingerly cuts the back of his hand, just enough to draw blood. He puts his hand on that of his cousin and his father as he recites the words.
You have seen this happen before. It is an old ritual, that the family only uses in dire times. The last time it happened, about a hundred years ago, your family was in a feud with another noble household. They had insulted the Von Rabenfels name, calling them witches and warlocks who sacrifice children to heathen gods. The honour of the family could only be restored through a troublesome feud war.
