vault backup: 2025-12-04 12:55:42

.obsidian/workspace.json

@@ -11,10 +11,14 @@
             "id": "6e169ae6a9aed54f",
             "type": "leaf",
             "state": {
-              "type": "graph",
+              "type": "markdown",
-              "state": {},
+              "state": {
-              "icon": "lucide-git-fork",
+                "file": "Strahd/Sessions/Session 3.md",
-              "title": "Graph view"
+                "mode": "source",
+                "source": true
+              },
+              "icon": "lucide-file",
+              "title": "Session 3"
             }
           }
         ]
@@ -150,12 +154,13 @@
             "state": {
               "type": "outline",
               "state": {
+                "file": "Strahd/Sessions/Session 3.md",
                 "followCursor": false,
                 "showSearch": false,
                 "searchQuery": ""
               },
               "icon": "lucide-list",
-              "title": "Outline"
+              "title": "Outline of Session 3"
             }
           },
           {
@@ -188,7 +193,7 @@
       "table-editor-obsidian:Advanced Tables Toolbar": false
     }
   },
-  "active": "f009896958144529",
+  "active": "6e169ae6a9aed54f",
   "lastOpenFiles": [
     "Avalon/02_Sessions/session 6.md",
     "Strahd/Sessions/Session 3.md",

Strahd/Sessions/Session 3.md

@@ -21,6 +21,7 @@ next: "[[session_4]]"
 
 # Broken Riders
 10-15 minutes.
+## The Horse
 >[!quote] Narration
 >The fog has been thick for hours, muffling even your own footsteps. When the wind shifts, a new smell rolls through it — hot iron and rot, fresh enough to sting.
 >A shape stumbles out of the mist ahead of you.
@@ -28,3 +29,35 @@ next: "[[session_4]]"
 >Its flank is torn open, ribs glittering slick and white beneath shredded muscle. Its left eye hangs loose by a thread of sinew. Steam rises from its wounds in slow, choking billows.
 >The animal takes two trembling steps toward you, lifts its head as if asking for help,
 > and collapses sideways with a _wet, cracking thud_, its legs folding like snapped reeds.
+
+Ask them what they do. If they stall, prompt:
+1. Do you approach?
+2. Keep your distance? 
+3. Check the tracks?
+4. Call out?
+
+If they choose to poke around, nothing moves or attacks. Just a horse bleeding into the mud. The forest holds its breath.
+
+## The Rider
+>[!quote] Narration
+> The fog behind the fallen horse shifts again.
+> You hear armor clattering. Not marching — stumbling.
+> A second horse steps forward, led not by reins, but by momentum alone. Its rider sits slumped in the saddle, head lolling at an angle that a human neck should not allow.
+> The rider’s helmet has been crushed inward. Bone pushes through broken metal like chalk through tin.
+> The horse takes one more step.
+> The rider slides sideways off its back.
+> He hits the ground spine-first.
+> **CRACK**
+> The sound echoes. Too loud. Too close.
+> The man’s body folds wrong in the middle, legs twitching independently of the torso, nerves firing their last confused signals.
+
+If they examine the body:
+	- The spine is shattered in 3 places
+	- Shoulders dislocated.
+	- Lower jaw broken, and hanging by a hinge of skin.
+	- He did screaming, in pain, and recently.
+He is holding:
+	- Something wrapped in a blood-stained scrap of parchment.
+	- A wooden toy figure painted with a smile.
+	- Burned into the back- "Is No Fun, Is No Blinsky"
+## The Thing in The Mist