BlackwaterDnD

Adam:
Welcome to BlackwaterDnD, where good friends tell better stories. This series, Sin Eater: Absolution is a miniseries using the Sin Eater system created by Anica Cihla. The Kickstarter for Sin Eater will be available on May 26th, 2025. Much of what you hear Adam say around the ritual of sin eating is read directly from the sourcebook. This series is proudly sponsored by Hero Forge & Hunter’s Entertainment. For this story, the Sin Eater will be played by the wonderfully talented Jess Lupini, and I, Adam Lucas, will be acting as her journal.

Content warnings include: themes of death // desecration of a corpse // gore // misophonia // religious undertones // mentions of blood // complex family dynamics // depictions of mental illness // depictions of vomiting // depictions of disease // disordered eating // class inequality // depictions of spirits & the undead // mutilation

Content warnings can also be found in the episode description. So, sit back, and enjoy. We hope you are ever so hungry.

[slow heartbeats]

The life of a Sin Eater is not always a pleasant one. Regularly confronted as they are with what crawls from the deepest pits of the human soul, each episode may take us to a place that mirrors real world sources of pain and trauma. A list of the topics, themes, and subject matter featured has been included in the episode description. It is important to know that if at any point it becomes too much for you, our listener, and for both of us, Jess and myself, we can take a break - that is an important part of this. Recognizing when we need to step away. After all, the meal that we will prepare here will not spoil until we are ready to return.

[striking of a match, that is afterward blown out]

Episode III: Wrath

Adam:
Welcome to Sin Eater: Episode III. Jess, how are you?

Jess:
I am so good, Adam, as always, ready to be weird!

Adam:
It's been a little bit, a little bit of time since we recorded, uh, episodes. I'm very excited to be sitting here with you. Last we left off, Caradog the Sin Eater had visited the Evagrius manor to tend to Francesca Evagrius. But not all went to plan, as Caradog saw something that perhaps they shouldn't have, a vision of Francesca encountering something. Something otherworldly. Something so alien, that it killed Francesca, and almost killed Caradog, if not for the timely intervention of Eidolon. [wind teeming with snow begins to blow] The winter night grips the Evagrius manor in a merciless frost, the air so bitterly cold that it feels as if the very world has been stilled beneath ice. The sky is a black abyss, devoid of any stars, as if the heavens themselves have recoiled from the night's cruel touch. The snow has lasted so long. You fear now you are forgetting what it feels like to be warm. Jagged scars of wind-carved drifts stretch like frozen waves against the wrought iron gates, and creep up the stone walls of the estate. The trees, long stripped bare, stand as skeletal sentinels, their branches heavy with ice that glistens like glass in the feeble light of the manor's windows. The great house itself looms against the storm-dark sky, its ivy-wrapped walls stiff with frost, the creeping vines locked in a silent frozen struggle against the cold, as you, too, struggle to carve a path through the heavy snow up the hill to that now familiar door under the gaze of those now familiar eyes [footsteps in the snow]. It feels ritual now, as the bell tolls, and you wait, shivering, for the frail servant to allow you entrance. A soft, slow creak provides the coda for the last dying tones of the bell, as the door opens. Before you stands the same servant as before, but somehow he looks even more frail, like the unrelenting cold has sapped him of whatever sliver of vitality had been lingering. His thin skin gray and pallid, his eyes sunken and hollow. He barely acknowledges your presence, as if the effort to do so is too great an ask. The wind picks up into a mournful howl as you step quickly inwards. But who are you trying most to spare from the cold? Are you attempting to escape the night's frigid claws? Or are you conscious of this feeble figure before you, standing exposed to a biting wind?

Jess:
I shiver, rub my hands together, and, as my breath condenses in the air in front of this man's face, I say, knowing I may not get a response,

Jess (as Caradog):
“Are they feeding you well, my friend?”

Adam:
He merely looks silently down the hall, the hall you have walked many times before. Your journey through the twisting halls of the manor is slower this time. The servant’s stride, all but a painful shuffle now. But, as before, you reach a door identical in appearance to the others, but emanating a powerfully different emotion. How do you enter?

Jess:
Once more I turn to Eidolon, who I've been trusting to a greater and greater degree, lately, as I begin to find myself dealing with something that I don't understand that I haven't encountered before. And so, I look to her and… Gesture to the door to see how she responds.

Adam:
You look at Eidolon, and as Eidolon stares at this door, her ears flattened against her head. Her back arched, her tail, rigid. Clear signs of hostility towards whatever she is feeling, emanating.

Jess (as Caradog):
“I'm sorry, little one. We must do it again.”

Jess:
Um, Adam?

Adam:
Yes?

Jess:
Is the servant still here?

Adam:
You look around, and every other time, both other times, you've looked for him… In the brief moment of distraction with your cat, he has managed to slip away. But now, in his state, you see as he shuffles around a corner, not far from you.

Jess:
I call out down the hallway, not so loud that anyone else more distant would be able to hear, but just tailoring the volume of my voice to where I've seen him turn the corner and I say,

Jess (as Caradog):
“We may not be friends, but I can tend to you now, or I can tend to you after whatever this is, takes you. I bid you well.”

Adam:
He pauses at the corner, and he turns and looks at you, and you feel the weight of years of service, years of silence. This man has seen things. You know when it is his time, you will be called to this manner once more. And he turns and walks away.

Jess:
I go through the door.

Adam:
Before you, in an austere stone room that is barely warmer than the outside, on a cold, unfeeling slab, lies the corpse of Ira Evagrius. This is a man you know immediately, for his reputation, in Shura, is one widely known. Ira Evagrius is, was, known to be a singularly cruel man. A man capable of an apoplectic rage, and prone to bouts of violence. You need no instructions to know this man's sin, for his wrath has been made manifest for all of the people of Shura to see, many times. The people of Shura, however, are one thing. More importantly, in this moment, what is a Caradog's relationship to Ira? Would you like to roll a d6 or would you like to choose?

Jess:
I have to roll, I have to roll!

Adam:
Of course.

Jess:
Okay. I get a six. [Adam laughs] What does that mean?

Adam:
You rolled a six. Almost impossibly, you and Ira were dear friends. How did that come about? How is that made manifest?

Jess:
[sighs] There are two types of wrathful people. Those who let themselves explode in anger on the ones closest to them, allowing their family, their friends, see their true selves. And then, there are those who add a modicum of distance between this sin and their most personal of lives. I believe Ira was known in Shura, in the Lanes, but this reputation, when it made it back to his family, was considered more apocryphal, or simply stories of disillusioned or angry townsfolk who had fallen on the wrong side of... On the wrong side of whatever Ira decided mattered that day. I think he is of the type who would go into town and take out his rage and his wrath on strangers. And, one night, in some dark, tiny shithole in the Lanes, Ira and I found ourselves on the same side of a distaste for a patron. And… A friendship was forged in cynicism, vitriol, and hate.

Adam:
Hmm… Your friend, Ira Evagrius, lays before you, the wrath of his life causing a feeling of restlessness around his corpse, though, perhaps this is imagined. As always, not all sins are worthy of absolution, and the choice lies entirely with you, whether you guide him towards salvation or damn his soul to wander the walls beyond Shura. That judgment, as always, is yours to bear, and yours alone to know. The burden that is yours, and yours alone to carry. Does it weigh heavier tonight?

Jess:
It weighs very heavy. This is always an uncomfortable experience, to consume the sins of someone whose sins I not only knew, but shared. We were allies in bitterness, and now that bitterness is mine to swallow.

Adam:
Hmm. Would you like to roll whether you are absolving or condemning, or would you like to choose?

Jess:
[short sigh] Normally I'm so roll-coded, but I'm going to choose in this case. I must condemn.

Adam:
A break from the pattern. You have chosen to absolve the other two. And today, the first of Evagrius you had a relationship with, you choose to condemn. How are you feeling?

Jess:
I’m sickened. It's distasteful to find yourself in a situation where you have to… It’s distasteful to find yourself in a situation where absolution for someone else implies absolution for yourself and… Caradog knows they don't deserve that absolution, in this moment, for this sin. And so, it follows that neither does Ira.

Adam:
Okay. You carry with you, as always, ritual implements, those items not quite mundane, touched by the gossamer of the spirit. Have those changed since last you were here?

Jess:
They are the same.

Adam:
Hmm. You must also find items extrinsic, found in the home, sutured to the flesh. On the body before you, components from your surroundings, I would like you to choose at least three from the list. And a reminder, you can choose more.

Jess:
I cannot stress enough the degree to which Caradog trashes this room. They tear it apart. Whatever there is, and I know there's not a lot, I know it's a relatively sparse array, but they pull apart every drawer, every book off the bookcase, whatever there is.

Adam:
Almost as if infected by the wrath of the man before you, you throw a futile tantrum against a spartan room. There is little to toss. There are few things to turn. But within, there are enough for you to put something together.

Jess:
I find… In this tantrum, I smash a mirror, a small hand mirror that was sitting on one of the tables, and a fragment of that mirror I pick up. It's sharper than I expect, and the edge cuts my hand, which spews a small spray of blood before I even realize it's happening, a drop of which lands on Eidolon. She looks up at me, non-reactive, but I can't help but think of the last time I saw blood on her snow white fur. I carefully grip the mirror, the fragment of this mirror. I walk towards the body, and I hold the mirror in front of the closed eyes of Ira Evagrius, that if they were open, he would see himself reflected. This fragment of reflective glass, through the cold, strange analogy of this ritual that I have performed so many times, this fragment is a fragment of fear. I place it at the pit of his belly, because I know the one thing the wrathful man is afraid of, is himself, what he can do when he loses his mind to rage. And, perhaps even more frighteningly, the man who comes into his life with an equal, untemperable rage. For, rage is a form of control. Wrath is just one way to get what you want. And when a force like Ira meets an immovable object, someone like himself, they must cow or explode. And I know not which ended him, but I know that this would be what he would fear.

Adam:
You also know, chances are, you might not know what ended him now... But you will, before this night has ended.

Jess:
I hate this new burden and it makes me angry.

Adam:
As you place this mirror, this shard, upon his stomach, you feel his wrath reflected into you. Rage is infectious.

Jess:
I open my journal. Unfurl the piece of leather I used to keep it closed, tucking it into the hem of my pants, and I flip through the pages for a moment, searching for an entry many months ago. I find it, after a time. At the top of the page, I've written, ‘Gruffold, beware these earthly bonds in the trade that we have been left no choice but to carry out. One day, those who you allow close to you, will be on your plate. Today, I have made an acquaintance. Perhaps a friend, I know not the difference. But I fear the day when I must consume what we have shared.’ I rip that page out. I crumple it into a ball, and I place it on Ira's chest. A piece of my heart, close to his chest.

Adam:
A note that contains so much, that will never be received by the person that it was meant for.

Jess:
And lastly, I take from my bag a small teaspoon. A… Not silver, but also not a cheap metal, perhaps a pewter. I don't know what it is. It has markings, it's aged. It's clearly been used. The spoon, rather than concave, is almost flat, and it is frozen from the cold. Absolutely ice cold. I take it by the handle, and standing beside Ira, I place the curve of the spoon on his lips, feeling the frost transfer, the cold push into his already cold body, as the contagion of ice spreads down into the already decaying flesh of his lips.

Adam:
As you finish setting up, describe the tableau you have created, including the items intrinsic and extrinsic.

Jess:
On the slab lies Ira's body, strangely peaceful, more peaceful than I have ever seen it. Not at peace, but certainly peaceful. On his lips, this old pewter spoon, stuck to the decaying flesh. On his chest, a balled up piece of old paper… The words that I'd written long ago. A message that will never reach the boy. And, above his belly button, a shard of broken mirror, with a splash of my own blood upon him. In front of me, as I kneel down on the floor, I lay out a cloth, and upon that place the strange, damp mass of the ocarina. The cut of bark from some nameless tree with those initials, C.M. and A.R., beside them, I place my journal. I'm ready for my meal.

Adam:
First, dim the lights. Speak thrice aloud the sins before you. Write your final entry before embarking on this ritual, for there is a song you sing while you prepare the meal. Are there lyrics? Are they in your native tongue? Or a language long dead? Is it a song usually sung with other living or dead? Or is this a solitary dirge?

Jess:
If you were in the room you would hear what sounded like a hum, or even a mumble. But if you were listening closely and you knew the words, perhaps if you'd spent a lot of time at certain drinking holes in the Lanes, you might recognize this old chant, some of the most down and out folks would often sing. Usually at a point in the night at which they were so inebriated they would not remember it come morning. You hear Caradog, as they hum.

Jess (as Caradog): [chanting]
“[hums a few notes] Fire spreading, the embers rise, the hatred smolders, feed on lies. Drink, my brothers, let fury dance. For nothing grows when flames advance. One more pint, my taste is done, The river swells, the rising flood. What have we taken? None return. Only ash where bridges burn [hums a few notes].”

Adam:
As you finish humming, the wind howling outside, almost in harmony. And for a moment, you could swear Ira was humming along. Prepare your feast. What recipe have you chosen? Does Ira's sin influence the quality of the ingredients themselves? Are your decisions here influenced by your relationship with Ira? Influenced by your own past misdeeds and misfortunes? Or is it determined purely by the life of the sinner?

Jess:
It's not possible when I request this meal, for me to fully separate myself from my relationship with Ira. I often ask for meager portions, as that is simply what is needed to get the job done, and I am nothing if not a consummate professional, on which I pride myself. However, this time it was necessary for me to ask for something a little bit finer. But don't worry, I found a way to ruin it. Tonight, the meal that I have requested is four cuts of beef. One, the finest cut available. As rare as possible. The second, something normally discarded. Something fed to the pigs. Cooked for so long that it bears no resemblance to its original form. The third, is a meal fit for a servant. And the fourth, a meal fit for Ira. I've also asked for bitter broth.

Adam:
How do you incorporate your intrinsic and extrinsic ritual items as you gather your culinary necessities?

Jess:
The first cut of meat, the fine one. I've not eaten well prepared meats like this in some time. I don't even know what cut it is. I don't recognize it. I place it on top of the shard of mirror, which I remove from the body of Ira, for a moment. I… I wrap the charred lump of whatever used to be some part of a cow in the piece of paper that lays on his chest, and I leave it there for the moment. And the spoon, I remove from his lips. It rips off a piece of skin from the upper and lower lip, where the cold has sutured it to the metal. And I use that spoon to cut into the cut of meat that I requested that was fit for him. I take a portion, and I force it past his lips with the spoon, closing them after it. And then I place the spoon back on his lips, fitting the torn fragments of skin back onto the spots from which they were wrenched, in a way that matches up perfectly, like a puzzle piece. I step back and I sit down. I have the piece of mirror in front of me, and I devour that incredible cut of meat.

Adam:
Caradog, I will have you place two coins before you. Each side representing one of the four humours. I will have you choose one as the Baker's Coin, and one as the Butcher's Coin, as we have twice before. Please flip the Baker's Coin.

Jess:
Here we go. [coin flips] It’s heads.

Adam:
Black bile. Please live it one more time.

Jess:
[coin flips] Also heads.

Adam:
It would seem, as you balance these humours, at least with the Baker's Coin, there is an imbalance. Strangely in a man known for such rage, there's the presence of melancholy. This man held too much black bile. Too much sadness. Please flip the Butcher's Coin for the first time.

Jess:
[coin flips] Tails.

Adam:
Blood. Please flip it once more.

Jess:
[coin flips] Heads.

Adam:
And phlegm. Hmm. It feels… Very poignant, almost as if Caradog is doing this intentionally, that as you balance, or imbalance, Ira’s humours, you represent each one, except for yellow bile, which is most associated with ambition and aggression. In this moment, is Caradog at conflict with themselves?

Jess:
I think Caradog knows that in the presence of somebody who was overflowing with black bile, phlegm, and blood, with no trace of yellow bile, when yellow bile would have been the one that I would expect to be predominant, being associated with aggression. I think Caradog knows that that means the yellow bile exists so strongly within them, that they were able to bring it out of Ira.

Adam:
As you bite into the meal, a piece of steak, meant to be cooked rare, is burnt and heavy. You feel… A wave of memory wash over you as you were allowed to see all the moments of Ira's life where his rage had left him alone. You see him standing alone in a room torn asunder. Opulent decoration. Fit for an Evagrius. Strewn across the room. You see… No control. A man… A man held slave, but to his emotions. Tears coursing down his cheeks, be they tears of anger, frustration, or pure sadness… It's hard to tell. This vision is so powerful it overwhelms the phlegm and the blood. You see only his sadness. Where the other two you have seen snippets of their lives in all categories, you are faced with the deep unfiltered misery that was the life of Ira Evagrius. You see the self-recrimination. The loathing. There was no one that Ira was angrier at than himself. Perhaps, no one. For as these memories flit through, one stands held. A figure that you cannot quite make out. Hazy, even in memory. But a figure that you know you have seen. Or, more accurately, a figure you know has seen you, sits behind a table as Ira yells, as he so often did. Fear. Frustration. All spill forth, unbridled, uncontrolled, pouring like black bile. Spewing from his mouth. The figure whose features are occluded to you, raises a hand, and you hear a sickening crunch. And the world goes black. This was Ira's final memory [Jess sighs deeply].

[a slow heartbeat begins to thrum] You have seen this figure watching you every time you have approached the manor, standing cloaked in shadows, watching from the window, knowing your purpose. This time, you know that the figure had a hand in bringing you here, in more ways than one [heartbeat abruptly stops].

Jess:
I can feel the acid rising in my throat. I swallow it back down, but it burns. The bile stings, and I look down and I see… The one remaining cut of meat that I requested, fit for a servant, in this bitter broth. A thin, yellow, sickly color. I stand, I pick up the bowl of broth, I gently carry it over to the body, and I pour it onto his face. Returning the yellow bile to the man whose greatest strength was alienating himself.

Adam:
You know this gesture, as symbolic as it is, comes too late. For you have unbalanced these humours. The body is discordant. This is an abject failure. There is no question of that. But, your duty is to chronicle it. To pass on to Gruffold what went wrong, so that he may not make that mistake again. So tell me, how did it all go wrong?

Jess:
I take out my journal, find a new page, and at the top I write, ‘I have made a mistake. I find myself not only consuming the sins that are the afterthought of the crime that takes the lives of those I serve, but I believe I am in some way part of this. Someone is following me. Someone is following this family. Perhaps I am following this family. This was too real, too invasive. There are too many connections, and I strive for none. I should be able to absolve sin, but instead this surge of anger that I feel now, my wrath is clinging to me. It's unwilling to let go.’ My hands shake as I write. My breath feels hot. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was out in the cold. Something is boiling inside of me. I write faster, ‘Something has scarred my psyche. Something is wrong. I have failed. And I fear I will fail again soon.’ Eidolon reacts violently, I think, to something I can't see or perceive, hissing, arching her back. I don't know what she's looking at. I return to my journal once more, writing even faster, through clenched, shaking hands, ‘There are three sins of wrath in this room. I speak the sin three times at the start and end of every ritual I perform, but I now sense three separate instantiations of wrath. One belongs to Ira, one belongs to me, and one belongs to someone else. Something unsettled remains and I now carry a piece of it. I am sick.’

Adam:
As you finish writing. Eidolon becomes more irate. And you see why. And it occurs to me we have never discussed whether you have failed like this before. Perhaps in your journey as a Sin Eater, you have been blessed in balancing the humours of all who have come before, so you haven't seen the ramifications of your failures. For as we have established in this world, the dead do not rest. They must be put to rest or else they wander. You see, standing in the corner, an apparition. An image. Of your friend. His neck twisted and bruised. His eyes, glowing embers. You can see the wall behind him, through him. The spirit of Ira will not be released, broken down into its spiritual components. No, the spirit of Ira, a spirit intrinsically tied to rage and wrath will be cursed to wander outside the walls of Shura forever. You came into this ritual to condemn, and so you have. A fate that is beyond cruel. As the wards and runes that are in all ruins like this, light up, banishing Ira from the city.

Jess:
As I see this apparition begin to experience that push away, the ward, I shout,

Jess (as Caradog):
“What took you?”

Adam:
There is no response. There isn't time for one. He's banished from the city. Perhaps, you will find the bravery to wander outside the purview of the lamplighters who keep humanity safe, in the futile effort to find a spirit amongst millions. Maybe then you would have your answers. Maybe not. All you know in this moment, is that bit by bit, that which made Ira, Ira, will be chipped away. Until nothing but wrath is left. For better or for worse, your meal is made. It’s time to hide the evidence. Place your two coins upon the eyes of the dead. What would have been a remittance for the one ferrying the soul, now a bribe to some entity, in the hopes that your mess is covered. Your work is done. End the ritual. Unring the bell. Close the door. And salt the threshold. To sever the link you must speak thrice. A word for the person that was. A word for the body that is. And a word for the soul that will be.

Jess:
Still shaking, Caradag places one hand on Eidolon to calm themselves. And they speak the three words.

Jess (as Caradog):
“Brother. Prison. Tormented.”

Adam:
What instructions do you leave? How shall this body be cared to?

Jess:
I… I take a page from my notebook once again, the second time I have desecrated it today, and I write on it, ‘Simply burn the remains.’ And I place that note near the body. But, as I turn away, I hesitate for a moment. I notice that there is one piece of the meal still remaining. The cut of steak that was fit for a servant. And I move… I write one more thing below the instructions that I have left for cremation, I say, ‘Consume the remainder.’ So the note says, ‘Burn the remains, consume the remainder.’ And it lies between the plate with the remaining food, and the body.

Adam:
Some might say that is dangerously ambiguous.

Jess:
I hope so.

Adam:
Hmm. As you leave this house, for the first time with imbalanced humours, you feel the sins of Ira have not gone down so easily. Something sticks in your throat, and it's up to you to determine what form it'll take.

Jess:
I think that I cannot breathe. I think something has blocked my windpipe for a moment. Or maybe longer, you tell me how long, Adam.

Adam:
A lump forms in your throat. Like something you can't quite swallow. As for how long? Well, that's for us to find out.

Jess: [whispered]
No!

Adam:
And that is where we are going to end our session tonight. Thank you very much for listening. Have a goodnight.

Adam:
Sin Eater: Absolution is performed by Jess Lupini and Adam Lucas. Special thanks to our campaign artist, Cenzi, who you can find as @cenzi03 on Instagram. Music and effects by Epidemic Sound and Si Rutherford. For more stories, come follow us everywhere at @blackwaterdnd, and make sure to check out our Main Campaign on Monday nights at 8pm PST at twitch.tv/blackwaterdnd. This show is made possible by our sponsors who support us and allow us to tell the stories we want to share. We are grateful to be sponsored by Hero Forge, who offer fully customizable miniatures made with their online 3D character creator! Head on over and design your own Sin Eater, and get them printed in a variety of materials, including colour printing options! With new content added each week, check out www.heroforge.com to start bringing your character to life! We would also like to thank our sponsor Hunter’s Entertainment. Hunter's Entertainment is a premier purveyor of tabletop RPGs and board games, providing amazing alternative systems for whatever setting or scenario you want to bring to the table. With titles like Kids on Bikes, Alice is Missing, God's of Metal: Ragnarok, and of course, Sin Eater, Hunter's brings beautifully written & designed books to dive into with your players. Check them out at huntersentertainment.com and sink your teeth into something new. Finally, we’re thankful for our Patrons for joining us on our first adventure within Shura. You too can come join us on Patreon, where you can check out behind the scenes info, our talkback show Chatwater, as well as exclusive Sin Eater bonus content and so much more. Head on over to patreon.com/blackwaterdnd for all the info. Thank you for listening, stay hungry and be safe.