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.

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's description. It is important to know, if at any point this becomes too much for you, our listener, and for the both of us, Jess, 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 prepare here will not spoil until we are ready to return.

[A match is struck, then blown out]

Episode V: Sloth

Adam:
Last we left off, you attended to the body of Livor Verde, the once dutiful servant of the Evagrius manor. For the second time in a row, you had failed to balance the humours, and you left the soul of Livor standing, watching, from outside the city, eternally. The Evagrius manor stands amongst a canopy of vibrant green, its stone walls partially veiled by thick ivy that thrives in the warmth of the spring. The air is rich with the scent of wisteria and petrichor, carried by a gentle breeze that stirs the tall grass, and rustles the fresh leaves in the orchid. Petals from the blossoming trees drift lazily through the air, settling like whispers upon the worn cobblestone paths. The gardens, once subdued by the desperate winter months past, are alive with colour. Clusters of violets and lilies push through the soil, while wild roses creep along the edges of the wrought iron fence. The fountains bubble steadily, their waters catching the golden glow of the late afternoon sun, casting rippling patterns along the moss covered stone basins. And yet, the manor itself remains unchanged, its towering form as somber and imposing as ever. Though the season has painted the land in renewal, the house stands apart, untouched by the warmth that stirs the world around it. Even in the full bloom of spring, the air near its entrance carries a quiet weight, a hush that neither the sun, nor the flowers, can dispel. Once more you ring the bell, and the door swings open without a sound, and the younger man stands before you.

Livor is a memory now, a painful reminder of your past failures, and a heavy memento of your intrinsic entanglement with this family you have come to serve. He is replaced by his sharp-featured son. A presence that exudes a quiet assertion of control. The son’s gloved hands moves in a precise, measured gesture, bidding you inside, but you cannot help but glance back. Back at that hill, where the soul of Livor watches eternally. Without a word, the son turns and walks ahead, his footsteps absorbed by the thick hush of the hidden corridors. You follow, though the path feels subtly altered under his guidance. Colder, more calculated. It feels as if the whole manor itself seems different with him at its helm. Its shadows, deeper. Its turns more labyrinthian, as if it has reshaped itself to match his presence. Finally, he stops before a door, his posture unwavering, his gaze unreadable. The silence between you is deliberate. Weighted. Then with that same unerring certainty, he raises a hand and motions towards the door, a final wordless instruction. And in this moment you feel the emotions that you had been able to bring forth from him as you attended his father, were to him but a moment of weakness [Jess chuckles slightly], and shan't be repeated. He looks at you expectantly. You are to enter.

Jess:
This time I don't linger my gaze on him, and I simply walk into the room. But as I do so, I speak out loud,

Jess (as Caradog):
“I suppose I won't gain knowledge of your name until someone guides me into this room. To, perhaps, absolve you.”

Adam:
You see your words land, and you know they've had an effect. But he does not show it. You step inward. The air inside this chamber is heavy, thick, with a cloying scent of aged wax and dried lavender, almost an offering against the inevitable decay that lingers beneath. The dim candlelight barely reaches the far corners of the room, casting uneven shadows that stretch and curl along the dark wood paneling. Not in the center of the room, but against the far wall, beneath an arched window, shrouded in a sheer black drapery, lies Tristitia Evagrius. Her body is draped in silken sheets, pale and undisturbed, as though she has merely drifted into sleep and forgotten to wake. Her hands rest loosely at her sides, not folded in reverence, but limp. Surrendered to gravity. Even in death there is no tension, no trace of struggle, only the eerie softness of a life spent in resignation. Dust has settled in the folds of her gown, and the air around her is utterly still, untouched, as if the room itself hesitates to stir her from this final repose. You recognize her from your visions with Livor. This is the young woman that he so frequently helped. The candles flicker, their flames barely shifting, as if reluctant to disturb the hush that has taken root here. It is the hush of a life unspent, of moments wasted, and days let slip into nothingness. Not all lives resist death. Some simply sink into it, as though they had been waiting for its arrival all along. You know the sin before you. This woman's sloth was made apparent to you before you ever saw her body, in a vision, months past. The choice rests with you, once more, to redeem or condemn. Even in death, Tristitia embodies her sin of sloth. But it is in your hands whether she carries that sin eternally, or finds peace in this ritual. What are you working towards?

Jess:
Having failed the past two times at any task, there is an element of desperation in Caradog's demeanor. They will seek absolution on this day, but not necessarily because they believe it is warranted, but rather because they feel a need to prove to themselves that it is possible.

Adam:
As always, you carry with you ritual implements. Items, not quite mundane, not quite of the spirit. Have those changed since last you were here?

Jess:
Absolutely not. Caradog is a creature of habit.

Adam:
Amazing. Within this room, you also must find items extrinsic. Found in the home, sutured to the flesh. Whether it be on the body before you, or within the room itself, I will have you choose three from the list.

Jess:
I would look around the room. She is unclothed under the sheets, or, is she dressed?

Adam:
She's wearing a simple gown.

Jess:
Are her feet bare?

Adam:
Yes.

Jess:
I would look around the room for shoes.

Adam:
Okay. You look around the room, and in a cupboard you find a pair of simple shoes, perhaps too big, but, shoes nonetheless. They are the sort of shoes one might wear for a brief walk around the garden. Not sturdy, nor dainty, but useful.

Jess:
I take the shoes and place them below her feet, as a symbol of a life that perhaps dreamed of, or even simply contemplated movement, but rarely had cause to explore, to live. A relic of travels.

Adam:
A relic of travels untaken.

Jess:
And then… Can I find any sort of holy symbol in this room that might have been special to her? In her personal effects?

Adam:
You look around, you look upon the body. There is nothing of deep religious connotation. As you know, this family is not one of piety, and the service they pay to the leader of this nation. The King, in spirit. The everlasting God-King of this land, was surface level at best. But, upon her hands, you find a ring. And it bears the marks of something that was worried at, constantly. Like a… Like an implement to fidget with when Tristitia was stressed. This is the closest thing you can find to what she might've practiced as prayer.

Jess:
I extricate the ring from her finger, and I place it at the crown of her head. A symbol of divinity, something that… Had she led another life, could have guided her, and instead became something that she guided in circles, never going anywhere, around that finger, endlessly. This Sisyphusian effort.

Adam:
Hmm.

Jess:
I need something else from outside the room. And so, I would open that door leaning on those creaky hinges.

Adam:
The sound rings out in the corridors, and like he was summoned, the servant appears.

Jess:
I brush past him, brusquely and without concern, walking back towards the exterior of the house, the door that I entered by. I leave the door open behind me.

Adam:
Do you bring Eidolon with you?

Jess:
Eidolon will follow. But I do not motion to her, I allow her to make her own way.

Adam:
Okay. Without looking, you can hear his footsteps as he follows behind you, the servant ensuring that you do not wander from the path. You also hear the gentle footpads of Eidolon, as she creeps along the hallways with you.

Jess:
I speak out loud.

Jess (as Caradog):
“She's watching you, you know, to make sure you don't tread from the path. That you don't stray.”

Jess:
And as I reach the door, I open it to go back out.

Adam:
You head outside, and it is such a sharp contrast. There's so much life out here. Why is it that your existence is so steeped in death, when there is such an abundance to be had?

Jess:
I would barely let that thought sit in my mind, for I know I dug my own grave in that respect. Idiomatically. I don't know who will dig it when the time comes, but, I brought death into my life.

Adam:
You think that for a moment, and like a pit in your stomach, you realize that's a lie. You do know who will dig your grave. You chose him, trained him.

Jess:
[sighs] I can't help but wonder how far away that day is, but I push that thought away from my conscious mind, down deep into the depths, the bowels of my thoughts, and I refocus on the task at hand, on why I'm here, and I bend down, and I will pick a flower. I bend down and search for a lily. I’ll pluck it, and return to the room.

Adam:
You walk once more through the halls, you reach once more the room, and you step back in, a simple lily in hand.

Jess:
Eidolon curiously sniffs at the flower in my hand, and I hold it down so she can get a sense of what this thing is. And then, I pluck the petals one by one, and I placed them at the pit of Tristitia's belly. A fragment of fear, representing the life that she could have lived, had she chosen to.

Adam:
Hmm.

Jess:
Or perhaps been able to. Who am I to judge? I laugh to myself at the joke of that.

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

Jess:
As I kneel down, the candles before me, laid out on a piece of cloth, are the ocarina already seeping, a dark but still fresh smelling blood through it, it's wrapping. The piece of bark with initials, scrawled into it. Each time I look upon these, they feel less important in some way that I can't quite put my finger on. And yet, I return to them. And then my eyes lift up to Tristitia, and I see, at the pit of her belly, this stack of lily petals. I see the ring, is that of the crown of her head, worn. Played with. And then, below her feet, those shoes, likely not even hers, representing that movement, the journey that she failed to take. I sigh. I write a few notes down in my journal. And I begin.

Adam:
Okay. Dim the lights. Speak thrice aloud the sins before you. Write your final entry before embarking on this ritual itself. We come upon the time where there is a song to sing as you prepare your meal.

Jess:
As I move to begin singing, an exhaustion overwhelms me. I can barely keep my eyes open. And for some reason, vocalizing feels too difficult. And so, to the strange, aharmonic tones being emitted from the ocarina, and perhaps the wind, and who knows what else, I write words this time in my journal. And I write simply, ‘Life unwound, a will that fades, your life has stalled. Your goals, unmade. Your family lingers, you feel dull and slow. And Tristitia, all around you, the seasons, they flow.’ I close my journal.

Adam:
What meal have you chosen for today?

Jess:
I have asked the family to prepare a bowl of porridge. A little bit of cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, aromatic rare spices in these parts. With some simple brown sugar, and seeds, and grains, that can be found no more than a mile from the manor. And as well, a glass of water, it too drawn from a well within the manor grounds. But I've asked that the bowl of porridge be cooked, brought to boil, and then left to congeal. Forgotten, until such a time as I arrived, ready to consume it, cold. With the air of having been half eaten by the air itself, or perhaps a lucky mouse. I dig in.

Adam:
I will have you place the two coins before you. The Baker's Coin and the Butcher's Coin. Please flip both twice, starting with the Baker's Coin.

Jess:
Here we go. [coin flip] First one is tails.

Adam:
Yellow bile.

Jess:
[coin flip] It's tails again.

Adam:
Yellow bile.

Jess:
[sighs deeply] [coin flip] Heads.

Adam:
Phlegm.

Jess:
[coin flip] And heads.

Adam:
Phlegm. The humours are discordant. As you eat, as always, visions settle down on you. You almost surprise yourself in the balancing of these humours, or in this case, the imbalancing of them. For one such as Tristitia, you expected to see sadness. You expected there to be an imbalance of black bile, and yet here, almost like an overcorrection that you have made before, you see ambition and aggression. The vision shows you how that manifested in Tristitia’s life, and it is not a happy vision. Tristitia was not a happy person, but she wanted to be. She dreamed of it, she hoped for it. She occasionally fought for it. And when she failed, she hated herself for it. All of her aggression was self-wrought and self-directed. And all of her ambition was the simple desire to feel joy. But there was always a weight. Like someone's sitting on her chest. Some days, harder than others. You get the sense, in this vision, the thing that frustrated her most was sometimes when she was saddest there was nothing to be sad about. She could never explain it. She can never articulate to others why she was the way she was. They called her lazy. They called her tired and sleepy. But she was empty. She was a sailboat with no wind, but calmed on the sea of life. And as the vision shifts. You see why phlegm was imbalanced. For amongst her peers and amongst her family, there were none she could truly talk to. None but Livor. Livor helped. Livor never judged. Livor encouraged. And then Livor died. And Tristitia pulled away. Pulled away from her peers. Pulled away from her family. Pulled away from life itself. She left this plane deeply sad, and in your failure, you have left her spirit even more miserable. [Jess sighs] This is an object failure. But it is your duty to chronicle what has occurred today. So you must write, so that Gruffold does not make this mistake. How did this go so wrong? How did you fail? How much ownership will you take? Does the way you write about this catastrophe change, knowing that you are writing it for Gruffold, and not just for yourself?

Jess:
Absolutely. I don’t know how many more times I will be called to this house. I can't imagine there's much of this family left at all, at this point. And so… I don't know whether it's a pessimism, a fear, or a premonition, but Caradog believes that their time may be sooner than they had expected. And so they write, ‘In my time eating the sins of the souls of this town, I rarely have found myself under the purview of the same family for such a long time. And so, I find that my normal approach… Ceases to be effective. There are too many links, too many connections, and, Gruffold, I would love to give you a roadmap. A clear explanation that betrays my own understanding, my own expertise, as to what has gone wrong. But, in this moment, this abject failure, I can only speculate. And my speculation is this. I am losing control. I cannot track the myriad connections between these people. I am treating each soul as if it exists in isolation. For, I'm only given the tools to do so. Were that I were a soul tender, or outfitted with tools or implements of great power, I could perhaps extricate, surgically, the sins from these bodies, but they are tangled together. The servant. The daughter. The father. The brother. The lover. They are all one. And… I find myself an outsider. May you succeed where I have failed.’ And I close the journal.

Adam:
For woe or for weal, you have made your meal. It is time to partake, as you eat this simple meal of well water and porridge. Its flavour sits fetid on your tongue, and for all its simplicity, it weighs at your stomach like lead. You place your two coins upon the eyes of the dead. This time, perhaps a bribe, to cover up the mess you've made to those beyond. You sit, and a wave of melancholy washes over you. [Jess sighs] It is sourceless, but it is so profound. And like the cold of the winter now long past, you fear you may never be happy again. So deep, and so ever present this sadness is. But for now, your work is done. You must end the ritual. You must unring the bell. Close the door, and salt the threshold. As always, 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:
As I puzzle through the mess of this encounter and the two prior, I place my hand on Eidolon, who's so still, that part of me wonders if she's even breathing. I feel a slow, steady, rising and falling of her chest, that reassures me. Although I am concerned by my reaction even to the slowing of her breath. And as I stroke her soft, long fur, I speak,

Jess (as Caradog):
“Languid. Limp. Lost.”

Adam:
A figure appears. Each time before, the spirit has resembled the body, the incorporeal reflecting the corporeal. But in this… Such a discordant ritual, the spirit has been twisted. From the body of Tristitia Evagrius arises a wraith. A ruined and twisted entity, that knows nothing but its final sin. Long, taloned hands. Sunken, weeping eyes. This banshee shrieks a scream that echoes through the manor for what feels like an eternity. Your chest tightens, and you know that your heart is weaker than it once was. You know, in her scream, she has walked you steps closer to your final breath on this world. And with a final cry, as if the wards of the city burn her, she evaporates. Sentenced to roam outside the city. Travel between the cities is dangerous, for spirits left to wander turn eventually, and become monstrous. There is no waiting for the spirit of Tristitia Evagrius to become monstrous, you have sent her thusly out. She will be a terror. She will be a predator amongst prey. You have no doubt there are souls without the city that will be consumed by her grief, only to make her stronger. Her threat may last for generations to come, and it is your doing. But here, within these walls, there is a task to be completed, and a simple question to be answered. How do you handle her remains?

Jess:
I look around for a piece of paper. I don't want to use a page from my journal for this, and I couldn't tell you why exactly, but, when I find a piece of paper or parchment, I write a message on it. And it reads, ‘One can waste a life, but in nature no death is wasted. Leave her body on the grounds, beneath a tree, and let it journey into the lives of all of those creatures that are on their own travels. Restless, busy, and uncaring.’

Adam:
As you place this note beside her, you see in this ritual her skin has become desiccated, her eyes sunken and hollow. And the air is thick with a brackish smell, the brine of tears wept for an eternity, hanging thick in the air. What a mess you have made. This spirit, mangled beyond recognition. And now it is relegated to the dregs, in the gutter of your soul, from cradle to crypt. Consummate failure, through and through. You feel it. The piece of Tristitia that you have taken on, writhing inside of you. Screaming for release. You wipe at your face. Tears you didn't even realize you had wept. You are tired. You are sallow. But you must blow out the candle. You knock three times on the surface around it. To the left for what was. To the right for what will be. And on your final knock, your fist to your chest, an acknowledgement of a piece of a soul now sealed within you… You try to breathe, and it's faltering. You try to take a moment to come back to the here and now, but you can't. It lingers. You were left in this room, and as you look down, you see Eidolon has slipped out of the door, [slow, heavy heartbeats begin] and you are left alone, truly alone in this room. What do you do?

Jess:
As I try to catch my breath, I stagger to my feet. I tilt my body towards the door. And I run.

[quick footfalls]

Adam:
As you run, you pass Eidolon, back rigid, tail upright. All the signs of fear, as she looks down the corridor towards a figure occluded in shadow. A figure that has watched you many times before. A figure you have seen in visions, but obscured. You know everyone in this house heard that scream. You know everyone in this house is aware of your failure. You feel the heat of his gaze follow you, as you flee. There is a disharmony, between what is inside you and what is out, as you run through this beautiful garden, teeming with life, overflowing with fecundity. It's almost like… All the beauty of your life saps out of you. Like osmosis, seeping into the tableau around you, as you flee the manor, as you flee the grounds, knowing you inevitably must return. And that is where we are going to end this episode.

Jess:
Ohh, man.

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.