Domain: Vorostokov
Domain Formation: 731 BC
Power Level:💀💀💀 ⚫⚫
Sources: Domains of Dread (2e), Dark of the Moon (2e), Darklords (2e)
Gregor Zolnik, the Darklord of Vorostokov, is a classic example of the hero’s fall and why I will forever question the motives of one who ‘does good’ especially when they constantly seek recognition for these so-called good deeds.
Vorostokov was originally located within the northern provinces of Cerilia within the world of Aebrynis. Once a temporal land, within the Mists, Vorostokov is now a land of perpetual winter. The people struggle for survival, only the bravest venturing into the wilds to hunt for dwindling resources.
When winter came early in Gregor’s homeworld, it decimated Vorostokov’s crops and without the aid of hunters, the entire village would have died of starvation. Gregor was one of those hunters and continually set forth to into the wilderness to provide for his family. During yet another fruitless hunt, he encountered an injured wolf. Watching the beast, he yearned for its keen senses and strength. For if he had them, he could sneak up on his prey and feed his mother and sisters for the winter.
As he watched the dying wolf, he recalled a tale his grandfather had told him of people who could change into wolves by donning their hides and calling upon the magic of the night. Desperate for that power, Gregor decided to see if there was any truth to the tale. I do not recommend attempting to see if magic based on folktale works without research, but Gregor isn’t known for his intellect.
Once the moon rose, he killed the wolf and drew a circle in the snow with its blood. He then skinned the beast and placed its hide upon his back. Lastly, he ate it’s brain for its cunning and its hearth for its strength. I wonder if Gregor thought about what he would do if his made up ritual didn’t work…he would have wasted likely the only food he would have found for his family for some time.
Regardless, it worked and Gregor took on a very painful transformation, his limbs bending and snapping as they reshaped into the form of a wolf. In his new form, Gregor easily took down a caribou and dragged it back to his mother’s house. He transformed in secret in a nearby cave then informed his mother where he had left the carcass.
While he slept, his mother shared the caribou with the entire village. At first, this angered her son, but then as the villagers regarded him as a hero, he decided to use the wolf pelt to continually provide for the people.
After the winter thawed, the Duke of Vorostokov praised Gregor and named him the hero of the village. While visiting, he met the Duke’s daughter Ireena. The two fell in love and married shortly after. The lure of the wolf, however, was not easily ignored and Gregor fell to sneaking out at night so he could experience the power of this animal.
Ireena thought he was being unfaithful and decided to be unfaithful herself. This, as you imagine, did not turn out well. Gregor, in his wolf form, discovered his wife in bed with another and gave into his savage nature. He killed everyone in the Duke’s household that night and enjoyed the slaughter. This act brought Gregor and Volrostokov into Ravenloft and an endless winter.
In Vorostokov, Gregor became a powerful loup du noir, donning his wolf skin pelt to force his change from man to beast almost on a nightly basis. He rules the land as Boyar and created werewolves under his control to serve him under his Boyarsky. Among the Boyarsky are his own sons as well, the only other loup du noir of the pack.
Gregor and his Boyarsky continue to provide for the village of Vorostokov, often hunting humans from other villages when food in the wilderness is scarce. The people are fed, but often turn a blind eye to the source of their meat or remain in blissful ignorance.
Gregor is a skilled ranger, fighter, and unless one has access to powerful magic and weapons of pure silver, nearly invulnerable when in his wolf form. If one does manage to defeat him, his body disappears and he finds himself by his wolf skin pelt in a protected cave. The only way to really defeat him would be to destroy his pelt, then deal with the man himself. Not an easy feat when protected by his Boyarsky.
In the warmth of the Torgov taproom, with the fire crackling and the adventurers gathered around, Greta leans in with a glint in her eye. “You want to hear about Gregor Zolnik, do you?” she begins, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “He wasn’t always the tyrant you know. No, in his youth, Gregor was a different man.”
She shifts in her chair, eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “Gregor was the strongest, most skilled hunter in all of Vorostokov. Proud, brave, and feared for his ability to track and kill. But there was one winter, long ago, that changed him forever. It came early—snowfall heavier than anyone had ever seen. The crops were ruined, buried beneath drifts so high that even the sleds couldn’t move through it. It didn’t stop. Day after day, the snow kept falling, and soon, Vorostokov was in danger of starving.”
Her voice drops, drawing the adventurers closer. “The hunters went out every day, but found nothing. The forest was barren. The only sign of life? Wolves. Hunters would scavenge the leftovers of wolf kills, but it wasn’t enough to feed the village. Gregor—he wouldn’t accept that. One day, near midwinter, he was out tracking, and it was so cold, so dark… even the sun refused to rise. He was returning home empty-handed, and that’s when he found it—a great black wolf, wounded after a fight with a bull elk. Or so they say..."
Greta pauses for effect, her voice growing hushed. “He watched the wolf dying and thought about its strength, its cunning. ‘If I had your stamina,’ he muttered to the beast, ‘I wouldn’t be starving. I’d feed my family and more.’ The wolf stared at him with those eyes… you know the kind. Cold, intelligent. And in that moment, Gregor remembered an old story his grandfather had told him—a legend about how the fiercest hunters could take the strength of the beasts they conquered.”
She straightens up, gesturing with her hands. “Gregor decided that he wouldn’t return home empty-handed. He killed the wolf, butchered the elk right there in the snow, and dragged the carcass back to Vorostokov. By the time he reached his mother’s house, he was near collapse, but he had done it—he had saved his family.”
A brief smile plays across her lips before she continues. “But that’s not the end of it. When Gregor awoke the next evening, he found that his mother had shared the meat with the whole village. At first, he was furious—he’d wanted it for his family. But then he realized… he could do it again. Night after night, Gregor hunted. While others starved, he brought food to the people of Vorostokov. He never told anyone how he managed it, but he kept the village fed for the rest of that terrible winter.”
Greta leans closer, her voice softening as the fire crackles. “Come spring, the duke himself—Andrei Vladimir—came to meet the man who had kept Vorostokov alive. Many other villages in the region hadn’t survived the winter as well as ours. That’s when Gregor met the duke’s daughter, Ireena. They say the two fell in love at first sight, and soon after, they were married. Gregor went to live at the duke’s castle, leaving the village behind.”
She gives a knowing look to the adventurers. “But it wasn’t a happy ending, no. Even in the warmth of the duke’s halls, Gregor couldn’t shake the call of the wild. He’d find reasons to leave the castle—‘visiting his mother,’ he’d say. But in truth, he was returning to the forest, back to the hunt. And Ireena… well, she began to suspect something. She thought Gregor was sneaking off to see another woman, and in her grief and anger, she took a lover of her own.”
Greta shakes her head, her voice tinged with sorrow. “That betrayal—it broke something in Gregor. When he found out, he flew into a rage. He killed the lover first, but it didn’t stop there. He went to Ireena’s chambers that night… and she didn’t live to see another dawn.”
The room falls silent as Greta’s tale comes to an end. “After that, Gregor changed. The man who had once saved Vorostokov became a tyrant, a cold-hearted ruler who cared only for his own power. Some say it was grief, others say it was the wolf in him. But whatever it was, the hero of Vorostokov was gone, replaced by the monster we know today.”
She leans back in her chair, letting the firelight dance across her face as the adventurers absorb her words. “But, like all stories, who’s to say how much is true?” Greta adds with a shrug. “Folk around here love their tales. Still, something changed that winter, and Gregor hasn’t been the same since.”
As the fire flickers in the dim taproom of Torgov, the adventurers lean in closer to hear Greta spin the darker part of Gregor’s tale, her voice hushed as if sharing forbidden knowledge.
"You see, it wasn’t just Ireena and her lover. The night Gregor found out about her betrayal, he didn’t stop with them. The tale goes that Ireena’s screams woke one of the maidservants. Poor thing went to see what had happened… and Gregor, already lost to madness, killed her, too. But that wasn’t the worst of it."
Greta’s eyes dart around, making sure no other villagers are too close to hear. “They say something took over Gregor that night, something more than grief or rage. The scent of blood, it drove him mad. He stalked through the corridors of the duke’s castle, killing any who crossed his path—servants, retainers, even the duke himself, still asleep in his bed.”
She pauses, the fire crackling as if echoing the bloodshed she describes. "By morning, the castle was a tomb, and Gregor awoke… not in the duke’s halls, but back in Vorostokov. The following winter was colder and darker than before, and the village was starving once more. Gregor tried to hunt, but the forests had turned against him. No elk, no caribou—nothing lived in those woods anymore."
Greta lets the silence hang for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. “The only thing left to hunt… was people. Oh, yes. Gregor turned his attention to the villages. His people. At first, they praised him as their provider, the man who brought them meat when all else failed. But over time, the villagers noticed the game he brought back was… strange. The meat, they whispered, wasn’t from elk or caribou. It came from something else.”
Greta lowers her voice further, leaning in. "You see, the black wolf of the forest was no longer a hero. He became a terror. Villagers started to disappear—hunters, woodsmen—any who dared to enter the forest alone. Gregor wouldn’t allow it. He hunted the hunters. One by one, they vanished, and only Gregor returned, his hands stained red, always with food to offer… but never saying where it came from."
She lets out a breath, casting a glance toward the door as if expecting someone—or something—to walk through it. "The people feared him, but what could they do? They were starving. Desperate. And Gregor, well… in his twisted mind, he still thought of himself as the hero of Vorostokov. A provider. But the truth was, the man who once saved the village had become its worst nightmare."
Greta takes a sip of her cider, pausing before continuing. "There were rumors, though—whispers that not everyone would stand for it. A young man named Yuri rallied the bravest of the villagers, a small band of loyal men who demanded to know where Gregor went each night and what he truly hunted. Gregor, they say, nearly killed them all for their insolence. He wanted to. But his mother, Antonina, she stepped in. She called him out, saying he had betrayed his people and the memory of his father. Some say it was the only thing that stayed his hand."
She leans back, her eyes flicking over the adventurers with an almost somber look. "That’s when it really began, you know. Gregor couldn’t have his power challenged. So, they say, he created his boyarsky, men loyal only to him—enforcers, really. He recruited them from those still desperate enough to follow him, men who feared starvation more than they feared the truth. And from then on, no one questioned Gregor Zolnik. Those who did… well, they never returned from the forest.”
“Then there is… the story of my sister, Sasha—Mikhail and Alexei’s mother. Sasha was the most beautiful woman in Torgov. Gregor met her while traveling through the villages, back when he was still building his power as Boyar. When he saw her, he decided she would be his wife, no matter her fear of him. He had strength, yes, but his temper… it was vile. Still, Sasha, in her innocence, agreed. She left Torgov and went with him to Vorostokov.”
Greta pauses for a moment, her voice softening. “My sister was kind, gentle, and pure-hearted. Gregor, for all his savagery, doted on her. His temper would soften in her presence. But even though he loved her, every night he would leave her side to roam the forests, disappearing into the cold darkness. He forbade Sasha to speak of his absences, but she grew uneasy, wondering where he went. As time passed, she gave birth to their first son, Alexei. Gregor adored his son, but the rest of his family—Antonina, his mother, and his sisters—were jealous beyond reason.”
She shakes her head, her voice tinged with sadness. “When Mikhail was born, Sasha hoped it would bring peace to their lives, but it only deepened the divide. Mikhail was different—gentle like his mother, quiet and reserved. Nothing like Gregor or Alexei. It was Alexei who Gregor favored, and when Alexei turned eighteen, Gregor decided to initiate him into his inner circle, the boyarsky.”
Greta’s voice drops even lower, her face hardening as she speaks. “That night, Mikhail was visiting us here in Torgov, staying with me. The rumor goes that Gregor took Alexei deep into the woods, preparing to bring him into his dark world and Sasha and Antonina followed him. Together, they spied on Gregor and Alexei in the forest. And what they saw… it changed everything. That night, my sister must have learned the truth; the horror she had married into.” Greta's voice falters for a moment as she stares into the fire, her eyes distant, lost in memory. “A week later I learned that Sasha was dead. Gregor said she had fallen to her death…but I do not believe him. Whatever horrors Gregor and Alexei were involved in—must have shaken her to the core."
Greta takes a sip. "Now, I can’t say for sure how much of this is true,” she says with a slight shrug, “but folk around here, they still whisper about the black wolf of the forest. About Gregor. Whether he’s still the man who once saved Vorostokov, or something far darker. You saw for yourself.”
With that, she leans back into the shadows of the taproom, her tale lingering in the adventurers’ minds like a chill creeping in from the cold outside.
