Curse of Strahd [CLOSED]

[Abrahms]

Syvis' face scrunched, "I don't think we can truly avoid someone like him, from the little I've seen and heard. One way or the other I don't doubt he could appear on a whim. This land and its people don't seem to be much of an obstacle for him." Shifting the cage, she offered, "My hope was instead of finding ourselves worn from travel, perhaps finding some threat on the road, we could camp with the Vistani here, and perhaps gain more information on the area. If we truly wish to set out, I could take a few moments to perform a ritual, at the very least attempt to warn us if any packs of wolves or similar are nearby."

 

[Esbilon]

Whatever the exact sources of the strange sounds and smells are, it seems clear to Fianna that she is not alone in this place. It's someone's home and she's an intruder. Intruder she may be, she cannot help that, but she does not need to greet these people by stealing their cloak. Getting back off from the floor, she dismisses the cantrip colouring the cloak and proceeds to hang it back into the closet where she found it, cleaner than it was and no worse for wear.

Then she steels herself, take a breath of air and steps quietly out of the bedroom.

 

[Baba Luga]

Fianna
Lounge

The heavy door pulls open into the dark bedroom, revealing a large, semi-circular lounge or study beyond, filled with bookshelves and overstuffed furniture. Three lanterns, the main sources of light in here, hang from heavy ceiling beams, while a bit of dying light from a cloudy late-afternoon sky still enters through three leaded windows on the long curving wall. There's another door past a massive bookcase, along the same wall as the one from the bedroom.

With the bedroom door open, the scritching noises are louder. Fianna catches a flurry of movement and sees that someone is seated, facing away from her, in a high-backed chair at a table by the windows. Only their arm is visible, as it uses a quill to write in a big open book. Other weighty tomes are laid out on the table, as is a smoldering pipe resting on a small stand.

There's a heavy sigh from the chair as the hand stops its writing. "Tripsy? Beeswax? Waddlehump? You well know Jorten time continues for another several hours. Go now, back to your workrooms. Make a nice potion of moon-lust, or whatever it is you do up there." The man's voice is refined, patronizing, self-satisfied.

 

[Epiphany]

Moire glances between Hircus and Syvis before sighing. "Both of you make good points. I suggested we camp here, not because of any great fatigue but to avoid great fatigue later. We have good reason to suspect an interruption to a good night's sleep and if it were possible to get it before a carriage arrived, at least we'd be fresh to face it."

"At the same time, I confess a certain dissatisfaction for camping now. We had a late night, and so woke late, and camping early feels like...with time being short, I don't want to squander what time we may have."

She looks at the Elven Rogue with them and says, "Ina if you have an opinion, it's welcome. Otherwise...perhaps we might set out for Barovia Village. We've already spent time among the Vistani and most of those things that might aid us against the Lord of this land are unknown to us, except that they're unlikely to lie within Vistani hands. Let's visit this village while it's still light out, perhaps find rooms for the night and a good meal, and learn what we can of the people there."

 

[Esbilon]

At another time, Fianna would have loved to explore the bookshelves and the knowledge and stories contained within them. Today, she is left with two options: to sneak out without the man noticing, or to get his attention and convince him to be friendly towards her. She spends no more than a moment deciding, she was never that much of a hunter and this is hardly the best place to sneak around people. The young woman puts on her most winning smile and speaks, "I'm sorry to interrupt," she begins, her voice sweet and high, "but I'm afraid I've gotten quite lost. Perhaps you can help me?"

 

[Baba Luga]

Syvis, Hircus, Moire, Ina
Tser Poor Encampment

Syvis takes the time to perform the ritual of beast finding. It reveals the presence of at least one wolf in the forest about a half-mile south of here.

The Vistani near the fire nod farewell as the group sets out back towards the crossroads and the village of Barovia. Taking a more cautious pace than before, Hircus calls forth Torm's light to show the way forward through the darkening wood. Nighttime animal sounds take their place in the woods. Howls in the distance confirm Syvis' estimation of the wolves' location. They are not familiar voices.

It takes about three quarters of an hour to get back to the crossroads, which appears even more grim now that night has fallen in Barovia. The dead halfling remains where Moire set him, in front of the headstone that now bears verses in her own blood. There's a distant rumble of thunder, and the dark sky to the northeast flickers with far-off lightning.

 

[Epiphany]

"No sense in tarrying here," Moire says, with another lingering look at the poor dead halfing. "As if night wasn't enough, I don't like the sound of that storm. Perhaps we should quicken the pace."

 

[Baba Luga]

Fianna
Lounge

The chair grates over the stone floor as the man seated in it pushes it back and raises himself partway so that he may turn around and regard Fianna. He appears somewhat more than twice Fianna's age. A mustard-colored velvet smoking jacket covers his high-collared red shirt. His eyes narrow as he studies his guest with wry skepticism.

"Is that you then, Miss Dampgrin? Trying out a new phiz?" He looks Fianna up, down and from the side, then shrugs. "So are the others being cruel again? We've discussed this. You know I can't keep solving these little problems for you. You'll have to learn to stand up for yourself. No more running down to Uncle Jorten at every kerfuffle."

As the man comes a few steps closer, the hanging lanterns reveal a thin layer of powder and rouge on his face. The sky outside flashes with lightning, and a low rumble of thunder sounds from far away. "That is you, Dampgrin, isn't it?" He extends a hand and passes it over Fianna's head, then takes a step back as his expression changes to a frown of minor concern.

 

[Esbilon]

Nothing has been reasonable since Fianna first came to in that clearing (or even before then, a voice reminds her with images of her dead mother, but she pushes those aside for now), and it's hard to say if this man and his actions are more or less unreasonable than all that has come before him, but more and more, she feels out of her depth. She takes a step back as he passes his hand over her head, invading her personal space, but otherwise keeps her calm demeanour and looks him in the eye. "I don't believe so," she answers his question, "to the best of my knowledge I've never seen you before in my life or heard any of the names you mention either."

 

[Baba Luga]

"Well," exclaims the man in the smoking jacket, "this is quite intriguing. If I understand correctly, you have somehow apparated in the guest bedroom. Is that right?" He holds his hands together, fingers forming a peak. "My name is Jorten. Now, of course, I was not the architect of this castle, but ... oh ... ohhh! No, this is too rich ... could it be?" Keeping an eye of Fianna, he steps back to the table and turns the page of the book in which he was lately writing, then pirouettes towards the grand bookcase. "What did you say your name was dear?" His fingers touch the spine of a narrow volume on one of the shelves.

 

[Baba Luga]

Syvis, Hircus, Moire, Ina
Old Svalich Road, east of River Ivlis Crossroads

The group has walked only ten or fifteen minutes past the little graveyard, with the dark woods to the left and a gentle grassy slope to the right, when the storm heralded by the distant lightning arrives with sudden ferocity. A hard wind drives large raindrops from the north, and lightning flashes much closer, with an immediate accompanying blast of thunder. The circle of light cast by the object Hircus temporarily enchanted plainly shows rivulets forming in the road. "Oh, come on! Really?" Ina shouts as everyone is rapidly drenched. "Is this a Strahd thing too? Telling us to stay away from his sad little village? I don't think so." She stomps ahead, splashing in the puddles that are already forming in the rough dirt road.

 

[Abrahms]

Glancing up at the rumble from the sky, Syvis shook her head at Moire's comment, "Even more reason I wish we had stayed with the Vistani, but regardless --" her words were soon almost literally drowned out by the rain and storm, "-- we might as well try to push on now!"

Leaning over the birdcage she tried to protect the small creature within from the storm around them, her small feet attempting to find solid footing in the quickly softening ground. "Be careful not to get your feet sucked into the mud!" she calls out to the fellow elf as she stomps through, "Let me know if anyone gets too worn down, I could become a horse again -- at least carry our things!"

 

[Epiphany]

As the rain picks up, Moire smiles wanly at Ina's outburst, and at the elf's determination. Already, this little trip to the village at night is becoming an exercise in discomfort. Her gorgeous new suit of armor promises immense protection in battle, and immense chafing when drenched. Of course, as a servant of Ilmater, a little suffering was considered good for the soul, polishing away flaws. But at times like this, the Paladin wonders just how much polishing her soul needs and whether or not Ilmater plans to polish right through it or not...

"Thank you, Syvis. If you can manage it, let's take advantage of your shape now and load you up before our possessions become entirely waterlogged. I could at least strap the tent over them across your back."

If Syvis is inclined to become a horse, Moire quickly unburdens herself of everything save her armor, sword and shield. Hopefully they can make it to the village before the road becomes impassable.

 

[Esbilon]

"In the closet to be precise," she offers with a slight, nervous smile. "And I didn't tell you my name," she replies, looking at him without understanding, but searching for it. "It's Fianna."

 

[ZombWie]

The rain does nothing to dampen the big man's mood. Hircus walks alongside his friends as they make their way down the sloppy lane toward Barovia Village. "The first time we met Eva I was less than civil, this time I offered her wine with a smile. We better stay away from that tent or the next time we meet I may marry the crone." Hircus chuckles to himself. "I guess I am starting to get used to this place. I mean, what else can it throw our way?"

As they walk, Hircus digs through his backpack and finds the brass bell with the lightning bolt clapper. "Seems approriate at the moment." he shows the bell to Syvis. "What do you make of this? I guessed it for a holy symbol, but I can't place the symbology. We found it on the unfortunate souls being eaten by wolves. Maybe we can sell it to get a bite to eat up ahead."

 

[Baba Luga]

Jorten smiles, nods and slides the slim, leather-bound book from its place on the shelf. Returning with it to the table, he pulls out another of the high-backed chairs and, with a flourish of the wrist, indicates that Fianna should be seated. Sitting himself, he opens the small book and begins tracing over its pages with his eyes. Fianna can see that the cover is blind-stamped with a somewhat abstract rising, or setting, sun. After a moment, Jorten looks up with thin smile and a glint in his eyes as if he possesses a most delicious secret. "So, Fianna", he asks, "what can you tell me about young Master Fiendsbane? Have you seen him lately?"

The name seems suddenly familiar; Fianna can almost see his face in her mind. Tegan is his first name. The two of them are in a great hall together, preparing some sort of meal, if the bubbling pot on the hearth, and chopped up ingredients laid out on the nearby banquet table are any indication.

"I'm completely out of my depth here," Tegan confesses as he dumps handfuls of carrots into the cauldron. "Are we making too much, or not enough? Every time I think I've got a full head count, someone else shows up." On the wall above his head, a large sun decoration made of beaten metal hangs on the wall; it's the same as the stamped image on the cover of Jorten's book.

"By the way," Tegan says, coming back over to the end of the table where Fianna stands with a cleaver in her hand, "I've lost someone too. It was a few years ago." Before he can continue, a deep, loud tolling comes from the floor above. Fianna recalls that they are on the lower floor of a bell tower. "Ring all you like!" Tegan shouts at the staircase, "it's not soup until it's soup!"

The vision fades, and Fianna is back in the lounge, with the sound of rain beating at the windows, and Jorten staring at her expectantly.

 

[Esbilon]

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Fianna sits down in the seat as directed. She lets out a small gasp as she comes to rest rather further down than she expected in the soft chair. Once seated, she spends more energy on observing her host than on getting comfortable, she is absolutely certain that this strange man knows something that can begin to shed light on her situation, and she is in dire need of said light.

As the vision comes over her, her mouth opens involuntarily and she quickly closes it again as she blinks to clear the foreign image from her eyes. "Nothing, I think. I don't think I've met anyone of that name either." She smiles apologetically and hesitates for a few moments before adding, "but there is something... a dream or a vision. The name means something to me, more than it ought to."

 

[Baba Luga]

Syvis, Hircus, Moire, Ina
Old Svalich Road, Thunderstorm

"Hey, what's that?" Ina asks, still a short distance in front of the others. She stops in her tracks. Syvis, now in the form of a horse, and Hircus have been exchanging human and equine words about the bell focus produced from the cleric's pack. In her present animal shape, the druid's sight is limited to the range of Hircus' light magic, so she does not see whatever Ina has spotted.

About forty feet ahead, a jumble of broken twigs and mud-clogged leaves washes into the road from the right-hand side. It's as if the storm has washed some small structure—a beaver's dam?—down the hillside, except the swath of sticks is continuing the move along the road towards the travelers, uphill against the rivulets of rainwater.

"Not right," says Ina, as the debris surges and contorts. Sticks and leaves rearrange themselves into claw-like protrusions, as the whole mess spreads and divides into several distinct forms resembling hunched-over children made of twigs. They creep forward silently in the pouring rain, flailing ill-proportioned arms and heads.

 

[Baba Luga]

Fianna
Lounge

Listening to Fianna's muddled recollections, Jorten drops the small book to his lap, rests his elbows on the table and his chin on his peaked fingertips. His expression is a mask of detached consideration, but in his eyes Fianna sees barely-concealed flames of frustration and confusion. He turns his head slightly to glance at the other door leading out of the lounge, before turning back to the woods witch's daughter. Through the leaded windowpanes, flashing lightning reveals a sprawling expanse of peaked castle rooftops, festooned with gargoyles and other less-definite ornaments. One of the back-lit silhouettes, only briefly seen, seems to take several steps in the rain-swept night.

"Clearly," says Jorten, "something clouds your memory. I must say, your arrival here is a bit of a mystery. Perhaps a rest will clear the cobwebs away. It so happens the guest room is presently unoccupied. I would be honored to have you as my guest." He speaks with a hint of ironic transgression, like a tenant pretending to be the landlord, or a child playing house. "Are you hungry? I can bring you your supper." Standing, he slips the small book into the pocket of his smoking jacket and walks over to the still-open door to the bedroom. Fianna realizes she is, in fact, quite ravenous.

 

[Esbilon]

"Thank you, I'm grateful to be a guest under your roof," Fianna says with some relief despite noting with puzzlement his odd tone at offering her his hospitality. "I do not think I could sleep any time soon," she says truthfully, "but supper would be greatly appreciated" she adds with her best smile. She has a brief thought of what this strange man might serve as supper, but dismisses it. Surely the fey would not send her to a man who violates the ancients laws of guest's rights.

 

[Baba Luga]

Syvis, Hircus, Moire, Ina
Old Svalich Road, Thunderstorm

The barkchildren fall quickly when struck, crumbling back to loose twigs that wash downhill when struck by Ina's dagger, Hircus' conjured weapon of Torm or Syvis' frost cantrip. More come behind the front rank, seven in all, though their number is soon reduced to four.

Moire has donned her shield and is stepping towards the fracas when Syvis' sensitive ears pick up a voice off in the darkness up the hill to the party's right—soft, mystic syllables in a language like the secret speech of her parents' tribe, but with undertones of something darker. And then the man comes running, filthy and bedraggled, half-naked and grinning, down the slope. Not yet in the light, he slides and veers across the soaked grass while waving a staff over his head. Syvis has seen this mad, rapturous face before, in half-forgotten dreams. He is the herald of corruption, celebrating not the brutal, violent side of nature that Syvis knows only too well, but of nature's utter usurpation and mastery by terrible powers that would twist it to meet bottomless appetites. But this is not a dream; it is his circle's homeland.

The crazed mockery of a druid loses control of his damp descent and slams flat on his back, bursting into hysterical laughter that everyone can hear, though to Moire and Hircus his form is still hidden in the darkness.

 

[ZombWie]

"...some kind of thunder symbol right here on the..." Hircus is interrupted in his description of the bell to Syvis by Ina's question. Her tone immediately puts him on alert. Stepping away from Syvis and moving toward Ina he says, "What's what?"

Moments later Hircus knows what she saw, or at least he sees what she sees. A brush pile of tangled branches forms into a gang of pint sized stick men and begin heading toward the group. The cleric immediately steps next to Ina and brings his glowing hammer down toward the nearest bark creature. "What manner of woodland magic is this? Does everything walk in Barovia?" The hammer blow misses, but Hircus already has summoned a second hammer bringing it down on the monster and crushing it to bits.

Hircus straightens to prepare for the second wave when a screech of insanity erupts from the darkness. "What? That must be the puppet master." Hircus notices now that Syvis has reverted to to her elf self, but has been overtaken by some manner of charm. He reaches a hand toward the elf. "By Torm's will, calm yourself." Then noticing another wooden monster approaching, Hircus quickly guides the hammer apparition to swing low as it catches the bark child from below and tears it to pieces.

Another glance toward Syvis and Hircus sees she has regained her senses. "Where is the laughing thing? It's beyond my light's reach!"

 

[Abrahms]

Understanding the form of a horse was not one for fighting, Syvis released it, quickly falling to her knees under the weight that was easily bearable for a beast of burden. Reaching out under the collection, she called the rain on the bark to freeze, making it brittle enough to collapse the strange unnatural living roots -- giving a sense of darkness that seemed to belong to this whole land.

Even as she heard the distraught flapping of Otrev's wings at being suddenly left in the mud, her ears perked up at something else -- something familiar, but off, in many ways. As memory started to collect itself, her eyes went wide, and akin to the sounds the great god Pan was claimed to have made, sounds of animal-like panic began to emit from her mouth as fear at her very core made itself known. A fear that couldn't be directed and used, but one that were she a wolf at the moment, the fur across her whole back would be raised, tail between her legs, and teeth bared in some attempt to scare the foe away. His crazed laughter merely combined with her noises along with the thunder in the night.

Mind blank, all she could think to do was repeat the noises, falling back on some internal instinct, but it left her breathless, barely pulling in enough air only to release again as sound -- finally slowing as Hircus cast his spell, her eyes focusing once more as she tried to catch her breath, voice hoarse as she called out, last second preventing herself from speaking the language of her childhood in her disarray, "Don't trust the laughing one!" A small arm pointed out from under the collection towards where he was, then she tried to freeze another bark-creature, a small part of her mind trying to still defend the Pack, only for the ice to barely form, perhaps from the layering of effects upon her, preventing her magic and thoughts to truly keep together.

 

[Baba Luga]

Fianna
Lounge

"Of course," says Jorten with a nod and a smile. "I'll bring something at once. Why don't you wait here in your room." Reaching up, he unhooks one of the hanging lamps in the lounge and uses it to light a candle. He offers the candle to Fianna as he points the way back into the bedroom.

 

[Baba Luga]

Syvis, Hircus, Moire, Ina
Old Svalich Road, Thunderstorm

The laughing wild man rolls to a crouch and resumes his forward charge, out into the light where everyone can see him. He lopes forward, almost hunched over on all fours. He chants more words in his debased Druidic tongue and presses a palm to the earth. In an instant, damp grass and whiplike roots stretch up from around the four travelers, winding around their legs and flailing the air.