Party 17

Rolax stood paralyzed. Every muscle straining to move as he watched Thorvir and Magnus fall.

He watched helplessly as Kiv turned on Ismark. They fought.

Finally Rolax freed himself from whatever had a hold over him, and rushed to wake Thorvir. He shook him and shouted "UP! You are needed!" before rushing over to Magnus.

He again shook Magnus but he did not stir. Pulling back he slapped Magnus across the face snarling "WAKE UP!"

Seeing Magnus' eyes open, he span towards Kiv and Ismark. Thorvir had joined the fight and they had Kiv disarmed. But he was still fighting.

Rolax ran and took a swing with the shaft of his Axe, missing Kiv, who in return punched him in the jaw before finally being taken down.

Rolax stepped forward to help Thorvir move Kiv.
 
ismark2.jpgInvisible hands pluck at Ismark's hair and mocking voices laugh behind his ears as he helps shift the heavy dragon knight to the shelter of the gazebo. Pain and exhaustion from the beating he's just suffered only add to the confusion of recent events. "Sergei and Tatyana," he says, "it's an old story, centuries old. Strahd and his brother Sergei loved the same woman, Tatyana. Sergei won her heart and Strahd professed to bless the union, but on the wedding day, consumed by rage, he murdered his own brother so that he might himself possess Tatyana. But that union too was not to be. Mad with grief and terror, Tatyana threw herself from the parapets of Castle Ravenloft. Some say that terrible day is at the root of everything wrong in Barovia, others say it's but one tragedy among many that follow in the Count's wake. But how does it pertain to Ireena? Why was she made to reenact this ancient story, and who was that in the role of Sergei?"
 
The image over the pool shakes Magnus. His mind enters a critical state, where he simply stands there unmovable, as his body didn't obey his commands anymore. He could barely watch as the rest of his friends started fighting among each other, his senses mostly useless as the fear instilled by the supernatural occurrence crawled through his thoughts.

Soon after that, Rolax comes up and punches Magnus back to his senses. He stumbles forward, trying to help others put the dragonborn down before he could hurt anyone else. When he finally fell, the bard stores his rapier and looks around to the others. "What in Hells was that?" Is the only thing he says while the others try to carry Kiv away from the lake.
 
Thorvir puzzles at the amulet, but breaks out of his reverie at the burgomaster's arrival. "Apologies, sir. We mean you and your people no ill-will. I believe we will be off as soon as we decide on another course of action."

After the burgomaster departs, the half-orc turns to his sameblooded brother Rolax. As he holds out the silver amulet, he says, "Here. You will make better use of this than any of us."
 
Kiv comes to in the gazebo, bruised and bloody and exhausted. He stares at the dilapidated roof for a moment, then groans as he pulls himself up into a sitting position. There's a flutter of wings as his owl familiar alights on the railing, looking at him expressionless, but with what he imagines is concern. Kiv tries to avoid eye contact with the rest of the group, especially Ismark, overwhelmed with shame.

"I hope I didn't hurt any of you too badly. I don't know what came over me but I had no control over it. It was not my will to attack you, you have my word on that." It was about the closest thing to an apology that he could muster.
 
Rolax took the offered amulet from Thorvir. It called to him. Placing it alongside his amulet of Ilmater. "Thank you brother. I will spend some time with this later."

He placed a hand on Kiv's shoulder, the on his holy symbol of Ilmater and healing energy flowed through him. "I have been feeling different since the fight with the druids." Looking at the pool, his eyes clouded briefly "This was once hallowed, but it seems Strahd has taken all that was holy out of it. It is nothing but a body of water, and a reminder of his influence."

He walked over to Ismark. "I am sorry we could not protect your sister. We are with you in this until it is done."
 
ismark2.jpg"And I with you," answers Ismark. "In my short life here in Barovia I have heard so many cries of anguish and defeat. Strahd's shout from the sky sounded of that sort to me, not a yawp of exultation or victory. We have lost Ireena today, but so has he, I feel. Surely, just as I blame Van Zarovich for setting in motion these events, he will make us his scapegoats for bringing Ireena to the place of her disappearance. No doubt, a reckoning is due. We must solve the two remaining enigmas before the Count decides to strike, but I'm at a loss as to how we proceed. However, I wonder what goes on at that abbey high above Krezk. Could there be some cloistered divine there whose counsel we might seek? And wait ... isn't that also where the coffin-maker from Vallaki planned to go once the vampires beneath his roof were exposed?"
 
Thorvir wonders aloud idly to himself. "Is she happy, you think? She seemed to want to go with this Sergei, but it was hard to tell. In any case, we might see what is going on in this abbey. If there is any sort of ally we might gain against the devil, I say we try it."
 
"Agreed. Any ally will be a benefit."

Hefting his axe, his grip turned is knuckles white.

"You are right too Ismark. There is a reckoning is long due. I hope we can be the instruments of his defeat."
 
After Magnus finished the tale he was telling while the others rested, he quietly sat off to the side. While the group tried to choose their net stop in this horrifying journey they are now a part of. "The abbey seems like the next obvious choice. Then, I think you got the right idea, buddy," he said while turning around to Rolax. "We need allies. This is not a fight we can win without help. We should get to work on returning the stones to the feathered wine makers, the seer told us they'd help in this fight. If that proves not to be enough, maybe Lady Wachter wants to settle the score with her old foe. We need help."
 
Abbey Gates:

Deciding to leave the guards to their slumber the group decides to lay low and sneak through, finding the gate to the abbey to indeed be unlocked as it slowly swings open with a soft, rusted creak. At the noise one of the guards seems to rustle in their sleep, but barely lift their hooded head an inch before they drop back down and each start to cuddle one of the thick animal furs between their arms. The smell of soured grapes fills the air, sourced from the various empty bottles strewn around in a pile -- a couple of which are shattered, its shards embedded into the damp ground around.

While the rest of the group makes it past just fine, as Ismark is the last to pass by the other guard that didn't react before suddenly seems to shift, perking their head up and sniffing the air before glancing over at the armored noble. "Who..." they seem to start with a gruff voice barely above a whisper, still clearly disoriented by the daylight and the sudden disturbance. "You... who are you... don't know you..."

As they squint their eyes towards the group, barely visible under their dark, thick cloak with black fur trim, you notice that the glint in those eyes aren't entirely the same -- one is a muted greenish brown, while the other is a pale amber gold. As they sit up from their resting spot they seem to rest a hand on a rusted dagger by their side, but make no moves to pull it out just yet as they observe your new faces.
 
Magnus simply lets out a tired sigh. Of course that happens. He turns around to the guard with a confident smile on his face. He spins his pan flute in one hand and his hazel eyes swirl in the same endearing pattern. "Darling, I suggest you don't wake up your friend, you wouldn't want to cause all the ruckus, fighting takes too much effort."
 
Abbey Gates:

The guard seems to tilt their head at Magnus's suggestion, clearly confused but not seeming to make a move towards her sleeping companion. "D-Darling? No, don't want fight. But don't know you." They seem to glance around at the group, their gaze darting here and there though they seem to come back time and time again to Magnus's glowing hazel eyes. While their speech is hesitant and slow there is still an intelligence beind their own gaze -- regardless, their hand comes off their weapon and rests at their side underneath their thick cloak. "Why you here? What you want?"
 
Thorvir furrows his brow at the guard. He'd never seen such a strange coloration to one's eyes before. His hand hovered over the handle of his axe for just barely a moment, but he tried to show a relaxed posture as the guards didn't seem to want a fight on their hands. "We have come to pay our respects to this holy place and to speak to the master of this abbey," he says, not quite an untruth. "We have... Important matters to discuss with them. May we enter with your permission, friend?"
 
Abbey Gates:

The guard narrows their eyes when Thorvir mentions the master of the abbey, not in intimidation but in curiosity, observation, thought. "P-pay respects... master...?" Despite their apparent hesitance they nod at the group and stand up a bit taller, the fur on the bottom edges of their cloak now only lightly sweeping the ground below. "Yes... yes. Master mention expecting visitors. Is why we come watch, despite sleep time," they say, starting to rub their eyes with one hand -- which, beneath the gloves and thick cloak, a tuft of what appears to be fur can be seen along the base of their right arm. "I take you inside, just need wake Otto for watch. He drink too much bottle juice."
 
As they are led through the gates, Kiv leans in to his companions and speaks at a whisper. "There's something not right about these fellows, er, besides the obvious. They've got fur, and the skin around their eyes doesn't look quite right." He glances at Ismark, though shame makes him avert his gaze before long. "Is this normal in Barovia, or is there evil at play here?"
 
"I don't know who these people are," says Ismark. "They seem something like the men and women who don the skins of wolves and thereby transform themselves into beasts, but their features are more varied, as if they pay tribute to multiple creatures at once. And their mien is almost docile and childlike."

"This Abbey is named for Saint Markovia, she who blessed the pool where we lost Ireena. It is said that her forces gathered here to plot their doomed uprising against the Devil Strahd in the early days of his reign. With those times long past, I can't imagine what goes on here now."
 
Okay, people that turn into beats... This couldn't get weirder, could it? "I can imagine many possible scenarios, let's just hope we meet the ones we don't end up dead." Magnus whispers back to Ismark before turning to the hooded guard. "Yes, yes, hurry then. We are definitely expected by the Master, and the Master really wouldn't like for us to be kept waiting, right?"
 
Abbey of Saint Markovia:

The first guard doesn't seem to pay much attention to the group's mutterings as they shuffle over to their companion and shake them awake. "Otto, up," they start, as their companion seems to whine before shaking their head and stretching. "Stay here, guard. I bring new people to Master. No more bottle juice."

The guard apparently named Otto seems to grunt in approval, as they grasp their bearings once more. Keeping a ragged cloak over their face they squat down at their new post while the other guard leads the group away, grabbing not a weapon but a rusty shovel between their hands as they continue the watch. Should anyone glance back over their shoulder after walking a fair distance they'd see the faintest bit of a tail poking out from beneath the strange figure's cloak, giving the occasional wag as they looked on dutifully.

Immediately after entering the abbey gates the first thing the group would notice is the humble graveyard to their right, ancient gravestones poking out of a thin crust of morning snow surrounded by stunted pine trees. Beyond that small patch of rocky dirt and the low wall that surrounds it, the ground falls away to a breathtaking view of the village below. Next to it, cracked panes of stained glass illuminate the first wing of the abbey, tall and foreboding in its solitude amongst the mountain peaks.

The guard slinks along the path, eventually leading you to the entrance of the abbey proper -- a looming fifteen-foot-high curtain wall joining both wings together. The guard lets you inside the doors, passing by a tarnished copper plaque that reads "May her light cleanse you of your darkness, of your illness, of your corruption." As you enter what appears to be a courtyard the swirling fog within almost seems to creep out the other way, eager to escape. There are shadowy figures standing to attention but after as the fog clears it is easy to see that they are nothing more than scarecrows, propped up with rusted armor and spears.

Wooden doors to the north and east lead to the abbey's two wings, both equally ancient and weathered in their architecture. In the center of the courtyard sits a cracked stone well fitten with an iron winch, attached to a frayed rope and old bucket. Along the perimeter, tucked under the overhanging wall, are several stone sheds with padlocked wooden doors, as well as three shallow alcoves with wooden troughs.

"Wait here," the guard says, pointing vaguely at the ground. "I fetch." Without really waiting for a response they start heading towards the wing you had passed by before, leaving you to the silence of the mountain air.

Screenshot 2019-08-03 at 09.51.03.png​
 
ismark2.jpg"Incredible," says Ismark, once their guide is out of earshot, "The straw sentries, the napping guards; it's like this ancient fortification, rich with history, has been made into a child's play fort. Such a contrast to the dignity of the plaque we passed at the entryway. I wonder, are they keeping livestock in these cells?" He walks over to the row of padlocked doors, listening and smelling for signs of goats, sheep or pigs, and glancing at the troughs to see if any bits of ort remain from a recent feeding.
 
Abbey, Courtyard:

As Ismark goes to inspect some of the sheds a few of them rattle with muffled howling or mewing, along with the sound of movment from whatever was inside. Though it was hard to tell exactly what was inside due to the lack of windows or other openings (each door was sealed shut with its own rusty padlock) it wasn't exactly the telltale oink of a pig or bleating of a goat. The troughs are ancient and cracked, as if they could collapse into splinters and sawdust with but a mild breeze.

"... Ah. It's you." Interrupting Ismark's search is a young man wearing humble monk's robes, stepping in front of the guard from before as they seem to shy away at their "master's" presence. In stark contrast to the guard and nearly everything else in the Abbey the man has an immaculate appearance, with a youthful face, clean garments, and a grace to his step that defies the frost permeating the mountains. He flashes a dazzling smile at the group, giving a slight bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you finally. I am the humble caretaker of this abbey."

Standing up tall once more, his smile fades slightly, pleasantries giving way to curiosity. "I had felt it, the shift in the air, in the land, in the mists. You are the ones responsible, are you not?"
 
Rolax turns slowly, trying to take everything in.
He briefly used his new power and his eyes saw the world in a different light.
For a moment his gaze flickered to the monk who had approached them, his aura shone dully against the dim surroundings.
Rolax momentarily worried if the amulet of his own faith on display would cause offence, but it was too late for that now.

Returning the slight bow Rolax addressed him in Celestial "Greetings, and thank you for welcoming us into your Abbey."
Switching back to common he continued "While I do not know if we are the cause of this stirring, we are hoping you can provide guidance and assistance on our path."
 
Kiv tries to not to make his displeasure evident as the abbey's caretaker appears. He'd never been a man of faith, for precisely this reason. Judging by his appearance, Kiv had no doubt he was living up here in safety and luxury while the rest of this land suffered, all of it bought by donations to the faith.

"What lord is it you serve, sir? Does he call you to help this cursed realm?"
 
Abbey, Courtyard:

The seemingly holy man nods in acknowledgment at Rolax's use of Celestial, a slight twinkling in his eyes revealing his angelic nature where his humble robes and clothing would not. "A man of faith. Indeed a rare sight in these lands," he says in reply, before turning back to the group as a whole. "I serve no master but the shackles of my piety, and the chains of my beliefs. It is why I remain up here to tend to my flock, the lost souls who have nowhere else to call home." At that statement the guard standing behind him lowers their head slightly, as if in reverence of the man speaking.

He looks to each of the group in turn, his gaze soft yet introspective, before resting it intently on Ismark. "I sense it on you -- the waters that touch beyond the veil, the sea of souls torn asunder by a mortal's will. Your tie of blood, of kin, has been ripped away and forced into the hands of another. As it has been for centuries, she will be dredged out yet again. But perhaps..." He seems to look beyond for a second, as if seeing something that no one else could. "...Perhaps. This time will be different."

He gestures to the building where he came from, as if inviting you all to follow. "You wish to save her, yes? The path you walk is your own, but perhaps I can illuminate for you the road paved by your actions."
 
ismark2.jpg"She is my kin, Father," Ismark says to the keeper of the abbey. "Close as blood in heart if not in truth. She was a foundling, taken in by my noble father when very young." A tear wells in the young man's eye, which he wipes away quickly. "I confess, it is a mystery to me what has become of her, though I know the story of Sergei and Tatyana. If you see more from these heights, please grace me with your wisdom."
 
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