Curse of Strahd [CLOSED]

[Abrahms]

Listening to the conversation while keeping an eye on Otrev, Syvis turned her amber eyes on the elderly woman as she was adressed, briefly answering, "Yes -- I am very new to this territory, for better or worse." She eyed her fellow elf, "I never hold much import to age. The wisest can sometimes be those whose lives are shortest, like the matriarch of a pack who has seen generations come and go but still remains at her post."

As the attention shifted she quietened, getting a sense that this was a ritual in its own right, though perhaps not one known to her or her circle. Staring at the cards and trying to decipher the meanings Madame Eva seemed to draw from them, she was startled into action of picking a card as well, her hand hovering until one seemed to draw her, flipping it over gently and staring at the figure drawn upon it. "Thieves often seem drawn to the glint ... rarely the true value ..." she muttered, thinking of birds and other creatures that tended to hoard shiny pebbles or even at times gems as nest decorations to impress potential mates.

The druid couldn't help but chuckle as she was proven right so quickly, the small silent songbird drawn by the rings on the woman's fingers. Watching the small bird flit across the table, the elf grimaced at seeing the next offered card supposedly chosen by the bird.

Offering a hand if Otrev would hand on it, Syvis nodded to Eva's words, "Even the oldest oaks must collapse at some point. The cycle has to continue." Rubbing her fingers on the wolf tooth that hung from her neck she dipped her head, "As you said earlier, I do not believe I am tied to whatever happened to these three however many years ago in this place. Instead, I was searching for lost friends I believe were trapped here as well ..." Amber eyes were fixated on the older woman, "Speaking plainly ... the pack I once counted myself among. Some had gone missing and in tracking them, I found myself here. The wolves the king keeps by his side are far more aggressive than the pack I knew -- I don't think my family could hold their own against them alone. Do you know anywhere that creatures brought here might be drawn towards ...?"

Almost snarling for a moment she added, "I saw what the townspeople here do to wolves, their crude display outside the walls ... I still hold hope none of my pack were among their number, but ... we are not welcome in that village anymore."

 

[Epiphany]

Moire listens to the pagan rite with serious intensity. Each revealed symbol and its revealed meaning troubles her more deeply. While the others converse, the Paladin steps to the side and faces the tent wall, lost in thought for a minute or two.

When Syvis comments on their lack of welcome in Vallaki, however, Moire turns and says "Welcome or not, it seems we must return there. It's the only lead our hostess has provided whose meaning seems plain...and I suspect we know who the Torturer is as well, if that arm and attitude of Izek's is any indication. Ina, we may be in sore need of your skills sooner than later."

The Paladin sighs and inclines her head respectfully to Madame Eva. "Thank you. You've given us more than you had to and we're grateful for it. If your community would permit, we'll spend the night here as well before setting off in the morning...assuming a certain carriage doesn't find us first. In the meantime...if you truly believe it's time for the game to end, know that he met with us last night and announced his intention of another encounter this evening. Should that occur, he seemed greatly interested in anything you might have to say. And so my question to you, Madame Eva; what would you have us tell him? The truth would doom us, unless I misjudge him or the situation. In your many years of dealing with the man, have you any advice for how we keep him at bay until we've done what's needed?"

 

[ZombWie]

"What grove do you say?" Madam Eva asks with mirthful mock-wrath. "I am an old woman who never travels far from my tent, and it has been a fair bit longer than a few days since I last laid eyes on you. No, you are mistaken, you met with someone else in this grove, or an impostor. I blame the Dark Powers, on whom It is always a safe bet to pin any unnatural occurrence."

A single breathy laugh escapes his chest before Hircus can stifle it. "It seems I am mistaken. I am even older than I look, so it is to be expected that my memory is a bit foggy. One more question, if I may. There was a small person hung at the crossroads, not far from here. Do you know anything about this? It pained us to pass by without providing a burial, but there was no time to do the decent thing."

 

[Baba Luga]

With the card reading over, the woman with the dark braid who first greeted you outside comes forward from the folds of the tent, where she was apparently waiting. She carries the tea kettle, now steaming, and a stack of small porcelain cups, which she silently sets out and fills with tea as the conversation continues around her. Otrev obligingly hops from the table to Syvis' hand, and from there back into his nearby cage.

"Thank you, dear," Madam Eva says to the other Vistana before picking up her cup with both hands and blowing across its mouth. Touching her lips to the rim, she finds it still too hot and sets it down again, listening to Syvis' question about the lost pack. She leans back and rubs the coarse white hairs on her chin. "Ah, I see it now, scion of the forest; your presence here is possibly connected to the work of those we call Kasht-gadjikane, the wild people who venerate Strahd for his mystic connection to this land. They are up to something lately, beyond Vallaki, southwest of the Raven River Crossing, up on old Yester Hill, a savage place close by the wall of mists. They are building something up there, and our spies report changes to the forest in that direction. Bit by bit, the Kasht-gadjikane rituals seem to be bringing in another wilderness from behind the mists, annexing it to their territory. This is something new. Barovia has always drawn in people and other creatures from lands beyond the mists, but never the lands themselves. I wonder if you and your pack just came along for the ride."

To Hircus' query about the body on the gibbet, the old woman pleads ignorance. "What, by the old burial ground? I've heard nothing. From time to time the villagers from tiny Barovia to the east feel they must make a show of one who has committed some deed at odds with Strahd, lest they be branded collaborators and suffer his wrath themselves. Maybe Chavi knows the details of this latest incident."

The woman with the long braid shrugs and says, "As you say, the body was there since yesterday. There are three Vistani who choose to live in Barovia village. They run the Blood of the Vine Tavern there. They might know what happened."

The tea has cooled sufficiently for Madam Eva to lift her cup and take desultory sips while Moire speaks of the dreaded dinner at Castle Ravenloft. "Yes," she says when the paladin has finished, "you may set your tent here for the night, should your other business not take you away. You do seem to have a bit of a problem; I have already told you much that would be of interest to Strahd, but which you might wish to keep to yourselves. Unless you have some way to empty your heads of this, there is likely no stopping him from having it. But maybe if you tell him something first that will interest him more..."

Chuckling to herself, Eva pours out the rest of her tea on the ground beside her chair. Holding the empty cup in front of her, she says, "If the vampire asks what you learned here today, tell him Madam Eva gazed into her cup..." she peers over the rim with an exaggerated expression of anticipation, "and said, 'The great vampire hunter Rudolph van Richten, slayer of Lady Ambrogio, Prince Eoghan the Void Bringer, and the Mistress of Crimson Cords, among many others, has crossed over from the land of Darkon and stalks our Strahd from the shadows. He knows the Count's weaknesses and even now sets his traps.'" Meeting the eyes of her guests, one by one with a mesmerist's intensity, she adds, "Incidentally, it's quite true." She bursts into a fit of laughter, which degenerates into a hacking cough. Chavi crouches down to sooth the old woman. "Readings are over for today," she proclaims. "Please give Madam Eva her solitude now." Eva holds up a hand and tries to say something, but is overcome by another paroxysm.

 

[Abrahms]

Syvis leaned forward eagerly as Madam Eva spoke, mentioning the tribe of strange druids she had heard mentioned before from the other Vistani. She raised an eyebrow at the mention of spies, but bowed her head reverently at the information, "Thank you -- any scent is better than none. Hopefully they ended up over there and are waiting -- and the strange mist just released me elsewhere."

Hearing the elder disappear into a coughing fit, the druid stepped forward hesitantly, "For your help and kindness, I could potentially try to make a soothing tea? Unfortunately my tools are, now that I'm more aware, impossibly far away, but I still carry the knowledge to create, I could try to salvage herbs to aide?" Looking between Eva and her supporter she continued, "I could potentially summon the spirit of a unicorn to ease your aches for a little while ..."

 

[Epiphany]

The Vistani woman indeed has much of use to say, to all of them it seems. Knowledge of how this Count von Zarovich might be overcome weighs on her mind heavily, knowing he was an impending presence, knowing she was once stronger and already armed and not enough to best the man. What chance did she have now?

A slim chance, but still a chance, thanks to Madam Eva. The tidbit of 'gossip' to share could very well put the King of the Vistani off the scent, at least for a few nights. Might it be enough time? A slim chance but still a chance.

"Thank you," Moire says, bowing her head in reverent respect for the older woman's wisdom and hospitality. "We'll consider our options but it's kind of you to allow us to tent among your people."

Seeing the old woman coughing, the Paladin steps back and yields the floor to Syivs for her initial offer, seeing if there's some aid the Druid can offer that she's unaware of. Seeing the limited range of options there, Moire draws close once more and looks at Chavi this time. "I've been trained by the Order of Ilmater in the arts of healing," she says to old woman's...assistant? Nurse? "It would be my honor to see if there's anything I can do, with my word that I will ask her no other questions except what pertains to her health. Perhaps I and my friend here can find a cure or at least a palliative to help with her symptoms. If nothing else, I would be happy to offer her my blessing."

Moire's made her offer and stands ready to receive an answer, willing to leave if Madam Eva needs rest most of all, but willing to treat her if she's permitted.

 

[Baba Luga]

"No," says Chavi, "she has her tincture, she just has to take it," showing a bit of fire in the presence of the woman who is far, far her elder.

Eva's cough soon sputters down to a series of intermittent bursts, within which she's able to say, "It's the laughing that sets me off, the Dark Powers' way of telling me not to play the part of the mad, cackling old hag." From Chavi's expression, Syvis can tell that the younger woman disagrees with this diagnosis.

 

[Baba Luga]

Fianna
Zhudun's Grove

"Others might lie to spare your feelings, but I will tell you the truth: I see the beginnings of a great wart forming at the tip of your nose." These words, spoken in Sylvan, stir Fianna from her reverie, a daze which has been going on for some indeterminate length of time. The damp grass she's sitting on has quite thoroughly soaked the plain traveler's clothes she wears.

The man who speaks as he scrutinizes her nose from inches away is naked, winged, and roughly the height of one of Fianna's fingers. His skin glows with a pale green luminescence. Some kind of pixie. Other like beings flit about in the darkness, bringing a bit of color to the damp, grassy field that is otherwise a tapestry in gray to the half-elf's night vision.

A group of the pixies drifts over, gossiping among themselves. Paying Fianna no mind, they grab at the little wart spotter, saying, "She is coming! The queen is here." His mouth opens in amazement, and he zips off after his companions. Squinting across the grove, beneath unfamiliar stars, to where the trees begin, Fianna sees a different sort of creature. Somewhat closer to human in stature, if not appearance, she seems to glide just above the grass. Antlers crown the pale, expressionless face that draws steadily closer. The pixies cluster around the newcomer, casting their pale light over her motley patchwork gown. In the eerie glow, her delicate insect-like wings carry her rapidly across the field.

"Welcome!" an ethereal voice calls out when the woman is closer, though her alabaster mouth does not move. "It is I, Queen Titania!" With her pixie entourage, she comes nearer still, until Fianna can plainly see that the woman's face is a mask with a few tufts of reddish fur poking out around its edges. "Great Zhudun sends his regrets that you have been delayed. It seems there was far less material to work with than expected. However, the letter of the agreement has been followed, and here you are. Oh, mighty Zhudun!"

 

[Esbilon]

Fianna stirs slightly at the words that are the first thing to greet her as her trouble slumber ends. She blinks a few times to get the sleep to flee her eyes and for one long, confused moment, looking at the tiny naked man is all she can do, her mind entirely refusing to do anything else while it figures out what in the Seven Hells is going on here. As the haze lifts from her mind, the pain in her heart grows stronger, reminding her that this is yet another day in a world without her mother, and for yet another horrible moment, Fianna sees her as she looked when she returned to their home, dead, lifeless, blood spilling out around her. Fianna forces her eyes closed, but that only makes the vision stand out the clearer.

The mention of an approaching queen of the faerie, however, is enough to pull her from her unpleasant memories and in one fluid movement, she is standing up, looking towards the sound of the disturbance. The fey are prickly creatures, and she'll have plenty of time to wallow in misery after observing the proper courtesy. As the mask-clad being approaches, Fianna curtsies as deeply and elaborately as her limbs, still stiff from sleep, will let her. "Greetings, great queen," she answers as questions start fluttering to life in her mind. Where am I? What agreement? Who is Zhudun? What kind of material and what kind of work? Instead of asking any of these, she stalls for time, hoping to glance some clue from the queen, her attendants, or their surroundings. "It is an honour to be in your presence."

 

[Baba Luga]

"Yes, of course," speaks the woman bathed in green faerie-glow, "but Zhudun is eager to close the books on this matter. So we must send you on your way, back from whence you came. You may find your way among my pockets."

Several pixies grasp the sides of the woman's lower dress and draw it taught. Its surface is a checkerboard of different-colored pockets, with vague lumps and outlines the only clues to their contents. "Come now," the high, thin voice prods, "pick a pocket for your journey forth."

 

[Esbilon]

When in doubt, follow the script. It is one of the first pieces of advice Fianna got for dealing with the fey. They are creatures of story and dream, and though they may not truly have your best interests at heart, going against the story they are trying to tell will certainly anger them. Suppressing her nervousness that the adage might not hold true in this particular instance, Fianna reaches her hand forward with more confidence than she feels and picks a pocket.

 

[Epiphany]

Moire slowly nods to the Vistani before stepping back to the entrance of the tent. "Thank you both, then for your time. We'll discuss our next steps." The Paladin manages a wan smile and says "Despite the news, Madam Eva, we can't thank you enough. I hope we have the chance to meet each other under less stressful and time sensitive circumstances. In the meantime, we'll bid you a good evening and let you get some rest."

With that, Moire exits the tent and awaits Hircus, Syvis and Ina outside.

Assuming her companions gather up, Moire glances at the sky and the low, heavyset gait to the sun's passing. "We have little daylight left. We could try for somewhere close, Barovia Village perhaps, but we risk being turned out for the night the way Vallaki did. We might be better off camping now, eating what we can and getting what sleep we can before seeing if the Vistani King wishes to see us after all."

"Opinions?"

 

[Baba Luga]

Fianna
Zhudun's Grove

The tiny pixies hold their hands over their mouths and wait in silent anticipation as Fianna reaches into one of the pockets. Something smooth and cylindrical rolls into her hand and there's a sudden, sharp pain. instinctively, she pulls the hand back. Something comes along with it, a simple wooden doll the size of one of the pixies, painted to look like a vampire, bloody fangs and all.

The hovering faeries burst into hysterical laughter at the sight of Fianna jerking back in pain. "Hush," intones the masked woman, and the pixies stifle their glee. "You found my Dark Lord pocket, and so it appears your old enemy, the one you had escaped, has caught up with you at last. Enjoy the time you have left, and do not think you can repeat your former trick; Zhudun does not make the same bargain twice. Maybe you can find your old companions, so at least all be together at the end."

With that, the strange woman, Queen Titania, claps her hands together, and an unseen force spins Fianna roughly around to face the open door of what looks very much like an outhouse that was not here minutes earlier. "Farewell, winsome woodswitch," the fey monarch proclaims. Someone shoves Fianna forward through the noisome door, which slams shut behind her.

The small, unlighted room does not appear to be an outhouse after all, but a musty old closet. Only one garment, a dusty black cloak, hangs from the several hooks on the walls. The little vampire doll seems to have drunk its fill of Fianna's blood and rests serenely in her palm.

 

[Esbilon]

No stranger to pain, Fianna does not cry out as the fangs bite into her hands, but keeping from jerking back is more than she can manage and a flare of anger at the pixies' merriment is quickly squashed as she takes a step back. The faerie queen's words swirl around in her head, the allusions to a past she has no memory of puzzle her as her mind is suddenly cleared by being spun around and shoved into the closet. Once the door is closed behind her, she lets out a breath she did not know she was holding and takes a moment to gather her thoughts.

The pain of her mother's loss is still there at the forefront of her mind, but it is muted, distant somehow. Before that, there's her time in the forest which seems as real as ever, but also as if it is a thing of the distant past. Whatever has happened in between, though... She has no clue. She looks down at the small figurine in her hands and tries grasp whatever it was the fey could have meant. She has no memory of vampires in her life, not as more than characters in stories that scared her as a small child, nor of anyone or anything named Zhudun.

Giving up for now, she takes a deep breath, puts the small wooden doll into one of the pockets of the unfamiliar dress she is wearing, and picks up the lone black cloak before looking around for an exit from this place.

 

[Baba Luga]

The old floorboards creak beneath Fianna's feet when she takes a step over to the black cloak. Handling it releases a heady aroma of incense and herbs layered over stale sweat, and the garment is somewhat greasy to the touch. Having a fairly standard architectural design, the closet affords no exit other than the now-closed door through which she was shoved in.

 

[Esbilon]

After hesitating for a moment, Fianna takes a closer look at the cloak. Even for the fey, it seems strange to leave behind something like that and for it to just be a cloak.

 

[Abrahms]

Even as unfamiliar with humans as she was, Syvis could manage to tell Eva was far from typical, even if her prior ritual hadn't been a clue. Unfortunately with that realization came the disappointing thought that Syvis likely couldn't offer more than the tribe had already figured out themselves in treating the elderly woman.

Picking up the bird cage, the elf bowed towards the pair, "Unfortunately my knowledge of herbs is lacking here ... and I cannot manage to suggest or even coax into growing something that would make the tincture easier to take. However as Moire said, we owe you greatly."

Following outside, she too looked up at the night sky, disappointed not to see familiar stars once more. "I imagine we will be found one way or the other, I would not wish to be in the middle of travel in that case. I also expect if we will be taken elsewhere, what travel we manage will be ... irrelevant since we'll likely be dropped off somewhere else." Looking back down at the ground, "Maybe we can eat with the Vistani again, if they'll have us? They've seemed to be ... decent, even if some hide fangs in their smiles. I still have plenty of Goodberries which will fade tonight either way, and they may know a better path back than the way we came."

 

[ZombWie]

Syvis and Moire offer their services to ease Eva's, but it is clear that Chavi is having none of it. Inspiration lights the face of the cleric as he swings his pack off his back and retrieves the bottle of wine gifted to him by Luvash. Hircus steps forward and picks up the tea cup clearing the tea leaves with two quick puffs of breath. "Consider this a gift in exchange for your valuable assistance Madame Eva." He tips the bottle just long enough to allow a single glug to slop into the tea cup. "Luvash says this is the good stuff!" With that, Hircus backs toward the door returning the bottle to his pack. If Eva or Chavi say no more to him he retreats through the folds of the tent to join his friends outside.

 

[Baba Luga]

Both women's eyes light up when they see the label on the bottle in Hircus' hand. Madam Eva nods appreciatively as Chavi hands her the cup full of Archfiend. "Thank you kindly, young goat," the old woman says before taking a sip of the precious wine. She closes her eyes as she savors it.

 

[Esbilon]

Finding nothing untoward about the cloak, Fianna casts a small cantrip to clean it before putting it on and putting her hand on the door handle. She stands there for a moment, thoughts racing around in her head about where this will take her, but in the end she dismisses them all. There is too much she does not know, speculating will do no good, the only thing she can do is to push on. With this in mind, she steels herself and pushes toe door open.

 

[Epiphany]

Moire smiles appreciatively at Hircus as he emerges from the tent. "That was a kind thing to do, with what may be a valuable gift meant for you. You're a good man, Hircus."

"Now, what do you say about dining here and getting the tent setup before dark in hopes of catching a good night's sleep? Or would you rather press on for Barovia Village and hope to stay there?"

 

[Baba Luga]

Fianna
Woodland Bedroom

With the help of the cleaning cantrip, the dark cloak immediately feels not so greasy and loses its musty odor. The hood falls against Fianna's back as she puts it on and fastens the dull metal clasp at her throat.

The door is a bit tight. At first it seems like it might be barred from the other side. But after a few shoves it pops open with a protesting creak. Fianna can dimly see the room beyond, unlighted as it is. It's a generous bedchamber dominated by a large, high, canopied bed, which two divans face from across a thick rug. The plaster walls are painted with woodland scenes.

There is another, heavier door across the room from the closet. A bit of light shines through the gap beneath it.

 

[Esbilon]

Fianna furrows her brows in puzzlement. She recognises the bed for what it is and the general purpose of the divans, but the opulence is unlike anything she has seen before. Taking in her surroundings, she comes to doubt that the cloak was left for her by the faeries and not in fact the possession of whoever lives wherever it is that they have brought her. With another invocation of her cantrip, the cloak changes color to a deep forest green and the clasp to a burnished copper.

Still wary of her surroundings, she approaches the door, kneels down and tries to see anything at all from the small gap beneath it.

 

[ZombWie]

The cleric is pleased with the joy he brings to the old woman, and he gives a, "Good evening." as the steps out through the folds of the tent to rejoin his friends.

Moire's praise brings a huge smile to Hircus' round face. "I remembered the advice of Ina's friend Kasimir. I think we owe her more than a sip of wine, but at the moment that is the best I have to offer."

Hircus considers Moire's question of where to spend the night. "I hope I am not the outlier here, but I think it will be safest for us to head for Barovia Village. Last night we had no choice but to meet Strahd on his terms. We need more time, and maybe Barovia Village will give us a chance to avoid him for another night. We found those willing to shelter us in Vallaki, maybe we will be just as lucky in this new town. If we stay here is there any chance that he will not find us?"

 

[Baba Luga]

The gap beneath the door is far too narrow for Fianna to get a peek through. There's simply too much floor in the way. Surely a sprite or jermlaine could manage it, but for someone of her stature, there's nothing for the eye to appreciate other than the fact that the light is only bright in contrast to the utterly dark bedroom she's in. Once her eyes adjust, it seems a bit dimmer, and with a slight flickering or dancing quality to it, as if its given off by candles.

Her other senses show her more: A gentle, sweet odor of tobacco, and a series of soft sounds from the other side of the door. After a moment down on the ground, she hears a few intermittent bursts of rapid scritch scritch, like a squirrel scampering up a tree. Seconds pass, then more scritching, followed by a quick ssssst reminiscent of something dragged through dry, fallen leaves.