Party 16

[Baba Luga]

The bleating of horns dies down. "The hill people won't bother us here either," says Dag. "The seed keeps them and their creatures at bay, at least so far."

"Who speaks of balance?" The voice comes from the curtain, which moves aside revealing a hunched old man, presumably Davian Martikov. "Hrmmm," he grumbles, surveying the four new arrivals. "The Wizard of Wines is shut down, so now we're running the Illusionist of Inns, is that it?"

Davian turns to the man with the charcoal and parchment. "What of your missives, Elvir? We must get the word out about what has happened here."

"It's the hawks, pa. We're getting intercepted," Elvir says.

"Ach! Damn things." He closes the curtain behind himself, but not before Faria, Cassandra and Astryos catch a glimpse of the unlighted area beyond it: Someone with long, curly hair lies in a cot with their back to you. A chair is near the cot. Stained rags are heaped on the floor in a corner.

Dag speaks to his father-in-law, explaining how he found you, that you came from Krezk and were harried by bats on the way.

"You are right," Davian says to Faria, "about the Count not letting this state of affairs continue unchecked, especially with the wine at stake. But these are not normal times. Von Zarovich is a creature of passions, prone to obsession. Something has fixed his eye of late and the land will suffer until he is sated or exhausted. Until then, we must endure and hope our losses are not complete. I'm sorry you came out here only to be trapped with us. You may stay, of course. We won't send you back out there to be turned into mushrooms. Somebody find a place for them."

Dag and Stefania show you to a small room that is mostly empty, save for some old wooden casks. Your torches are completely exhausted, so Stefania lights candles. As you put down your equipment, it's apparent that the backpacks Astryos and Cassandra have been carrying are overloaded and splitting at the seams. They'll either need to be repaired or replaced, and then not stuffed so full in the future.

 

[EyeOfSkadi]

"Thank you. A rest is long over due. In the morning let us discuss strategies for dealing with this fungal infestation. And perhaps a way out of this realm." Astryos unfurls his bedroll, lamenting the state of his pack, "I don't suppose any of you are familiar with a mending spell?"

 

[SephironNyl]

Varius retreats to a corner of the room. Taking a seat on the floor, he drops his weapons to the ground next to him.
"Thanks for letting us sleep here. We can talk about much tomorrow, but for now, I think we could all use a rest."

 

[Xemthawt112]

Cassandra, worn ragged feom the days events, gives a nod and a mutter od thanks before situating herself in a unoccupied corner, slinging the overfilled pack alongside her. The half elf could already feel her eyelids getting heavy, the floor may as well have been made of the softest down.

 

[Zilfer]

Faria waves briefly when Davian asks who speaks of balance, listening to the information they could share about the count. "He did seem like a busy man back in Krezk and oddly he didn't have a retinue to do any of the work for him. Something he should fix in the future if he doesn't have a standing army or guards to protect civilians. Even great wizards can't be everywhere at once," said Faria knowing that was part of the job of a solider. Protecting where the heroes, and grand mages could not. Letting them focus on the more important and larger threats. "Hopefully after a bit of rest my companions will be more up for helping, and have a clear mind. We haven't really had a decent rest since... well since this morning."

Faria's attention went back to her makeshift bow for awhile as she attempted to work the wood but could already begin to see the direction it was going. In her over-zealousness it was becoming too thin too quickly. She tossed it aside as it became clear that it was not going to form a functioning bow. She instead turned her attention to other curiosities. "If you don't mind what happened to the girl in the back?" asked Faria testing the waters on the subject.

 

[Baba Luga]

Davian and Faria speak while the others settle down. "Hrm, my patient came here just a few days ago, shortly after we became trapped by the blight. Not a native Barovian, though she knew the land well enough. Seems she caught a dose of our infestation on the way to us: A wolf that was more mushroom than beast bit her leg. The contagion spread quickly, would have turned her into a mindless bundle of spores if we didn't act. With her agreement, the leg came off. Caught it just in time. She's been resting, lost in fever the past two days, but I think it will break soon, and she'll live."

 

[Baba Luga]

The Martikovs leave some dried meat and pickled vegetable for you and bid farewell until morning. As Varius and Cassandra drift off to sleep and Astryos loses himself in meditation, Faria hears those horns in the distance again, the ones said to be played on by the "hill people".

Cassandra's sleep is restless, full of strange dreams and thoughts:

Cassandra is back in the abbey, lying on the chirurgical table where Varius' new arm was attached. The Abbot and Bella Washem are there, preparing to operate. Bella is at Cassandra's head, using some implement to trace a line around the half-elf's scalp. "All ready," she announces.

"Very well," says the Abbot, "Please fetch the replacement organ."

Bella goes over to the bench and comes back with a tray. On the tray is a large gray mushroom.

"An excellent specimen," says the Abbot. "I think we are ready to operate."

Smiling and chattering to herself, Bella picks up a scalpel and moves out of Cassandra's view. The woman's furry hands touch Cassandra's forehead, and something begins moving across her brow. The Abbot looks on and nods.

Cassandra wakes with a start. It is morning. She's feeling quite odd. On the one hand, she seems to have recovered the memory of some lost abilities—things she hadn't known how to do yesterday. On the other hand, there's a fuzziness in her head, a certain sluggishness of thought, coupled with a kind of nervous energy and uneasiness being in this old, broken-down building. Furthermore, there are some rough, itchy patches on her hands, face and neck that scale off in a dusty cloud when she scratches at them.

Faria, Varius and Astryos share Cassandra's sense of gaining access to forgotten talents, but without the mental and physical discomfort that she feels.

The doors connecting your little chamber with the main room are ajar, and you can hear and see the Martikovs talking quietly there. A new face has joined them, certainly Davian Martikov's patient, for her right leg ends at the knee in a bandaged stump. She reclines in a chair with torn unholstry, her long dark hair matted with sweat, picking desultorily at the plate of food in her lap.

 

[SephironNyl]

Varius looks around at the others present, speaking low enough for them to hear without being overheard by those in the other room.
"We do not know this place, and I think it would be foolish to trust anyone until we have a better idea of where we are. Nevertheless, these ones helped us, so I'm willing to assume the best in this situation unless they should do something to prove otherwise."

 

[Zilfer]

"Got to start somewhere, though it's interesting whatever our reputation is hasn't seem to have come this far south," says Faria as she looks up to Varius. "Going to try and attempt to make another bow but the wood here... something isn't right about it. It almost crumbles rather than cuts. Like this section of the forest is dying or something."

Getting up and stretching she walks into the other room with the others she looks to the woman with the missing leg and for a moment feels a pang of sympathy. Or was it relief that it wasn't her? "Seems all went well last night, though I did hear more horns, whoever the hill people are they are on the move is my guess. If you wouldn't mind telling us a bit more about the Hill people and what has happened to your winery? Also what is your opinion of your Lord?" she said wondering if she should have perhaps said 'our lord.' Her eyes glance over at the woman with the missing leg as if to ask about her but she says nothing of the sort.

 

[Baba Luga]

"Good morning," says Dag when he Faria enters the room alone. "I hope you were able to get some rest. We have something that's not too far from tea if you'd like a cup." The younger children crane their necks to peer through the cracked door for a look at Faria's companions.

To the elf's question about the hill people, oldster Davian coughs and lowers the eccentrically-shaped ceramic mug in his hand. "They signal back and forth with their brethren on Yester Hill, to the south. They are the expeditionary force, annexing our land with this blight."

"The hill people have been our rivals for generations. This incursion is but the latest of many salvos over the years. They are a wild and weird people, worshipers of the darkness in nature. They venerate Von Zarovich as the embodiment of this land in the shape of a man. They work magics deep and twisted like roots. Where we tame the land to serve the people of Barovia, the hill people would say they liberate her to run riot."

"As for Von Zarovich, I tell you, the Martikovs are no allies of the Count. He is a monster. But we have not survived generations by opposing him either. We serve the people of this valley with our wine, to ease their pain, and so we endure."

"You are a cautious lass, asking our opinion of Von Zarovich with no commitment one way or the other. It is not unwise. We have the advantage on you here, I grant it. For instance, I know you have come here from another land. One day a stranger from far away approached you with a plea for help—their noble lord suffers some mysterious ailment, children have been kidnapped by werewolves, a princess is trapped in eternal slumber. They beckoned on and led you into a misty wood, from which you emerged here in Barovia, prisoners yourselves. The heartfelt entreaty was all lies. And then, you hear rumors of a terrible lord, Count Strahd Von Zarovich, who hunts down and destroys interlopers like yourselves. Who can you trust? Where can you turn?"

"No," the fever-stricken woman with the bandaged stump croaks, interrupting Davian just as his sermon approaches its apotheosis. "She is not one of those. She is different." Her, sunken eyes peer deeply into Faria's. There are several clanks as forks drop to plates. Everyone has stopped eating to stare at the convalescent and Faria.

 

[Zilfer]

“Enough rest to function,” said Faria confirming the sentiment. She looks to the children momentarily briefly registering normally she’d grow to know these children as adults and they would pass away far before she ever did. That was if old age was ever her death, which it hadn’t been before so it might not be again.

“I’m guessing they are more akin to natives, or barbarians from the sounds of them. Berserkers who wear light to no armor because they emphasize speed, and power above all else. Protection is hardly considered due to their customs and beliefs of an afterlife being better than living. If my guess is anywhere near correct how have you rivaled them for so long? Especially if they had a bit of forest magic,” asked Faria looking around the room trying to gauge how many would be fit for a fight if it came down to it. What she saw was a hesitant reluctance. Maybe there was more to them than met the eye so she threw away the part of her mind that wanted to consider them average folk. She knew nothing about this land, maybe she had at one point but not now.

“At one point you may have been right. That’s not the case now however,” Said Faria taking a bit of tea as she thought of her response. The woman spoke up and Faria’s eyes lock with the girls. Her gold eyes wondering if that was meant as a warning or an observation. ‘Always the question in our heads, friends or foes?’

“She is on some level right,” says Faria motioning to her as she breaks eye contact. “Honestly me and my companions are a drift, lost in a way not many would be able to understand. Each of us woke up remembering our time before Barovia, but not our time spent here. The taste of the grave still in us.”

Faria frowned for a moment remembering vomiting up the earth that had still been in her body. Hadn’t been the most pleasant of experiences. “Having only just woken up at the Abbey, we’ve spoken with the Abbot who believes the key to escaping is to help Strahd by saving him, the people down in Krezk fear him like some dark oppressive god, and Strahd himself… well he seems weary of us. I do not know if that is because we had betrayed him in the past or if we had sought to kill or overthrow him. Regardless of what came before I do not care as much now.”

Another sip of the tea as she thought back to the parts of life she did remember. “I was raised to serve my kingdom, and when I left I was respectful of each kingdom I passed through regardless of creed and custom. Many of the guards of such places are just doing their duties and some may not even agree with it. I many harsh lords are simply afraid to lose their power,” says Faria testing the waters a bit with this more neutral stance watching the faces. If they were like Krezk she was sure this would get a immediate reaction.

She was quite aware that she knew nothing of this land at least at the moment, or any horrors this Count Strahd may have committed, or may have been falsely attributed to. The important thing was to find the consensus of what people believed. This was the second large group of people they’d come to know. Faria pressed a little further with the query. “You say he is a monster, do you mean that in the literal sense? Or in the acts that he’s done. Not one person since I’ve woken up has told me what he has done to deserve the title. So please forgive me if I am not so quick to judge.”

Her voice was calm and measured despite watching the others for signs that might give away answers that were unspoken, she wasn’t here to antagonize these people but she needed answers. They couldn’t flop around in the dark forever like this.

 

[EyeOfSkadi]

Astryos listens on intently. He begins to speak when the fever-stricken woman speaks up. Different seems to be an understatement.

"The woman has the right of it, Davian. We did not arrive here on some quest to save children or sleeping princesses." The monk makes eye contact with the woman, remaining unblinking, "We awoke in another realm all together, as a shared dream, it seems. For when we awoke again we were in this land and thought dead by those we first encountered."

The monk makes his way across the room to the amputated woman, "I suspect you already [i[knew[/i] that somehow. I am Astryos Kokkynos." he says extending a hand to greet her, "Who might you be? And how do you know of our origin here?"

 

[Baba Luga]

Elvir, the man with the parchment and charcoal speaks to his family's longstanding enmity with the hill people. "In an all-out war with the hill people, no, we'd have no chance. Strahd has stopped them every time they seemed on the verge of destroying us."

"True," says Davian. "You see the irony of our position. The Count is our tyrant and our savior. He is arbiter among all of us in the valley, and maintains a grim sort of balance, not for the sake of justice, but to keep his tiny realm moving along with a semblance of life."

"Your talk about waking from the grave, waking in a dream, a past betrayal of Van Zarovich, hrmmm, I don't know what it means. That's not the way of it. You didn't eat any mushrooms, did you?"

"It's different than your old story, at least," Stefania tells her father.

Davian snorts. "Well, mushroom-addled or not, you'll spark no revolutions here. The people still have the bloody taste of last year's failed uprising in their mouths."

"It's true," says Stefania. "Archwizard from another land led poor folks from Barovia and Vallaki to their dooms trying to take old Strahd's castle. Died himself in the bargain."

"And you want tales of Van Zarovich's fell deeds?" asks Davian. "How about the birth of his reign, as a fratricide? Killed his own brother from envy, over a woman he lost just the same. In killing his brother and the woman he thought to possess, he brought a curse on himself and the land. He rules here eternal, undying, a vampire."

"You wish to hear more? Ask the elves of this land, who trudge childless to extinction under a curse he laid on them. Or visit the ruins of Berez, once a village, now a boggy marsh since he called a water spirit to flood the river and make life there impossible. No, this is no misunderstanding or calumny. Von Zarovich is evil without bottom."

Davian's diatribe has brought an oppressive air upon the group, lifted slightly by Astryos speaking to the convalescent woman.

"Ezmeralda d'Avenir," she says weakly. "No, I know nothing about you, only that you are not like others who come to Barovia. I see it inside your eyes. I am different too, in my own way."

"Child," she says to one of the young boys sitting on the floor, "bring me the bag from beside my bed. You," she tells Astryos, "bring your others out. Tarokka will tell us more."

Tarokka, it is what the strange woman in your dream or vision called her deck of cards. The Martikovs exchange wary looks among themselves. One of the boys gets up and goes to the part of the room behind the curtain. He can be heard rummaging around back there.

"Only the bag," Ezmeralda says in warning.

 

[SephironNyl]

Varius steps into the other room, ducking beneath the doorframe. Moving back into one of the far corners of the room, he folds his arms, listening in to the discussion, but allowing the others to take charge of the conversation.

 

[Xemthawt112]

Cassandra scratches lightly at the newly formed patches on her hands. The itching is unpleasant, to say the least. And that dream...what exactly was that all about? The half elf looks around until she finds her pack. Finding the cleanest ones, she pulls out a few rags before wrapping them around the her hands, trying to cover the itchiest spots. Better to be covered, don't need to be scratching at this all the time... As she finishes, the monk looks up, realizing the others had moved to the other room. She blinks, then gets up to follow. Maybe we're heading out soon...fresh air might help my head, she figures. There is something about this place that doesn't quite sit right with her, though she can't explain it. A word catches her notice through the fogginess: Tarroka. "Just like in that dream..." she says, muttering to herself more than anything.

 

[Baba Luga]

Despite the pale morning light coming in through the open windows, the lantern in the main room is still burning with its steady green glow. As Cassandra steps into its aura, the cloudiness in her head grows noticeably worse. It's uncomfortable to be in this room.

The Martikov boy has returned from the back with Ezmeralda's bag. She requests a table, which is brought to her as well. She slides a familiar deck of cards out of the bag, and is just beginning to explain something about it, when Davian Martikov casts his eyes on Cassandra, pushes up from his chair and hobbles over to her with great speed for a man of his age. He grasps her by one shoulder, stares into her eyes, then at the patches on her neck. He turns to his daughter, who raises an eyebrow. He nods back gravely.

"I'm sorry, you've caught it," he tells Cassandra. "The blight. Maybe from those bats you were talking about. Not as fast-moving as what Ezmeralda had, but slow and steady. You might not feel its full pinch yet, but you should get back to bed, off in a different room from the rest. All this fortune telling will have to wait."

"I'll clear some things out of that little corner room," offers Davian's son-in-law Dag. "She can stay there."

"No," says Ezmeralda calmly. "The blight can wait. Tarokka has come out. She will first have her say before she goes away again. To deny her is very bad luck."

 

[Xemthawt112]

Cassandras puts a hand to her head as she turns her face away from the light. Everything feels so off to the monk, almost as though her head were covered in wool. Itchy, itchy wool, she amends as she resists the urge to dcratch at her neck. She flinches as the man grabs her shoulder. And has to after a momwnt begins to focus on what he is saying. "Blight? I mean, the bats did knock me down for a bit...but how bad is it?"
She looks over at Esmeralda as she speaks. "Bad luck huh? Pretty sure all I've had since I woke up here is bad luck"

 

[EyeOfSkadi]

Astryos gazes at Esmeraldas amputated leg. is Cassandra at risk of sharing her fate?" he asks gesturing at the woman's stump. "and, I presume this blight is fatal if it is left to run its course?"

 

[Zilfer]

Faria closed her eyes taking in much of what was being said from Cassandra’s predicament to the wounded woman trying to give them another reading, to the declaration of the counts misdeeds. It was a little much, all in a short while and left more questions than answers.

She considered first the fact that the Count of this land was a Vampire. That made sense, the Abbot had said he would need help in redeeming the Count. Would he really need help if there was no corruption? Then came the list of events that she had no knowledge about, the Archwizard leading a rebellion? ‘Rebellions were never pretty from either side, and most of the time if successfully put down one side often bears resentment. Nothing unusual there,’ Faria thought to herself.

The elves was an interesting bit, she had picked up a few mentions here and there at the abbey wondering why the Abbot had thought it necessary to change elves bodies but now within context it made sense. It must have been some way to bypass the curse, though while she believed in bad luck spree’s and curses of luck was there really such thing as cursing an entire people to not have children? Elves recovered their populations much slower than humans, it was possible if it had happened within the recent century none had wanted to have children again and the humans took it as a curse, though that’d make little sense with the Abbey.

What of his rule being Fratricide? She found nothing particularly damning about this considering it was common place for the younger generations especially among humans to over throw their previous elders who would not yield their power even unto old age and sometimes even into madness. There had to be more to the accusation here for it to matter. The comments about killing his brother over a woman though, that was something interesting. Had there been a competition over her? She’d heard many Romanticized tales of a girl caught between two nobles, and often to spice up the stories bards would make them siblings among other things. Was this a key in understanding who this Count Strahd was? For that matter would she truly even help someone as vilified as this?

She doubted her old self would ever help someone without a good reason or judging someone’s character for herself. Randal Morn himself had been vilified by the Zhentarim for years prior to his reign and there were still those who were discontent with his rule despite being free from the Zhentarim’s oppressive yolk. Worse still is she could not verify any of this information beyond that some peasants in the land had a poor view of their Lord which by most stretches wasn’t that uncommon.

After much thought she decided it was not the time to make any final decisions on the matter, she’d seen too much propaganda before, and how easily words could be spun to manipulate public opinion. In a place as remote as this where no guards offered aid against what amounted to tribes people or potential barbarians?

“You lay quiet the list at his feet and while I must say it sounds like an impressive list how long ago where these events? I can say confidently that I know a Vampire lives a long time. Is there anyone still alive here that actually remembers these events and the context behind them? I do not claim to know that you are wrong, but neither would I claim to know the politics behind my home country’s lord,” she states pointedly before looking over to Esmerelda who seems focused like a sword on giving a reading. While this was primarily to hold off taking a stance one way or another in the matter it was also to see if there was potentially anyone alive from that time, someone that might recognize and tell them more. If the elves were still around perhaps they might remember her from the time before… and if it was from a time before even that then… well she wasn’t sure how long a soul could last between such events of living and being brought back.

“We met a woman before we…. Came back to life who did similar. I am weary of another such reading when misfortune was laid before us previously,” said Faria frowning. She could only hope Tymora would smile this time in this game of chance. Despite being reluctant about a second time, there was always the gamble that it would turn out really well. “You remind me of her in certain ways. A fierceness despite her age, like your vigor despite your wound. Very well you have my attention, may Tymora smile upon this reading.”

 

[Baba Luga]

"Hrmm, The prognosis is not good," Davian says to Astryos. "With the infection taking hold here," he points to Cassandra's neck, "even the extreme measures that saved Ezermalda are not an option. Rest is all I can recommend, coupled with what medicines we have here."

"We know very little about the disease. The two of you," he indicates Cassandra and Ezmeralda, "are the first of our kind to contract it. Everything is speculation based on what befalls infected animals. They grow weaker and weaker, deranged, sprouting growths that in days take over from failing flesh, animating the dead thing to continue spreading the blight."

The only adult Martikov who has not yet spoken, a man in his forties, says, "It is too coordinated for chance or instinct. There is something driving the spores, I am convinced, something the hill people have done up at the winery."

"Maybe, Adrian," says Davian to the man, "but we do not know what goes on there now."

"As for your skepticism on our history," the old man says to Faria, "the destruction of Berez happened in my lifetime, though I was but a boy. There are still living survivors who fled to the other settlements, maybe back in Krezk where you come from, or in Vallaki. Barovia Village even."

"And elves," says Ezmeralda as she shuffles her cards, "if you ever leave these woods, you may find them dwelling among my people, who are the Vistani. The elves are the living history of this land and have seen all, since before it became a misty prison. Though they are long broken and do not like to remember."

"Among Vistani you will also find others deeper in Tarokka than I, maybe like this woman of your dreams."

She tidies the deck into a single pile points to it. "Now, one of you must cut and ask Tarokka for answers. What do you wish to know?"

 

[SephironNyl]

"We were planning on investigating the winery. It's why we were travelling this way in the first place. Perhaps we can figure out what is going on there, and maybe even discover a cure for whatever this is."
Varius speaks for the first time since entering the room, stepping forward to Ezmerelda. With a well-practiced motion, he cuts the deck one-handed, then squares the cards up.
"I think the main question we all want to know the answer to is what are we doing here? How, and why, were we brought back?"

 

[Baba Luga]

​

"Very well," says Ezmeralda. "The question is asked. Tell us what you see, Tarokka." She turns over and reveals the top card. It is the Priest.

"This first card represents your past. This man, highest of the clergy, he is an intermediary between us and greater powers. With his help, we can ask great favors, things we could not achieve ourselves: riches, knowledge, defeat of our enemies, power over death even."

"But look," Ezmeralda says, pointing to the well-fed man with a bejeweled mitre and glowing amber sun behind his head, "he serves his own interests as well. He has grown rich and comfortable from his profession. For the gifts he gives, he may charge whatever price he likes. In fact, I think it might often please him to charge in advance, so that his clients can purchase their future resurrections in the event of an untimely demise. I wonder, have you heard of such a bargain?"

"The next card represents your present state," she continues. The card is revealed upside down on the table. "Ah, the Seer, but inverted," she says. "So meaning one who had knowledge of great, forbidden secrets, but is not foiled in their search for the truth. Like you, all his eyes are closed. He can only search the darkness inside his own mind, until such time as his eyes begin to unseal once more."

"Now, we look to your purpose. Why are you here?" The card is the three of swords. "A Soldier from a past war. See the scar? And her helmet is removed. She was wounded in battle, unable to continue, and the war was lost while she lay bleeding. But now she is healed, her armor polished, ready to resume her mission, in the name of fallen comrades and for honor. But the healing is not complete. One eye is ruined, so she does not see everything, but sees enough to carry forward. I recognize the plume. It is an homage to the style of Lord Argynvost's silver knights of old. She was not from their ranks, but she shares their spirit. They too were fearless soldiers who challenged a tyrant."

"And the final card, the danger that awaits you. Alas, it is the Broken One. Note the continuation of themes from the Seer and the Soldier: opened eyes, blunted sight. Where the Seer, inverted, was blind, and the Soldier saw just enough to find her target, this Broken One stares in horror. He has seen too much. Unlike the Solider's scars, which are on the outside only, these cracks in the image represent the rending of his shattered mind."

"I do not claim to be a master of Tarokka, but from what I hear her say, it is a narrow line you walk. See too little and be lost in darkness like the Seer; see too much and be lost in madness like the Broken One. Best of luck, brave Soldiers."

Ezmeralda gathers the four cards back into the deck, which she replaces in the small bag. She picks up her mug and has a few sips of tea, watching your reactions to the reading.

 

[Zilfer]

Upon the third card something felt strange. It wasn't referring to her was it? 'See the Scar?' Faria's back began to tingle as she felt the lines on her back. As Esmerelda continued an old trauma began to surface. 'She was wounded in battle, unable to continue, and the war was lost while she lay bleeding.' The sounds of battle, and the struggle to continue as the blows landed against... against... the feeling of blood floating between her hands as the distant pain of her back began to feel faint. She remembered the savage beauty of the full moon reflecting off her own life blood. Faria felt the old scars burn as if fresh as the growls and barks of wolves surrounded her. Without another word Faria left the room her chest feeling tight, and her breathes coming quickly as she tried to force the memories away with action, with the sensation of moving but the clawed scars on her back would not go away. In the end she ended up not that far away hand against one of the trees. 'They're gone, not here. Chased away or killed by the adventurers. I'm safe, at least from them,' she forced herself to think. She slowly attempted to control her irrational fears.

 

[EyeOfSkadi]

The monk sits silently a moment as he takes in the information. "Well, we did not come here to challenge a tyrant. What business is it of ours as foreigners to this land?" he states dismissively, "Though, I sympathize with the plight of the elves. I wish to hear their story from them."

elves and humans can copulate...why would they resign themself to voluntary incelebicacy like that?

He looks to Davian, "Argynvost, is that a name familiar to you?"

 

[Baba Luga]

Davian considers Astryos' question. "Yes, I know the name, though it is very old indeed, from the time when Strahd's curse first took hold. An order of knights led, as she says, by a Lord Argynvost. They made their home in the foothills of Mount Ghakis, east of here. The ruins of their mansion still look down on the old road to Berez: Ruins seen from ruins. A branch off the Old Svalich Road goes there, though none take it."

"Argynvost's knights did battle against the Count, and were broken by him. As legend has it, their spirits are still seen from time to time, ghosts marching to battle against the dark lord. More than the white plume, which I have not heard of, the silver dragon was their symbol."

While the name "Argynvost" is unfamiliar, the image of these silver dragon knights strikes a resonant chord with Faria and Astryos, and at once, both are lost in a vision:

Another man is here with Astryos and Faria. Tegan is his name. The three are damp, drenched by the frigid rain pouring down, boots sinking in the mud of this road. A dead knight in silver platemail is stretched out on the ground, his tarnished helmet in the shape of a dragon's head, a greatsword in the mud beside him. A second silver dragon knight kneels beside his fallen comrade. His visor is up, and his face is a mask of horror, skin withered and falling, his nose caved in, lips gone. Black blood oozes from his mouth. A spear has pierced his torso, punching straight through the armor.

"It matters not," the dying knight rasps. "There is no end, for us. We will rise tomorrow and find you again, so long as you wage war against the devil Strahd. His suffering has been too short. You will not end it. Let it continue to eternity! You tell your liege..." The silver dragon knight falls forward into the mud and speaks no more.

The vision fades; Faria and Astryos are back with the Martikovs and the others, but both now know for certain, if the vestiges of these dragon knights still walk this land, as Davian says, the enmity declared by the knight in the vision could last a thousand years, or longer, if need be.