Party 6

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Varïs seems to acknowledge Stanimir's point and with a smile, "yes, it is better to find our the truth from looking to the weaver than the story. I hope for all of our cases the darkness is not as terrifying as you describe." He pauses, for what I have seen in my dreams is what should not be seen by most.

Giving a nod to Benson's comment about Madame Eva we would be putting a lot of trust in this person. Upon Benson's conclusion, "yes I should be ready to go come morning. Thank you for your story, and I look forward to resolving your prince problem."
 
Nomad Camp:

"Do what you need to do," Stanimir says, nodding to Benson. "We can be packed up and ready to travel by the morning. Hopefully the Raunie has received the medical help she requires -- that I am not worried about, given the holy woman in our company." He smiles, looking back to the group. "Perhaps she would be interested in your mission, if you are interested in taking on more hands. She is most likely with the Raunie as we speak." He slowly stands up, looking around the camp as the sounds of revelry slowly died down around them. "In any case, I will not keep you here; you can retire where you will and meet us here at first light, though we would gladly entertain you for the night as well."

Raunie's Wagon:

Damia continues towards one of the larger barrel-topped wagons in the back, older than the rest but also sturdier and well-built with fine craftsmanship. The hinged door to the side of the wagon has been left open, to allow a bit of fresh air and moonlight inside. Within, most of the normally stuffed wagon has been cleared out in order to leave room for a large makeshift cot, on which an older woman lays. Sitting next to her is a young, blonde-haired woman in dusty chainmail armor, her pack leaning against one of the wagon walls along with her sword and shield.

For the past week or so this had been her home, as she traveled with these strange and mystical folks she had come to know as the Zarovan tribe of the Vistani people. They had been generous enough to give her a ride from the south, sharing their food and their drink and entertaining her with wild stories of distant lands and with riveting music the likes she had never heard before. Just as they had reaches the banks of the Delimbiyr River next to Daggerford the Raunie, their navigator and eldest female, had fallen ill, and as such they had taken a few days to allow her to recover. Though this time, they had not attempted to go into town as its citizens seemed to be on edge, supposedly from the rumor of werewolf attacks. Still, they managed by interacting with travelers heading to or from Waterdeep to the north, or simply gathering their own resources from the wilds around them.

"Raunie, are you feeling well?" Damia calls out, peeking into the wagon. "I should have come sooner to administer your treatment, but it appears we are entertaining visitors again. Merchants or somesuch."

"I am fine, thank you my dear," replies the elder woman in a sweet and soft voice, slowly getting up from her resting spot. "Like the past few nights this one has been keeping me company, and it is very fine company indeed." She clutches the thick robes around her tightly, smiling at the younger woman before turning back to Damia. "We are to set off in the morning, then? To Barovia?"

"I... what?" Damia seems to blink at that, confused but also cautiously accepting of the elder's words. "I don't know, I left the giorgios with Father. I didn't hear about that yet. Though from what I see, he went and told the story again, fire and all."

"Yes, and this time they listened. I can feel it, the Mists are bidding us home again." Her gaze passed back over to the other woman, a knowing twinkle in her eye. "Did you listen as well, child? There is a song in the air, and your melodies are intertwined. I think it is perhaps fate that you came to us at this time."
 
Hazel, the young blonde woman next to the Raunie, looks up as the group enters the tent they were in. She has a bright, open-faced expression, and her hair is tied back in a practical braid that goes down much of her back. Her armor is dusty, and clearly hasn't seen much use of late, but it seems well taken care of and in good shape. One thing that immediately stands out about her is her size. She's clearly strong, and her hands have a leathery texture that imply they've been used for physical labor much of her life. An amulet of Eldath, Goddess of Peace, hangs from her neck.

Hazel gives the Raunie a fond smile and pats her on the shoulder gently. "I sure did hear that. He 'bout sang that same story at me the first night I joined y'all. It does feel different tonight though. It seems that this may be the cause I was looking for after all." She stands, grabs her equipment, and looks toward Damia. "Ole Raunie here is looking better, I wish I could have helped more. Medicine ain't my area of expertise. Though I think that she'll be right as rain 'fore long. Just keep her off her feet, and make sure she's getting plenty of water. She should get over that nasty sickness without much difficulty."

She slings her shield over her shoulder, and dons the sheath bearing her longsword. After brushing off her knees where she'd been kneeling, she makes to leave. "Damia, would you be a sweetheart and introduce me to my new friends? It would seem we may be traveling together for a while if they're planning on heading to Barovia as well."
 
Benson's eyes catch the tell-tale ears of a half elf. He gives her a look full of more suspicion that she probably deserves. When she turns to stand, he freezes on the last small step leading into the wagon.

It's... she looks just like... it couldn't be.

When the young woman turns and speaks, the effect is broken. It isn't her.

Benson steps the rest of the way inside, and leans back against the wall, watching the scene. When it comes time for him to introduce himself, he steps forward and puts on a polite smile as he takes her hand. Still, the resemblance is stunning... He clears his throat and introduces himself. "I am Benson Anhelada."
 
"Thank you Stanimir, I believe we should meet this new adventurer first so we know how to best prepare in town. We will see you first thing come daylight to set out." Following Benson, Varïs moves to the wagon carefully pulling back cover to peer in. Realizing there is no harm he steps in to the side of Benson but still near the exit.

"Hello, my name is Varïs. Pleasure to meet you," Varïs says awkwardly with a straight face, bowing slightly as he removes his hood showing a slender half-elf frame with pale almost grey skin and vibrant blonde shaggy hair.
 
Almost unnoticeable (due more to diminutive size than any skill or attempts at hiding), a three foot pile of brightly colored cloth pops around from behind Varïs's frame, revealing a bark-brown face, beard, and smile seemingly larger than the rest of him combined.

"And a most genuinely esteemed of hellos to your most wonderful holiness (of which this makes you one of two among us, we are thus ever so blessed), I am Reppip, formerly of a glade within the Misty Forest, formerly of the Duskmoon Troupe known best for their stunning theater enactments and honey-saturated crooning, currently of the fine cadre before you.

I am singer of the old songs, crafter of the new songs, plucker of the 7 course lute, celebrator of tales and histories of all peoples of Faerun- both the fine and the foul. I am here to regale you with stories of what came before, dance you to minuets and bourrés, and collector of your tales. I greatly look forward to our delving into the terrors of Barovia, as well as making further your acquaintance. Actually, this reminds me quite well of the time that old Bolath left his tribe to go on out among the more 'civilized' of humanfolk in search of ..."

Reppip begins to launch into a moderately accurate recounting of a myth about the barbarians of Icewind Dale, simultaneously bowing, reaching for Hazel's hand, and visually expressing excitement to be on his way to Barovia.
 
Raunie's Wagon:

"Well, it looks like you won't have to wait long, they've already come along," Damia says, raising an eyebrow as the others step forward and introduce themselves, waiting until after Reppip had gotten through at least a decent portion of his long-winded tale. "I did not catch their names before, but it seems they do not feel the need to wait regardless. For the rest of you, this is Hazel. She has been staying with us for a few nights and offered her assistance and company to the Raunie's care." She tilts her head curiously, as if not really sure how to interact with these strangers. "Did... Father mention something about going to Barovia?"

"He did, he's busy preparing to set off in the morning," Ratka pipes up from a distance, having watched the proceedings with a hint of interest. "If the Raunie is prepared to navigate the Mists so soon, granted."

"I am more than well enough, thank you." The elder woman speaks up, sitting up more properly to look at all of the unfamiliar faces. "Whether that remains true is a sight to be seen. No matter how many times we walk it, it will continue to be a dangerous and dark path back to our roots." She looks around, studying each of your expressions. "Especially when we travel with those not of our kin."

"If you say so. We will make sure to take care, Lunadi." Damia bows slightly at her elder's words, before turning back to the rest of the group. "It appears that my father is busy getting the drunkards to clean up, so he has left you under my supervision for the time being. Will you be staying with us tonight or returning to your Duchess?"

"So uptight, Damia," the Raunie replies with a slight smile. "One day you will learn to let go and take life as it comes. I didn't get this old by worrying about every little detail. What happens happens."
 
Hazel gives the group a cheerful smile, "So from what I hear y'all are fixin' to go back and report to your previous benefactor. Well no sense in keeping a lady waitin'. I'm happy to tag along iff'n you'd prefer. We can most assuredly let her know that these people are good honest folk. Besides, we'll be leaving tomorrow anyhow.

She brushes off her armor some more and gives it a wistful glance. "Papa would always say that a woman was only as good as her armaments. Mom never liked him saying that. Not sure why. He had a point. Maybe we can petition y'all's benefactor for an upgrade. Regardless, let's be off. These guys like to get up at the most ungodly hours. It would be wise if we were to be well rested in the morning."
 
Varïs listens intently making sure he understands Hazel correctly, "yeah, we were asked to see what the commotion was about down here. I'm sure your Papa said always finish a job ya start." Chuckling to himself slightly, "we can see if she has any spare armor for you, but I believe the watch and guard has most, if not all of it. How did you come about this group of travelers?"

Turning to the group quickly, "we should probably head back soon to report back and get our rest, right?" Before turning back to Hazel and awaiting a response.
 
Nomad Camp:

"We picked her up near the south, in need of a ride," Damia says to Varis, stepping forward. "Though it is getting late; perhaps another time will be better for this storytelling." The other men and women around the camp quickly take to arms in cleaning up the festivities and packing up supplies, leaving you to do as you will. "Take care in the night," Damia notes, walking you back to the edge of the camp and waving you off. "Wouldn't want you being spirited away without us."

The trip back to the Duchess's manse is rather serene in the dead of night, the wind rustling in the night sky. Knocking politely on the door you catch the attention of a servant, who quickly fetches the Duchess from her sleeping quarters. Rubbing her tired eyes Morwen raises an eyebrow at your report as well as your intent to leave, but ultimately nods. "As much as I appreciate your service here, in the end your path is your own," she says, looking at each of you. "Daggerford is probably too small for your ambitions. Best of luck in your journey." Though she has no armor to spare she allows you one final night of rest in her home, the maid showing you the way to the guests quarters.

You awaken an hour or two before the rise of dawn, getting your bearings and making sure everything was in order for your departure. By the time you make it back to the camp they are just about packed up, the various nomads settled into their seats for the long journey ahead. Stanimir greets you all with a wide smile, the wizened look on his face highlighted by the first rays of dawn. "I can feel it, it is calling us home. Barovia."

At first light you depart, the trail of wagons beginning to traverse down the Trade Way. It's a lovely sight with only the occasional passing caravan or wandering traveler, and the roads are appropriately familiar or unfamiliar depending on each of your personal experiences with this part of the Sword Coast. Along the way, brief stops are made in various towns and you can see that the group mostly makes a living as performers and fortune tellers. They don't tell you much about the destination or the quest laid before you (insisting that they would only mess it up and that Madam Eva would be the best person to explain) but gladly continue to share their drink and revelry as the nights progressed. At some point, you would most likely have overheard the name of their simple people: the Zarovan tribe, of the Vistani. It is not a term that comes up often, but it is a name that appears to evoke pride and joy in the traveling group.

After about four or so days of travel in this fashion, you're about to pass through a particularly forested area near sunset when the weather starts to take a turn for the ominous: while not explicitly stormy or unpleasant, the sky is notably overcast, and in the distance all around you a creeping fog begins to curl into view. The rest of the group appear to take no heed to this, and if you ask Stanimir if it makes travel harder he simply laughs it off. "If anything, they make it easier to know where we're going. They signal that we're almost home."

The wagon line picks up pace into the forest, and soon you are entirely engulfed in the mists.
 
Chapter 2: Welcome to Barovia

How long have you been in the mists? You're not quite sure, your sense of time dilated by the lack of sunlight and thick, murky fog. Regardless it has been a long, long ride with no sign of stopping, but any attempts at helping have been met with polite refusal -- the driver of your wagon, a young man named Hans, has insisted that he knows the roads like the back of his hand, even as the fog rolled in.

As a result, you have mostly stayed put in the supply wagon that you've been holed up in (a result of them not expecting to pick up five strangers and immediately depart for home, but such were the details). Krips, in need of fresh air, insists on remaining outside with Hans he relents, and the monk pokes out of the wagon doors and hops into the driver's seat with his usual dexterity, leaving the other four in the wagon proper surrounded by crates and other supplies. As the road continues on, twisting and turning with no sign of stopping, the rhythmic rolling of the wagon wheels on muddy road soon lulls you all to sleep.

...
Click to expand...

CREEEEEAAAAAAK. When you gasp awake, the world is turning all around -- left and right and up and down, blurs shoving you in all directions, giving no time to catch your bearings. In your disorientation you only faintly catch the sound of screams, and howls, and of horses galloping away into the distance, but you barely even have time to register what you're hearing.

When you finally stop and land, you do so not on your feet but on your side, or flat on your back, and look around from your prone position. You are in the wagon, surrounded by crates that you are thankful have not crushed you, and the entrance door to the wagon is now flat on what appears to be the earth. Dark mud squelches through the small window as the sturdy vehicle, mostly intact, sinks slightly into the ground on that side. You take a moment to figure out just where you are, but the dark interior of the supply wagon provides no respite of knowledge.

In the distance you hear the single faint howl of a wolf that lingers in the air for a few seconds too long. Then there is naught but the sounds of your own breathing and the chilly breeze whistling in the tree branches above, and you are left with your thoughts to consider what just happened.

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Hazel collects herself after things settle down, "Sweet Eldath. We done flipped over or somethin'. Wonder what's going on out there." She picks herself up, helps everyone get to their feet, then makes sure that everyone has all their stuff handy. "Alrighty, if y'all would be willing to help me break down this wall here I'd be much obliged. I sure hope our Vistani buddies are okay. Given the silence out there we should likely be really cautious. Something bad has likely happened. I sure hope we can still find our way to Madame Eva. One thing at a time though." She nods gratefully at Benson when he casts guidance, and Reppip when holds some of the debris out of the way so she has a clear shot.

She rolls her shoulders while inspecting the wall in front of her for anywhere it looks weak. She finds a brace that looks like it's bending slightly from the crash. Smiling, she rears up and body slams the whole thing. She does a much better job than even she expected. She finds herself blowing through the wall like it's paper, and she nearly tumbles to the ground along the way. She turns around to inspect the hole she made. "Shoot dang. Father would be proud." As the others make their way through, she equips her weapons and begins to look around. "Now, to figure out what happened here."
 
Benson had been having one of the best stretches of sleep in recent memory. Before he was even awake, his head was being slammed against a crate. He says a small spell to help Hazel make an opening, and steps out, rubbing the lump on his head. "Wha- oh gods, where are the horses? Krips? Hans?"

He takes a look around, but feels himself going "I don't understand it... how did we crash here?"
 
Tracing his tiny hand over the tracks interspersed with the wheel ruts, looking around with Hazel at the trails and measuring the tracks' gait, thinking, and sniffing around, Reppip's head jerks back so hard that his hat falls to his feet.

"Oh. My. I do think we might be soon to see some wolves."
 
Having a deep dark nightmare about the darkness suddenly crashing awake. Ow not the nicest of awakenings. Standing and seeing Hazel blast through the side of the cart a fog flowed through as they stepped out.

"Can barely see out here, hopefully we can catch back up to the others... If they're still on their carts."
 
"Wolves?" Benson takes his spear and shield into his hands and dons his helmet. "I can't see a damned thing out here with this fog but Krips and Hans could be in trouble. Do you all think you're able to walk?"
 
??? Woods:

As Hazel breaks through the wooden railing, the thick canvas cloth of the wagon top collapses to reveal the dark, murky forest around them. All around black pools of water stand like dark mirrors around the muddy roadway they had just been riding along casually -- and now found themselves toppled over to the side, down a soft ledge. Giant, looming trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mists if not entirely engulfed at the very edges by a union of mist and darkness.

In the time that it had taken you to break out of the wagon and get a grasp on your surroundings, you had not realized that the other sounds had faded into obscurity. Now, the silence of the woods was painfully obvious.

In one direction of the road, a chaos of wagon ruts and other tracks (seemingly both man and beast) clash together in all sorts of directions, but ultimately leading on into the distance. In the other, a deep fog spills out of the forest threatening to swallow up everything in its path. Seemed there was only one path, and that was forward.
 
"Well, I get the feeling that we really only have one option here. Let's follow this road. Hopefully we can find our way to our destination without too much difficulty. I don't know about you guys but all this fog and darkness is giving me the heebie-jeebies." She dons her longsword and shield, "Though if any wolves attack us, they'll quickly find out I can bite back." She begins slowly walking down the road.
 
As Varïs looks around seeing the black puddles and fog he feels eeriely at peace, is this even real, am I still dreaming? he goes to touch one of the puddles then stands up and pinches himself. With a slight, "ow, guess this is really happening" he catches the ending of Hazel's comments and scratches his head with a puzzled look. "Do you bite your enemies often?"
 
"Speaking of biting... what was it the duchess said before about wolves in the-"

Benson stops in his tracks. "It wasn't wolves, I remember now. They were werewolves." He starts walking again, a little faster than before. "There were rumors that werewolves had attacked people outside of town. Hadn't the Vistani heard of them too? I think Ratka said they might be 'lurking around' and the old woman-..."

He stops his outpouring of words. She can't have been right. A moon is just a moon. But still... all of this talk of the werebeasts and now, set upon by wolves?

"We must be careful. Be ready for anything, or else we'll end up in one of Reppip's stories... the cautionary ones."
 
Varïs looking visibly shaken the longer he looks around left to his own thoughts, I always wanted to know more but am I ready? I always wake up and know I'm safe, but.. but this is real. Putting a hand through his sweat-drenched hair he manages to get out some words, "Yes, the d..d..darkness is not something we should tempt." mumbling to himself, "I hope we are still on this plane, I can't confront the other." He looks around making sure everyone is ok. "Hopefully if there are wolves or w..warewolves that's the worst we face."
 
The level of anxiety is starting to visibly show, even on Reppip. Such fear doesn't show up often in the bravery-songs that he knows, and every real-life experience with such a dreadful setting has ended quite poorly for him.

"Hey... friends? Quick question. How do you talk to Giants?"

When everyone turns to him, confused as to why he'd suddenly be interested in Firbolg linguistics, he smiles.

"You use BIG words!"

Before anyone can groan or ask him to stop, he starts again.

"Know why skeletons are afraid of us?"

...

"Well they don't have any GUTS."
 
The cleric's face is pulled into a frown and he audibly sighs as Reppip continues his jokes. After a moment though he shakes his head and manages a crooked smile.

"Reppip, have you heard this one? What's a werewolf's favorite food?"
...
"You."
 
Reppip hops up and faces Benson directly.

"Not when I have such wonderful wonderful protectors with me on this quest, where we are headed out to free an unfortunate people of their leader's cu.."

He deflates, doesn't finish his sentence but slinks to the back of the group.
 
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