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Party 7

Blood of the Vine Tavern:

The woman at the table shrugs. "If I could answer questions like that, I wouldn't be running this ol' shack of an inn. But here I am." She adjusts her spectacles and rifles through a few pages. "You could try heading up to the city to see if anyone braver has any news, or perhaps the tribe of Vistani along the river. Don't ask me if I know if they're nice or not, I don't really associate with those folks."

"A house? What are you going on about?" The other lady sets down her smaller package on the bar counter and wipes her hands off. "There was attack on the burgomeister's home last night, the third one in a month. From the sounds of it, there were wolves this time. The man looks like he's about to keel over and die any day now, there's no way he's going to keep it up at this rate." The young man darts behind her into the kitchen, and promptly returns the way he came to start carrying another box.
 
"You mean to say that you can't leave this place?" Marcon gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his fingernails digging into the soft wood. "We are on a long journey and are not planning on sticking around. Yesterday we were lured into a house just across the square..." He gestured vaguely towards the door of the tavern and frowned. "...I think. Something trapped us inside and then we were attacked. Over and over. By unspeakable horrors..." He shuddered as he remembered being engulfed by scrabbling rodents. "The four of us only just managed to escape with our lives." Frowning again, he looked around. "Where is Mr Pyl'cin-Tun this morning?"
 
Clover watched the goings-on with dull eyes, a throbbing drumming at her mind behind them as the spirit-guided writing session of the last night was taking its toll. Surely there were important questions to ask, but at the moment others would have to do so in her place.
 
Blood of the Vine Tavern:

"I mean... I've no desire to leave really. This is my home, with my sisters." The woman pours herself another cup of tea, then stirs it idly as she continues. "You could try your luck at the borders, though I wouldn't recommend just running straight in. Could always try stowing away on a Vistani wagon and seeing where you end up."

"You mean that haunted ol' thing?" The other woman at the counter chimes into the conversation. "I've never seen anyone touch that gate with a 10 foot pole. I don't know what sort of game you've been playing, but it's sounding like a dangerous one." The other man sets down his third crate and looks like he really wants to leave, but she just glares him down with a stare of pure dominance as she starts going through the boxes and making sure everything was in order. "Yeah no lad, you know what happened last time."

Looking around when he mentions a Mr. Pyl'cin-Tun, the woman at the table shrugs. "If he left before I came, who knows. As far as I can tell, you are our only patrons of last night."
 
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Concerned for one of his charges Carrac rises from the table, "excuse me a moment, I'm going to check for our friend." Carrac disappears to the rooms to check for the last member of their party.

He returns a few minutes later shaking his head. "No sign of him, his gear is there but the bed hasn't been slept in. We should get going, see what's outside these doors." Turning to the woman, "How much do I owe you for the tea and room?"
 
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"Maybe he went to help the Burgomeister in the night? It seems to be his way to rush headlong into trouble at every opportunity..." Marcon remembered how Jeymus had barged into the house of hell yesterday, apparently without any assessment of the danger that it might contain. Marcon didn't really want to repeat the mistake, but he was worried for his companion. "Maybe we should go look for him there? And we could leave a note for him here in case he comes back. Does anyone have any parchment?"
 
"Maybe you are right. I'm still trying to figure out what happened to get us here." Borrowing a piece of parchment from Clover, Carrac hastily scrawls a note for Jaymus. Telling him that they will return or send word as to where they are. Leaving it with the bartender, he nods his thanks and steps out the door into the cold Barovian air.
 
Clover blinks slowly at the book she was squinting into, noticing that suddenly a sheet of parchment had vanished.

'That's odd,' she considers, then finishes the porridge and leaves the requested silver behind as she packs up to join the others.
 
"No chance of finding Jeymus there, the way he rushes around we would have heard him going bump in the night. But if we're gonna be stuck here a while the Burgomeister's house seems to be the best place to learn what this world is like." Jasper shivers a little, wrapping his arms around himself. He looks up bleakly, hoping for the sun to peek out from behind the clouds only to be disappointed.
 
Barovia Village:

The bartender nods at Carrac, taking the note and folding it neatly into quarters before stowing it in a drawer behind the counter. The woman at the table nods as you make your exit, while her supposed sister at the bar makes little note of your presence as you move past her.

After getting your things together, you step out the tavern door into the quiet air of the village you've found yourself in. Perhaps you didn't notice the night before in your hurry to rush inside to sanctuary, but there is a soft, dulled life to the surrounding town as morning slowly flows into the day proper. Most of the dwellings are simple, humble abodes, and quite a few are boarded up and left for naught -- though a few larger buildings poke out of the makeshift skyline. To the distant north, a castle pokes out ever-so-slightly amidst the overcast clouds in the horizon.

Standing in the apparent center of town, there are a few people walking down the streets in whatever direction, seemingly in a disciplined hurry. Most appear to be peasants, traveling southwards lugging farming equipment, but the tracks of hooves and the grooves of wagon wheels suggests movement of other kinds in recent hours. In the distance on the western road out of town, a hunched over figure appears to be wheeling a small cart into town.

As you take a few minutes bearings in this strange new place, the young man from before edges past you through the tavern doorway and bows slightly, muttering a small "Sorry 'bout that..." before he dips out of the way, headed around for the back of the inn.


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As the young man attempts to slip passed Carrac, he stops him with a calm hand. Speaking in a calm but firm tone he addresses him, "boy, you are from here yes? I can tell something is not right here, that much is evident. Tell me the things that they will not."
Studying his surroundings in the manner of a hawk looking for mice, nothing but his eyes and mouth move. His hand still firmly in the young man's way.
 
Barovia Village:

The young man from before looks at the outstretched hand for a moment, before sighing and looking back towards Carrac. "Erm... no, I'm not really from 'here' here, if that's what you mean. I'm just here for the delivery." He gestures awkwardly towards the back, where a rickety cart can be seen tied to a young horse on the smaller side. "From the Wiz? Anyway, I only come here for the weekly haul, and I try not to stay long before or afterwards so the boss man doesn't wonder where I've gone."

He scratches his head awkwardly, unsure of what he was talking about. "And, well... your guess is as good as mine, sir. The only person I've ever really talked to here has been that lady over there, and she just yells at me whenever I mess something up. Which is apparently most times."
 
"I don't understand then, where are you from? Outside the village? Outside the mists?" Jasper's voice rises as he speaks, growing almost to a shout. He steps back a pace and clears his throat, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Sorry, this is...rather a new experience. I don't like feeling trapped. Perhaps you would be so good as to tell us where to find a map?"
 
Barovia Village:

"Power..? I mean I guess, I don't know where else these folks would get their wine except from the Wizard o' Wines. No, I don't know why the boss man decided to call the business that -- just that people drink the stuff like water, 'round here especially," the young man says, shrugging before looking to Jasper with a slight hint of interest. "Oh, you guys aren't from Barovia? That's cool, this place is kinda lame anyway. But no, I'm just from this town called Vallaki up north. It ain't much, but it's better than here."

On the inquiry about a map, he rubs his chin in thought. "Well I suppose the place for that'd be a general store, right? Huh, I wonder if that's where Randolf went..." Distracted from his duties by the prospect of real conversation (something asides from berating his own skills), he stops and turns at the group, looking them up and down curiously."I suppose your situation sucks, but it ain't exactly my area of expertise so there's not much I can do for ya."
 
Barovia Village:

"Uh... just over there I think it is." He points over to a wide building, just down the street. "Not much else to see 'round this place, it seems. If ya see Randolf, tell him the ol' lady finally stopped yelling at me and he should help me pack for the way back. Anyway, uh... that all ya need from me?" He asks, scratching his head awkwardly. "I mean, nice chatting with ya and all, but there's only so much I can help with."
 
Dismissing the boy with a hand wave, "thank you for the help, safe travels." Carrac moves down the street toward the aforementioned general store. His eyes are that of a hunter, ones that take in everything and never stop moving.
Being more accustomed to the wilds then civilised towns, however he was still familiar with normal day to day of such places.
There was something that didn't sit right in his stomach, ever since the mists. The sensation of peril he thought would subside. However its cold grasp had yet to let go of his mind.
 
Following Carrac obliviously at first, the presence of the street and the possibility of hidden dangers sober the young elf’s mind. She maintains her vacuous stare, but the rogue concentrates slightly to see if the familiar weight of her daggers are present, then she fingers the presence of the metal bolt ready to slide in the ornately carved crossbow rescued from the house that attempted to take the life of her and her traveling companions.

“If you don’t mind, after we’re done shopping for whatever you need, would you be willing to accompany me to the forest for a short while? I’ve some somewhat common herbs I need to pick up, and … well, an abundance of funds is something I’m lacking at the moment.”

The presence in her mind stays quiet, knowing that soon enough, it'll be able to walk the world again.
 
Carrac stumbles for a moment. Guess I won't be getting paid for this trip afterall. Next time I'll have to get paid up front.

"If you seek the wilds, I'll accompany you. There were werewolves about last night, and such things are not to be trifled with lightly." His tone reassuring, in the end it wouldn't matter about getting paid. The young one needed protection and he would provide it.
 
Marcon looked from Clover to Carrac, and back again, incredulous at their conversation after everything that had happened. "You really want to go back into the forest? And for cooking ingredients?! Have you forgotten that it was getting lost in the forest that caused us to end up in this gods-forsaken place?"

Getting aggravated wasn't going to help, so Marcon took a deep breath. "I really don't think it's such a great idea and I'd be happier knowing that Mr Pyl'cin-Tun is OK. Perhaps they have the herbs you want in the store. I'll lend you the coin if that'll help?"
 
Bildrath's Mercantile:

The walk down to the wide building pointed out by the young man is simple enough, just across the street from the inn you had found sanctuary in just the night before. Along the street the various villagers continue on their merry (or not-so-merry) way, seeming to be in a hurry to make use of the little daylight that there was. Nearing closer, a small wooden sign hanging from the roof reads "Bildrath's Merchantile" in worn out letters.

The front door of the store swings open with a soft creak, showing signs of its gradual wear. It's a rather bare store, simple supplies lined across the wall and some sparse shelves, though most lie behind the counter on the far end of the wall. To that side, a gruff older eyes the newcomers and sits up ever so slightly from his seat, though still maintaining an air of apathy. "Eh? Haven't seen ye 'round here before," he says, seeming to eye you all up and down. "Can I help you folk with somethin'?"
 

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