The morning sun rises without incident. It is late morning, because it was a late night, but you have your long rest. Davian remembers his offer of wine, and repeats it, particularly (he explains) if your intention is to complete their delivery to Vallaki.
Barnaby drifts off to sleep invigorated by the day's excitement. He actually feels like it all went remarkably well. This is pretty much what he imagined life would be as he read the history books and set out on this adventure. He saved a winery for its oppressed owners from the powers of darkness. The team worked together better than they had in the past. The fights required were largely successful, and Barnaby figures it was mainly due to his strategic planning (certainly to more of a degree than it actually was).
Chubs wakes up the next morning and thinks hard about the fact that watered ale is really the perfect way to start a day. I wonder what they have to eat around here?
Kif gets up and stretches, working the kinks out of his back and shoulders. He looks at Chubs eyeing the nearest beer cask and thinks he might be on to something
Sure is a treat sleeping with a roof over our heads and a nice warm blight fire...they smell like cedar, don't they?
I suppose we must hit the road back to Vallaki and try and please the Burdermaster...at least enough so we can get Ireena to safety in Krezk or whatever that place was
Say, new winemaking friends, what might you tell us of Vallaki, it's ruler and Krezk, we hear it might be a place of safety in these uncertain lands
Barnaby's watch finished, he curls up in his bedroll, warm, dry, and safe. He thinks about just how far he has come, since his time in the library. His reflection on the day - full of struggle and triumph, exertion and conquest, chivalry and right - gives way to a quick passage into the realm of dreams.
He dreams of walking the narrow passages among the scrolls and tomes of the massive library of Waterdeep. It was such a place! Quiet and boring, to be sure, but so big. So many rows and rows of histories and stories, magic and wickedness. He walks the aisles, in his dreams, deep within the bowels of the massive stone structure. He is far underground now. Far underground. Familiar texts and scrolls give way to new, unfamiliar tomes; one of them bears the name "Van Zarovich" on the binding. In the dream it is starting to get cool, deep in the library. Then, a whiff of smoke. Smoke, in the library! Fire!
Barnaby sees the blaze. Still far away - maybe a hundred feet down this narrow aisle, past shelves and shelves of scrolls and tomes; past a few rickety ladders that librarians such as he use to reach the upper shelves. Selves where a person could find books a hundred years or more old. And now, a flame! It is yet small, but it could grow fast.
What does Barnaby do? Seek help? Try to put out the flame? Flee?
Barnaby looks towards the stairs...no time...the library...it is burning.... He turns his gaze to the flames. I am a hero. I can do this. Barnaby steps quickly and confidently forwards, removing his cloak as he goes. I will smother it quickly and all will be well. This is not a problem.
Lucento is relieved to have yet again survived so many close encounters with death (an insidious foe under the best of circumstances, but seemingly omnipresent in this dark and unfamiliar land) an accomplishment no doubt attributable to the capabilities of his steely companions, who just days earlier had been no more than strangers.
But, with the immediate threat dispatched from at least within the walls of this winery, relief is the emotion of the moment. Lucento grabs a nearby bottle of wine before finding a comfortable place to set down and, curling the bottle close, slides effortlessly into a shallow but encompassing slumber.
Say, new winemaking friends, what might you tell us of Vallaki, it's ruler and Krezk, we hear it might be a place of safety in these uncertain lands
Damian looks uncertain. You came from Vallaki? You know more of it than I do, I expect. We bring the wine to the Blue Water; we leave it, we come back to the winery. I know even less of Krezk. They are a suspicious lot, in Krezk. We bring the wagon and they take the wine. Trade empty barrels for full ones right at the gate. Haven't been to Krezk in a long time, though, with the damned cultists.
Barnaby looks towards the stairs...no time...the library...it is burning.... He turns his gaze to the flames. I am a hero. I can do this. Barnaby steps quickly and confidently forwards, removing his cloak as he goes. I will smother it quickly and all will be well. This is not a problem.
Barnaby's watch finished, he curls up in his bedroll, warm, dry, and safe. He thinks about just how far he has come, since his time in the library. His reflection on the day - full of struggle and triumph, exertion and conquest, chivalry and right - gives way to a quick passage into the realm of dreams.
He dreams of walking the narrow passages among the scrolls and tomes of the massive library of Waterdeep. It was such a place! Quiet and boring, to be sure, but so big. So many rows and rows of histories and stories, magic and wickedness. He walks the aisles, in his dreams, deep within the bowels of the massive stone structure. He is far underground now. Far underground. Familiar texts and scrolls give way to new, unfamiliar tomes; one of them bears the name "Van Zarovich" on the binding. In the dream it is starting to get cool, deep in the library. Then, a whiff of smoke. Smoke, in the library! Fire!
Barnaby sees the blaze. Still far away - maybe a hundred feet down this narrow aisle, past shelves and shelves of scrolls and tomes; past a few rickety ladders that librarians such as he use to reach the upper shelves. Selves where a person could find books a hundred years or more old. And now, a flame! It is yet small, but it could grow fast.
What does Barnaby do? Seek help? Try to put out the flame? Flee?
Barnaby looks towards the stairs...no time...the library...it is burning.... He turns his gaze to the flames. I am a hero. I can do this. Barnaby steps quickly and confidently forwards, removing his cloak as he goes. I will smother it quickly and all will be well. This is not a problem.
Dream-Barnaby hurries down the aisle, gathering his robe in his hands to snuff out the flame when he gets there. He realizes he is in a strange part of the library no, impossibly tall, with the flames so far away. He feels the ghostly presence of Dota, Chimmi, Rizz, and Bart nearby, though he cannot see them. Barnaby gets to the flame and pats at it with his robe, but the flame is growing beyond what his little gnome hands can reach. What does he do?
Barnaby's eyes grow wide. What to do? What to do? If only he were a mage like the ones in his stories, he could call upon arcane forces and smother the flames with a snap of his fingers. He shakes his head and starts stacking chairs, climbing shelves, whatever he can do to put out the flames. So many books, oh so many books. Help me children, help me my dear, help me save the library.
Barnaby will ask their hosts So, we are coming to understand that there is a curse that won't let us leave Barovia. Is this something that you are familiar with? And what of the Baron? Is he a good ruler? A fair one? Do you see much of him?
Barnaby's eyes grow wide. What to do? What to do? If only he were a mage like the ones in his stories, he could call upon arcane forces and smother the flames with a snap of his fingers. He shakes his head and starts stacking chairs, climbing shelves, whatever he can do to put out the flames. So many books, oh so many books. Help me children, help me my dear, help me save the library.
Barnaby tries and tries to douse the flames. He reaches further than he thought possible from his perch atop the rickety ladder; he pulls huge strips of fabric from his small robe, but it is not enough. Now, in this dream, his family is there, but not in the flesh. His children and wife are ghostly presences nearby, and they turn to look at him. Their expressions, though, are completely indifferent. They are present, as ghosts, but they look at him as if he is a stranger.
As the flame grow, Barnaby's vision once again returns to battling the blaze. He is using unburnt books to try to mash out the flames on those already on fire, but it is too late. All is being consumed as the library burns.
Barnaby wakes hours before dawn, sweating furiously. He remembers the dream, more or less, and cannot shake a most strange image from the moment before he woke up: A massive sloth, made of smoke and flame, peering down at him as he struggled.
Barnaby spends a few minutes wiping his brow and stilling his pounding heart. Perhaps he takes a few moments to make some notes about this strange and vivid dream; perhaps he stretches his legs a bit. He returns to his bedroll, and sleeps soundly the rest of the night.
Barnaby will ask their hosts So, we are coming to understand that there is a curse that won't let us leave Barovia. Is this something that you are familiar with? And what of the Baron? Is he a good ruler? A fair one? Do you see much of him?
Only the Vistani may come and go. If you are not Vistani, you are here with all of the rest of us.
As for the Count, we have little dealings with him. We are struggling wine-makers. The people of the valley are thirsty, and wine is their only relief. But this battle with the druids . . . I fear it will be the end of us.
Only the Vistani may come and go. If you are not Vistani, you are here with all of the rest of us.
As for the Count, we have little dealings with him. We are struggling wine-makers. The people of the valley are thirsty, and wine is their only relief. But this battle with the druids . . . I fear it will be the end of us.
Has it always been that way, or did something change?
I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps you could raise prices and retarget your ad campaign to the hipster demographic. They will pay just about any price if you use trendy labels on your bottles.
Sell our wine? We do not take coin for our wine. It is for the people of the valley, who suffer enough. The taverns and shopkeepers of the villages may sell it, in order to provide for themselves, but we do not need gold. As for hipsters, this one here, he lifts his chin toward Chubs, whose face is deep inside his magical tankard, is the first I have ever seen. And he appears to have all the drink he needs.
Here is Davian Martikov. How long have the mists surrounded the valley? Hundreds of years, I think. Maybe more. I do not really know; nobody does.
Davian explains that his delivers to Vallaki go to the Blue Water Inn, as the Baron well knows, and that two barrels will satisfy the village's needs for the foreseeable future, including the (many) festivals that Vallaki can be expected to conduct during that time. His associates - two sons of his, you gather - will drive the wagon, loaded with the delivery. If you would accompany the delivery, he would appreciate it.
At the sound of his name, Chubs lifts his face out of his mug, Huh? Wuzzat?
Barnaby: Sir, we would be honored to escort your children and their cargo safely to Vallaki. The already small gnome bows low to the ground with a flourish. We will guard their lives as if they were our own kin. And, may I say, in your picture, you look significantly less birdlike than I recall from your description last evening. Perhaps I only imagined you that way because of your name.
Kif will take second watch
And Chubs, third to get us through the night.
Barnaby portent: 5, 6
Is it wrong to fuel the fire with bits of blights? asking for a friend
lol
The morning sun rises without incident. It is late morning, because it was a late night, but you have your long rest. Davian remembers his offer of wine, and repeats it, particularly (he explains) if your intention is to complete their delivery to Vallaki.
How is everyone feeling? Did the night’s battle wear anybody out?
Barnaby drifts off to sleep invigorated by the day's excitement. He actually feels like it all went remarkably well. This is pretty much what he imagined life would be as he read the history books and set out on this adventure. He saved a winery for its oppressed owners from the powers of darkness. The team worked together better than they had in the past. The fights required were largely successful, and Barnaby figures it was mainly due to his strategic planning (certainly to more of a degree than it actually was).
Chubs wakes up the next morning and thinks hard about the fact that watered ale is really the perfect way to start a day. I wonder what they have to eat around here?
Kif gets up and stretches, working the kinks out of his back and shoulders. He looks at Chubs eyeing the nearest beer cask and thinks he might be on to something
Sure is a treat sleeping with a roof over our heads and a nice warm blight fire...they smell like cedar, don't they?
I suppose we must hit the road back to Vallaki and try and please the Burdermaster...at least enough so we can get Ireena to safety in Krezk or whatever that place was
Say, new winemaking friends, what might you tell us of Vallaki, it's ruler and Krezk, we hear it might be a place of safety in these uncertain lands
Barnaby's watch finished, he curls up in his bedroll, warm, dry, and safe. He thinks about just how far he has come, since his time in the library. His reflection on the day - full of struggle and triumph, exertion and conquest, chivalry and right - gives way to a quick passage into the realm of dreams.
He dreams of walking the narrow passages among the scrolls and tomes of the massive library of Waterdeep. It was such a place! Quiet and boring, to be sure, but so big. So many rows and rows of histories and stories, magic and wickedness. He walks the aisles, in his dreams, deep within the bowels of the massive stone structure. He is far underground now. Far underground. Familiar texts and scrolls give way to new, unfamiliar tomes; one of them bears the name "Van Zarovich" on the binding. In the dream it is starting to get cool, deep in the library. Then, a whiff of smoke. Smoke, in the library! Fire!
Barnaby sees the blaze. Still far away - maybe a hundred feet down this narrow aisle, past shelves and shelves of scrolls and tomes; past a few rickety ladders that librarians such as he use to reach the upper shelves. Selves where a person could find books a hundred years or more old. And now, a flame! It is yet small, but it could grow fast.
What does Barnaby do? Seek help? Try to put out the flame? Flee?
Barnaby looks towards the stairs...no time...the library...it is burning.... He turns his gaze to the flames. I am a hero. I can do this. Barnaby steps quickly and confidently forwards, removing his cloak as he goes. I will smother it quickly and all will be well. This is not a problem.
Lucento is relieved to have yet again survived so many close encounters with death (an insidious foe under the best of circumstances, but seemingly omnipresent in this dark and unfamiliar land) an accomplishment no doubt attributable to the capabilities of his steely companions, who just days earlier had been no more than strangers.
But, with the immediate threat dispatched from at least within the walls of this winery, relief is the emotion of the moment. Lucento grabs a nearby bottle of wine before finding a comfortable place to set down and, curling the bottle close, slides effortlessly into a shallow but encompassing slumber.
Damian looks uncertain. You came from Vallaki? You know more of it than I do, I expect. We bring the wine to the Blue Water; we leave it, we come back to the winery. I know even less of Krezk. They are a suspicious lot, in Krezk. We bring the wagon and they take the wine. Trade empty barrels for full ones right at the gate. Haven't been to Krezk in a long time, though, with the damned cultists.
Dream-Barnaby hurries down the aisle, gathering his robe in his hands to snuff out the flame when he gets there. He realizes he is in a strange part of the library no, impossibly tall, with the flames so far away. He feels the ghostly presence of Dota, Chimmi, Rizz, and Bart nearby, though he cannot see them. Barnaby gets to the flame and pats at it with his robe, but the flame is growing beyond what his little gnome hands can reach. What does he do?
Barnaby's eyes grow wide. What to do? What to do? If only he were a mage like the ones in his stories, he could call upon arcane forces and smother the flames with a snap of his fingers. He shakes his head and starts stacking chairs, climbing shelves, whatever he can do to put out the flames. So many books, oh so many books. Help me children, help me my dear, help me save the library.
Barnaby will ask their hosts So, we are coming to understand that there is a curse that won't let us leave Barovia. Is this something that you are familiar with? And what of the Baron? Is he a good ruler? A fair one? Do you see much of him?
Barnaby tries and tries to douse the flames. He reaches further than he thought possible from his perch atop the rickety ladder; he pulls huge strips of fabric from his small robe, but it is not enough. Now, in this dream, his family is there, but not in the flesh. His children and wife are ghostly presences nearby, and they turn to look at him. Their expressions, though, are completely indifferent. They are present, as ghosts, but they look at him as if he is a stranger.
As the flame grow, Barnaby's vision once again returns to battling the blaze. He is using unburnt books to try to mash out the flames on those already on fire, but it is too late. All is being consumed as the library burns.
Barnaby wakes hours before dawn, sweating furiously. He remembers the dream, more or less, and cannot shake a most strange image from the moment before he woke up: A massive sloth, made of smoke and flame, peering down at him as he struggled.
Barnaby spends a few minutes wiping his brow and stilling his pounding heart. Perhaps he takes a few moments to make some notes about this strange and vivid dream; perhaps he stretches his legs a bit. He returns to his bedroll, and sleeps soundly the rest of the night.
Only the Vistani may come and go. If you are not Vistani, you are here with all of the rest of us.
As for the Count, we have little dealings with him. We are struggling wine-makers. The people of the valley are thirsty, and wine is their only relief. But this battle with the druids . . . I fear it will be the end of us.
Has it always been that way, or did something change?
I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps you could raise prices and retarget your ad campaign to the hipster demographic. They will pay just about any price if you use trendy labels on your bottles.
Sell our wine? We do not take coin for our wine. It is for the people of the valley, who suffer enough. The taverns and shopkeepers of the villages may sell it, in order to provide for themselves, but we do not need gold. As for hipsters, this one here, he lifts his chin toward Chubs, whose face is deep inside his magical tankard, is the first I have ever seen. And he appears to have all the drink he needs.
Here is Davian Martikov. How long have the mists surrounded the valley? Hundreds of years, I think. Maybe more. I do not really know; nobody does.
Davian explains that his delivers to Vallaki go to the Blue Water Inn, as the Baron well knows, and that two barrels will satisfy the village's needs for the foreseeable future, including the (many) festivals that Vallaki can be expected to conduct during that time. His associates - two sons of his, you gather - will drive the wagon, loaded with the delivery. If you would accompany the delivery, he would appreciate it.
At the sound of his name, Chubs lifts his face out of his mug, Huh? Wuzzat?
Barnaby: Sir, we would be honored to escort your children and their cargo safely to Vallaki. The already small gnome bows low to the ground with a flourish. We will guard their lives as if they were our own kin. And, may I say, in your picture, you look significantly less birdlike than I recall from your description last evening. Perhaps I only imagined you that way because of your name.
Thank you sir. The Burgomister had some specific requests...not sure if you can accommodate
KIf shares the list the berdermeistar demanded
If not the barrels you have available will do and we would be happy to escort...do we have enough time to get there before nightfall?