The road northwest leads down into the woods along a narrower path that has seen less use. Gradually, the sound of the River Ivlis grows louder, though it is much too far away to be seen. Several "peaceful" hours pass, giving you time to chat or self-reflect as your preference may be.
Day 3 - 3:00 p.m.
The road gradually disappears and is replaced by a twisted, muddy path through the trees. Deep ruts in the earth are evidence of the comings and goings of wagons.
The canopy of mist and branches suddenly gives way to black clouds boiling far above. There is a clearing here, next to a river that widens to form a small lake several hundred feet across. Five colorful round tents, each ten feet in diameter, are pitched outside a ring of four barrel-topped wagons. A much larger tent stands near the shore of the lake, its sagging form lit from within. Near this tent, eight unbridled horses drink from the river.
The mournful strains of an accordion clash with the singing of several brightly clad figures around a bonfire. Several Vistani lounge around it, drinking, dancing, and making music. One notices your presence and nudges another, a large, broad man. He smiles and waves as he approaches you. "Hey, Giorgio! You are just in time! Come join us for some wine, hey?"
Alessa put her hand on Grano, not so much as covering little owl-spirit, as getting strength in his presence. "A hanged man on the cross-road. Some... rituals require that. No, I am not familiar with them but they are not of a good kind". It seemed all her intense studies were useless in this place but the superstitious nonsense suddenly turned out to be if not useful then at least meaningful. "Crossroads are a bad place by themselves - if you believe the most ancient superstitions. A place "between the worlds". If there is a cemetery here, it has to be for criminals and those who committed suicide." She sighed. "Or so say the tales and legends. The best thing to do is to walk your path and do not look back. I mean, literally, not to turn and look - it is an ill omen to do so." Not that there were any other types of omens around here.
The information was unlikely to lighten the mood. At least it did not do so for her. She stroked Grano's feathers again and asked the little bird about his voyage to Ismark. It was a much more pleasant subject, or so she hoped.
Vistani camp was such a lovely sign by now, Alessa felt like she wants to hug the first one she sees. Even if they truly were the reason the group ended up here, they were people - warmblooded, very much alive humans, not shadows, and did not try to kill the group on sight.
Ed walks to the front of the group, seemingly offering the same friendly smile and warm tone to these folks as he did to Hans, "Ho there. No Giorgio here sir, I am Ed. You folks always seem to have wine to go around. You are Vistani, correct?" Taking his chances, Ed move forwards into the camp figuring that there are enough tents that if things were to turn bad it wouldn't go in their favour regardless. "We appreciate the hospitality sir, the last man whose hand I offered to shake instead bit by friend there. This is, Sezsu, Zied, and Alessa. What should we call you each by?"
Ed waits for their names before continuing (assuming they aren't now attacking him), "We have travelled from Barovia village to find your people, one in particular actually. Perhaps you know Madam Eva? Maybe she is with your caravan?"
"I am Arahja!" exclaims the the broad Vistani man. He is well over six feet tall and broad as one of the traveling wagons. A great beard, black mixed with silver, cascades down over his chest, and a mane of curly hair falls carelessly past his shoulders. He is dressed in rust-colored, loose-fitting pants and a purple vest over a stained, white shirt. A pipe rests behind one ear. "And you, are guests! Come, come!"
He ushers you closer to the bonfire, where a half-dozen others greet you with expectant grins. Arahja offers you seats on a fallen tree draped with several brightly colored quilts. On one end sits a friendly, wrinkled older woman mending a shirt. Her head is wrapped in a colorful scarf, and her smile reveals a few missing teeth. "Sit with Rina! She is a shae, honored elder." Rina remains quiet, but gently pats the quilt next to her.
Another man pours wine into several cups and Arahja offers these to each of you. "And now, if you are comfortable, you will share with us your story, hey?"
"Hey!" echo the others. Rina raises a trembling hand. "Give them time to breath, Arahja. You young people are always in such a hurry. When they are ready, they will speak." She returns to mending the clothing. Although she suffers from a palsy, she threads her needle with practiced ease.
The Vistani chuckle at Ed's comment. "Giorgio is our word for others, not Vistani," Arahja explains. "You are Giorgio. We can tell by the tan on your skin! Look, look! Enjoy it while it last. Soon you will be pale like us!"
"Oh, Madame Eva! Yes, yes! We have heard of her," he says with a grin. "You may come across her, if your Rema decides so."
"Rema? Is this like a fate?" Plale skin of this Vistani was a touch worrisome - can it be they are not those that travel through the mist? But the fire was so welcoming Allessa accepted the invitation immediately and sat by Rima. "Is not madam Eva in your camp?"
Ed takes Rina's hand and lightly touches his forehead to it, offering a sign of respect for the woman. "An honour to meet...err.. an honoured one. Our tale is brief, so I can recount it for Arahja. We encountered some of your people in our lands, near the town of my birth. A man named Stanimir lead the troupe. He told us the story of the Vistani, of the prince to whom you owed a life debt. He asked for our help, and despite our need to attend to other matters, we awoke the next day in the mists of this land. We have been through the village of Barovia, and now head to Tser pool, whilst it seems that mots things in this land are trying to kill us.
"Yes, Rema!" Rina replies. "The three threads of fate. Kindness brings kindness, and hate brings hate." She peers at Alessa as though trying to look through her. "Your Rema is all knotted."
The Vistani smile at one another when Alessa asks about Madame Eva. Arahja looks at one of the men and tilts his head, and the man sets off toward the river. "We are in Madame Eva's camp. It is not for us to decide who she receives. As I say, Rema decides, hey?"
"Oh-eeey!" replies one of the women in a mournful tone, shaking a tambourine. The accordion resumes, and several of the group jump into a dance, twirling their hands over their heads.
Arahja claps his hands, calling for silence as Ed speaks. He nods seriously. "Well yes, that is certainly a tale. But you need practice! There is no life in this story! No mystery, no romance, no danger. If Stanimir sought you out, then there is more to you than meets eye. Tell us about who you were before... the mists. Tell us... a story."
The fire explodes with embers, sending sparks flying up into the sky.
Unsure whether or not the audience was allowed to interrupt a shae while she is talking, Alessa waited until the pause became obvious and dared to ask a question. "But you have not seen the wizard's body carried away by the river? He sounded very strong and wizards... have many resources at their disposal. Can it be he is still alive despite all of this? Maybe some rumours?" Realizing she was getting too excited and talkative, Alessa stopped and just looked at Rima with anticipation and hope.
"It is also more fun when the story doesn't have an end. A cliffhanger. A revenge plot, a return of a hero or villain. Stories are endless. And on occasionally it is surprisingly hard for death to stick." Zied adds to Alessa's commentary on the story.
"Shame you didn't get any rewards for such a climb. Were you a good climber for such a cliff near here?"
Rina circles her wrists and fingers near her face, her bracelets jangling. "Who can say? There are many rumors in Barovia, of all manner of strange and terrible thing. But no, wizard's body was not seen again." She shrugs. "Maybe he is undead now, eh? Or, maybe just food for worm."
Around that time, the Vistani man who had disappeared into the camp returns. He gives a serious look toward Arahja, tilting his head over toward the large tent. Arahja stands. "Well! With luck you will have happier fate, hey? Madame Eva may help you find it. She has agreed to see you. Come, come!" This news causes the Vistani within earshot to look meaningful toward one another, whispering feverishly in an unfamiliar dialect. Arahja leads you toward the largest tent, a deep red affair with heavy canvas curtains. He pulls the curtain aside, inviting you inside.
Magic flames within an old, iron brazier cast a reddish glow over the interior, revealing a low table covered in a black velvet cloth. Glints of light seem to flash from a crystal ball on the table. A hunched figure cloaked in dark blue robes and a red hood crouches over another table covered in all manner of esoteric items--animal bones, strangely colored rocks, jars filled with dried herbs and mushrooms. As the crone speaks, her voice crackles like dry weeds. "Well! Travelers from woods. Come to receive your fortune from Madame Eva, have you?" The figure slowly turns, revealing an incredibly wrinkled old woman. Both of her eyes are a grayish white, totally blind. "Are you sure you want to know?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Glancing at his acquaintances for a moment. "Regardless of want, it seems to be imperative, given the situation we've apparently come into." commenting such, Zied allows those who have more m agic or religious connotations than he to guide the conversation as he looks around the hovel-home briefly.
Perc: Just kind of checking around, maybe something will catch his attention per what we've seen or the troup we encountered prior to kidnapping. 7 + 4
Ed follows into the tent and bows his head in respect of the old lady's standing within the camp. "We came seeking a way back ma'am. Our fortunes are in the hands of the gods, and our own actions. Though any information you can give us towards our ends is gratefully received."
His tone is polite but quite 'matter of fact'. The premise of this woman reading his future is clearly not something that sits well with the devout follower of Lathander.
The idea of an undead wizard roaming the wilderness looked too realistic (after everything they saw here) and Alessandra was relieved to change the subject (and the place). She entered the tent with curiosity not sure what to expect and kept the politely neutral expression to not offend a revered person. "We are not sure why we came. Though, as my friend said, hope you could help us return home. Stanimir told us about you, calling you "the leader, who knows all". He also told us the story of a cursed Prince and claimed he was searching for us to break this Prince's curse. Kind of implying you were the one sending him and his people. But before we could give him any answer we were brought to this land by some unknown means."Normally, Lessa would never be so open to someone she just met, but others already knew the story and that woman looked like withholding information... could lead to trouble. "Since then we were following the only lead we knew about - your name."
Speaking up for the first time since they'd entered the camp, Sezsu quietly says, "Madame, if our fortune tells of our return to our own land, I'll gladly hear it. But if not, I'm not certain I could handle it. Our weapons and protectives were taken from us. We've been accosted by the undead, werewolves, giant bugs, and churlish merchants. If Stanimir waylaid us, I would hope that he or one of his fellows are able to tell us how to return. The only thing he said to that end was to seek you out so here we are. So how can we be of service to you? You are our only hope at this point."
“Stanimir, yes,” croaks Madame Eva as she hobbles toward the velvet-clad table in which the crystal ball rests. “He believes he follows my desires, but the man is on quest of his own. And I let him do as he wants. Rema is fickle, is it not. What good is prediction if not obeyed? As for you, well. I suppose Stanimir thinks you are the chosen. We shall see.”
The crone glares with her white eyes at each of you in turn. Her face twists into a scowl, her tone reproachful.
“Edlanar Holbrook, the knife that cuts. Failed as priest of your faith, you have resorted to raising arms in violence against those who contradict your worldview. You are weapon of vengeance, and your burning god uses you for its own secret aims, though you cannot see it. But there is hope for you yet. Your order is older than you know. Perhaps its teachings have not been completely lost to time. If you are wise enough to recognize them.”
“Sezsu Utshoza, the small. Another servant of an indifferent god. You wear raiment of faith and profess your devotion, yet you are more driven by earthly desires. You wear anger like clothes, fashioned as disdain or indifference, but it marks you as vulnerable, unpredictable, and dangerous. A self-professed wise man, yet lacking wisdom. You are in desperate need for guidance. If you are to survive, you must learn to respect voice of those who possess wealth of age and experience. I am not optimistic.”
“And Zied Zelgadis, the golem heart. You are one of most ghastly abominations in this cursed realm, and none here even realize. The entity within will corrupt from the inside out, just as the dark comes creeping ever close from without. More fool you, to believe you will find this treasure that you seek. But, in place once holy and now unhallowed, there is one who may have dark secrets you so desire. Will you be brave enough to ask?”
Madame Eva crooks her neck toward Alessa. She pauses, her brow furrowed.
“Alessandra Tagor, the lost one. A name. A character. A persona presented to the world. But you have no idea who you are, you poor child. Your whole life has been mystery even to you. You walk in shadow of time itself, out of sync with reverberations of echoes of untold lives before. And what you do know of yourself is such a horrible truth--ah yes, Madame Eva sees--it is kept secret even to those you called friend and beloved.”
"Selfish, secretive, and ignorant. Does not sound like chosen to me." Madame Eva claims a seat before the table, groaning with the effort. "Well, have you heard enough? It is just hocus pocus, no? Or do you think Stanimir is right? Are you the chosen who will at last conquer Strahd?" She produces a large deck of cards, black with strange, golden symbols.
Alessandra listened with the most even measured calm expression a human face could express. "No," answered she slowly when the old woman stopped, "no, we are not. And we said as much to Stanimir." She looked at Madam Eva with the same distant polite smile-less expression. "Your readings are quite interesting, but we truly did not come to discuss our secrets - real or imaginary,"(she had to say it, though did not emphasize the last words), "but to ask for help." Before Alessa could continue she had to take a small breath and touch Grano's feathers, because it felt like she was about to make a request to a devil. "If Stanimir is indeed one of your people, he can travel to our land. What price would you take for helping us to return home?"
Deciding immediately as Eva degrades one of her own with her beginning sentence. Further continuing to apparently throw predictions, mixed with insults towards his cohorts. Ed's burning god does remind him of the light that burned him-as well as the undeath in Ismark's home. Uncertain why Seszu is "small" to this old kodger, but the impuslive self professed wiseman motif did remind him of Seszu. But. So what? Nothing is done without confidence in ones self. Older does not always mean wiser, and wiser does not always mean correct..
Zied feels as if his heart dropped-if he stil a real one. Golem Heart, that should be a term unknown to almost anything still around except perhaps in that college; much less in this world. "Hah. Mayhap you've been watching us-Overheard the discussion concerning myself." Zied deflects and reaches, purposfully steering away from GolemHeart. "Dark Secrets. You don't ask for secrets, you take them. If they are freely given they are not secrets." he replies firmly. After all, whether she's accurate, or somehow read their pasts. If there is knowledge for his goal-he would most certainly take it. He owed it to her who did the same. Who shared her secrets.
Wrapped up in his own thoughts he largely misses the commentary on Alessa, though the commentary reminds him of the odd visitor previous.
" I don't care what Stanimir thinks. Choosen means someone chose, there is no further meaning behind it-No fate, No prophicy. Whether he chooses, you chooses, or Strahd chooses. That choice forces the world to turn on that decision. Hence-his choice brought us here, as your choice sent him to us. I care not for dictators nor Strahd"-Zied really had no respect nor fear of using the name as others have.-"If you have the power to send us back, like you sent Stanimir. I bid you make the choice to do so. For we have already made our choice to return to what we left behind."
Edlanar stands resolute at Madam Eva's vindictive words. Again he stays silent whilst Alessa and then Zied bite back against the supposed secrets in their past. The humour is gone from Ed's tone as he speaks, something else is there... sorrow? regret? He falls to his knees in front of the woman, his words a quiet wail, "Madam Eva, it is true... all of your words. I was no good, my time as an acolyte was fraught with failure, it showed me I was ill-suited to serve the priesthood. Blind luck put me on that field, beating those boys for their taunts, taking my vengeance. I see not into people's depths, Stanimir seemed a man desperate to help his people and not a man twisting belief in your desires..." He throws his head back, his hands to his face covering his eyes, his voice has changed, it almost seems like he is crying... or trying to cry?
A tumultous laugh escapes from the Paladin, full of the mirth and pomp his companions are used to seeing. "Hah, I was not cut out for the stage either, but you probably saw that too Madam. I fear you entirely misjudge the details of my past. My failures amongst my peers taught me humility amongst even the basest of people, to serve the people before the church. That blind luck was the unseen hand, guiding me to where I found teachings that must be experienced rather than told. I am wholly given to my cause, Lathander's light illuminates our paths, we must each walk our own, we must make our own judgements, we must act as we believe to be right. My wrath comes not from vengeance, it comes from devotion."
Edlanar is standing again, tall and proud, the timbre of his voice ringing out, his conviction overwhelming. "You seek to shame my friends and I with your words, to twist our confidence and prove your talents. You talk about us being chosen as though it matters to us. Our search is to find a way home though our journey has shown us a land fraught with strife. I care not a damn about being chosen, I care about helping these people and my friends. If you have any power within you to aid us, then do so or we will manage by ourselves!"
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Bring out your inner chatacter class...
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The road northwest leads down into the woods along a narrower path that has seen less use. Gradually, the sound of the River Ivlis grows louder, though it is much too far away to be seen. Several "peaceful" hours pass, giving you time to chat or self-reflect as your preference may be.
Day 3 - 3:00 p.m.
The road gradually disappears and is replaced by a twisted, muddy path through the trees. Deep ruts in the earth are evidence of the comings and goings of wagons.
The canopy of mist and branches suddenly gives way to black clouds boiling far above. There is a clearing here, next to a river that widens to form a small lake several hundred feet across. Five colorful round tents, each ten feet in diameter, are pitched outside a ring of four barrel-topped wagons. A much larger tent stands near the shore of the lake, its sagging form lit from within. Near this tent, eight unbridled horses drink from the river.
The mournful strains of an accordion clash with the singing of several brightly clad figures around a bonfire. Several Vistani lounge around it, drinking, dancing, and making music. One notices your presence and nudges another, a large, broad man. He smiles and waves as he approaches you. "Hey, Giorgio! You are just in time! Come join us for some wine, hey?"
Alessa put her hand on Grano, not so much as covering little owl-spirit, as getting strength in his presence. "A hanged man on the cross-road. Some... rituals require that. No, I am not familiar with them but they are not of a good kind". It seemed all her intense studies were useless in this place but the superstitious nonsense suddenly turned out to be if not useful then at least meaningful. "Crossroads are a bad place by themselves - if you believe the most ancient superstitions. A place "between the worlds". If there is a cemetery here, it has to be for criminals and those who committed suicide." She sighed. "Or so say the tales and legends. The best thing to do is to walk your path and do not look back. I mean, literally, not to turn and look - it is an ill omen to do so." Not that there were any other types of omens around here.
The information was unlikely to lighten the mood. At least it did not do so for her. She stroked Grano's feathers again and asked the little bird about his voyage to Ismark. It was a much more pleasant subject, or so she hoped.
Vistani camp was such a lovely sign by now, Alessa felt like she wants to hug the first one she sees. Even if they truly were the reason the group ended up here, they were people - warmblooded, very much alive humans, not shadows, and did not try to kill the group on sight.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
Ed walks to the front of the group, seemingly offering the same friendly smile and warm tone to these folks as he did to Hans, "Ho there. No Giorgio here sir, I am Ed. You folks always seem to have wine to go around. You are Vistani, correct?" Taking his chances, Ed move forwards into the camp figuring that there are enough tents that if things were to turn bad it wouldn't go in their favour regardless. "We appreciate the hospitality sir, the last man whose hand I offered to shake instead bit by friend there. This is, Sezsu, Zied, and Alessa. What should we call you each by?"
Ed waits for their names before continuing (assuming they aren't now attacking him), "We have travelled from Barovia village to find your people, one in particular actually. Perhaps you know Madam Eva? Maybe she is with your caravan?"
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
"I am Arahja!" exclaims the the broad Vistani man. He is well over six feet tall and broad as one of the traveling wagons. A great beard, black mixed with silver, cascades down over his chest, and a mane of curly hair falls carelessly past his shoulders. He is dressed in rust-colored, loose-fitting pants and a purple vest over a stained, white shirt. A pipe rests behind one ear. "And you, are guests! Come, come!"
He ushers you closer to the bonfire, where a half-dozen others greet you with expectant grins. Arahja offers you seats on a fallen tree draped with several brightly colored quilts. On one end sits a friendly, wrinkled older woman mending a shirt. Her head is wrapped in a colorful scarf, and her smile reveals a few missing teeth. "Sit with Rina! She is a shae, honored elder." Rina remains quiet, but gently pats the quilt next to her.
Another man pours wine into several cups and Arahja offers these to each of you. "And now, if you are comfortable, you will share with us your story, hey?"
"Hey!" echo the others. Rina raises a trembling hand. "Give them time to breath, Arahja. You young people are always in such a hurry. When they are ready, they will speak." She returns to mending the clothing. Although she suffers from a palsy, she threads her needle with practiced ease.
The Vistani chuckle at Ed's comment. "Giorgio is our word for others, not Vistani," Arahja explains. "You are Giorgio. We can tell by the tan on your skin! Look, look! Enjoy it while it last. Soon you will be pale like us!"
"Oh, Madame Eva! Yes, yes! We have heard of her," he says with a grin. "You may come across her, if your Rema decides so."
"Rema? Is this like a fate?" Plale skin of this Vistani was a touch worrisome - can it be they are not those that travel through the mist? But the fire was so welcoming Allessa accepted the invitation immediately and sat by Rima. "Is not madam Eva in your camp?"
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
Ed takes Rina's hand and lightly touches his forehead to it, offering a sign of respect for the woman. "An honour to meet...err.. an honoured one. Our tale is brief, so I can recount it for Arahja. We encountered some of your people in our lands, near the town of my birth. A man named Stanimir lead the troupe. He told us the story of the Vistani, of the prince to whom you owed a life debt. He asked for our help, and despite our need to attend to other matters, we awoke the next day in the mists of this land. We have been through the village of Barovia, and now head to Tser pool, whilst it seems that mots things in this land are trying to kill us.
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
"Yes, Rema!" Rina replies. "The three threads of fate. Kindness brings kindness, and hate brings hate." She peers at Alessa as though trying to look through her. "Your Rema is all knotted."
The Vistani smile at one another when Alessa asks about Madame Eva. Arahja looks at one of the men and tilts his head, and the man sets off toward the river. "We are in Madame Eva's camp. It is not for us to decide who she receives. As I say, Rema decides, hey?"
"Oh-eeey!" replies one of the women in a mournful tone, shaking a tambourine. The accordion resumes, and several of the group jump into a dance, twirling their hands over their heads.
Arahja claps his hands, calling for silence as Ed speaks. He nods seriously. "Well yes, that is certainly a tale. But you need practice! There is no life in this story! No mystery, no romance, no danger. If Stanimir sought you out, then there is more to you than meets eye. Tell us about who you were before... the mists. Tell us... a story."
The fire explodes with embers, sending sparks flying up into the sky.
"Arahja. Leave them be." Rina's voice is soft but determinative in tone. "I have story to tell."
Unsure whether or not the audience was allowed to interrupt a shae while she is talking, Alessa waited until the pause became obvious and dared to ask a question. "But you have not seen the wizard's body carried away by the river? He sounded very strong and wizards... have many resources at their disposal. Can it be he is still alive despite all of this? Maybe some rumours?" Realizing she was getting too excited and talkative, Alessa stopped and just looked at Rima with anticipation and hope.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
"It is also more fun when the story doesn't have an end. A cliffhanger. A revenge plot, a return of a hero or villain. Stories are endless. And on occasionally it is surprisingly hard for death to stick." Zied adds to Alessa's commentary on the story.
"Shame you didn't get any rewards for such a climb. Were you a good climber for such a cliff near here?"
Rina circles her wrists and fingers near her face, her bracelets jangling. "Who can say? There are many rumors in Barovia, of all manner of strange and terrible thing. But no, wizard's body was not seen again." She shrugs. "Maybe he is undead now, eh? Or, maybe just food for worm."
Around that time, the Vistani man who had disappeared into the camp returns. He gives a serious look toward Arahja, tilting his head over toward the large tent. Arahja stands. "Well! With luck you will have happier fate, hey? Madame Eva may help you find it. She has agreed to see you. Come, come!" This news causes the Vistani within earshot to look meaningful toward one another, whispering feverishly in an unfamiliar dialect. Arahja leads you toward the largest tent, a deep red affair with heavy canvas curtains. He pulls the curtain aside, inviting you inside.
Magic flames within an old, iron brazier cast a reddish glow over the interior, revealing a low table covered in a black velvet cloth. Glints of light seem to flash from a crystal ball on the table. A hunched figure cloaked in dark blue robes and a red hood crouches over another table covered in all manner of esoteric items--animal bones, strangely colored rocks, jars filled with dried herbs and mushrooms. As the crone speaks, her voice crackles like dry weeds. "Well! Travelers from woods. Come to receive your fortune from Madame Eva, have you?" The figure slowly turns, revealing an incredibly wrinkled old woman. Both of her eyes are a grayish white, totally blind. "Are you sure you want to know?"
Glancing at his acquaintances for a moment. "Regardless of want, it seems to be imperative, given the situation we've apparently come into." commenting such, Zied allows those who have more m agic or religious connotations than he to guide the conversation as he looks around the hovel-home briefly.
Perc: Just kind of checking around, maybe something will catch his attention per what we've seen or the troup we encountered prior to kidnapping. 7 + 4
Ed follows into the tent and bows his head in respect of the old lady's standing within the camp. "We came seeking a way back ma'am. Our fortunes are in the hands of the gods, and our own actions. Though any information you can give us towards our ends is gratefully received."
His tone is polite but quite 'matter of fact'. The premise of this woman reading his future is clearly not something that sits well with the devout follower of Lathander.
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
The idea of an undead wizard roaming the wilderness looked too realistic (after everything they saw here) and Alessandra was relieved to change the subject (and the place). She entered the tent with curiosity not sure what to expect and kept the politely neutral expression to not offend a revered person. "We are not sure why we came. Though, as my friend said, hope you could help us return home. Stanimir told us about you, calling you "the leader, who knows all". He also told us the story of a cursed Prince and claimed he was searching for us to break this Prince's curse. Kind of implying you were the one sending him and his people. But before we could give him any answer we were brought to this land by some unknown means." Normally, Lessa would never be so open to someone she just met, but others already knew the story and that woman looked like withholding information... could lead to trouble. "Since then we were following the only lead we knew about - your name."
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
Speaking up for the first time since they'd entered the camp, Sezsu quietly says, "Madame, if our fortune tells of our return to our own land, I'll gladly hear it. But if not, I'm not certain I could handle it. Our weapons and protectives were taken from us. We've been accosted by the undead, werewolves, giant bugs, and churlish merchants. If Stanimir waylaid us, I would hope that he or one of his fellows are able to tell us how to return. The only thing he said to that end was to seek you out so here we are. So how can we be of service to you? You are our only hope at this point."
Characters currently being ruined on this forum:
Neria Tallfellow (Halfling Rogue) - Curse of the Crimson Throne with Ashen_Age
“Stanimir, yes,” croaks Madame Eva as she hobbles toward the velvet-clad table in which the crystal ball rests. “He believes he follows my desires, but the man is on quest of his own. And I let him do as he wants. Rema is fickle, is it not. What good is prediction if not obeyed? As for you, well. I suppose Stanimir thinks you are the chosen. We shall see.”
The crone glares with her white eyes at each of you in turn. Her face twists into a scowl, her tone reproachful.
“Edlanar Holbrook, the knife that cuts. Failed as priest of your faith, you have resorted to raising arms in violence against those who contradict your worldview. You are weapon of vengeance, and your burning god uses you for its own secret aims, though you cannot see it. But there is hope for you yet. Your order is older than you know. Perhaps its teachings have not been completely lost to time. If you are wise enough to recognize them.”
“Sezsu Utshoza, the small. Another servant of an indifferent god. You wear raiment of faith and profess your devotion, yet you are more driven by earthly desires. You wear anger like clothes, fashioned as disdain or indifference, but it marks you as vulnerable, unpredictable, and dangerous. A self-professed wise man, yet lacking wisdom. You are in desperate need for guidance. If you are to survive, you must learn to respect voice of those who possess wealth of age and experience. I am not optimistic.”
“And Zied Zelgadis, the golem heart. You are one of most ghastly abominations in this cursed realm, and none here even realize. The entity within will corrupt from the inside out, just as the dark comes creeping ever close from without. More fool you, to believe you will find this treasure that you seek. But, in place once holy and now unhallowed, there is one who may have dark secrets you so desire. Will you be brave enough to ask?”
Madame Eva crooks her neck toward Alessa. She pauses, her brow furrowed.
“Alessandra Tagor, the lost one. A name. A character. A persona presented to the world. But you have no idea who you are, you poor child. Your whole life has been mystery even to you. You walk in shadow of time itself, out of sync with reverberations of echoes of untold lives before. And what you do know of yourself is such a horrible truth--ah yes, Madame Eva sees--it is kept secret even to those you called friend and beloved.”
"Selfish, secretive, and ignorant. Does not sound like chosen to me." Madame Eva claims a seat before the table, groaning with the effort. "Well, have you heard enough? It is just hocus pocus, no? Or do you think Stanimir is right? Are you the chosen who will at last conquer Strahd?" She produces a large deck of cards, black with strange, golden symbols.
Alessandra listened with the most even measured calm expression a human face could express. "No," answered she slowly when the old woman stopped, "no, we are not. And we said as much to Stanimir." She looked at Madam Eva with the same distant polite smile-less expression. "Your readings are quite interesting, but we truly did not come to discuss our secrets - real or imaginary," (she had to say it, though did not emphasize the last words), "but to ask for help." Before Alessa could continue she had to take a small breath and touch Grano's feathers, because it felt like she was about to make a request to a devil. "If Stanimir is indeed one of your people, he can travel to our land. What price would you take for helping us to return home?"
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
Deciding immediately as Eva degrades one of her own with her beginning sentence. Further continuing to apparently throw predictions, mixed with insults towards his cohorts. Ed's burning god does remind him of the light that burned him-as well as the undeath in Ismark's home. Uncertain why Seszu is "small" to this old kodger, but the impuslive self professed wiseman motif did remind him of Seszu. But. So what? Nothing is done without confidence in ones self. Older does not always mean wiser, and wiser does not always mean correct..
Zied feels as if his heart dropped-if he stil a real one. Golem Heart, that should be a term unknown to almost anything still around except perhaps in that college; much less in this world. "Hah. Mayhap you've been watching us-Overheard the discussion concerning myself." Zied deflects and reaches, purposfully steering away from GolemHeart. "Dark Secrets. You don't ask for secrets, you take them. If they are freely given they are not secrets." he replies firmly. After all, whether she's accurate, or somehow read their pasts. If there is knowledge for his goal-he would most certainly take it. He owed it to her who did the same. Who shared her secrets.
Wrapped up in his own thoughts he largely misses the commentary on Alessa, though the commentary reminds him of the odd visitor previous.
" I don't care what Stanimir thinks. Choosen means someone chose, there is no further meaning behind it-No fate, No prophicy. Whether he chooses, you chooses, or Strahd chooses. That choice forces the world to turn on that decision. Hence-his choice brought us here, as your choice sent him to us. I care not for dictators nor Strahd"-Zied really had no respect nor fear of using the name as others have.-"If you have the power to send us back, like you sent Stanimir. I bid you make the choice to do so. For we have already made our choice to return to what we left behind."
Edlanar stands resolute at Madam Eva's vindictive words. Again he stays silent whilst Alessa and then Zied bite back against the supposed secrets in their past. The humour is gone from Ed's tone as he speaks, something else is there... sorrow? regret? He falls to his knees in front of the woman, his words a quiet wail, "Madam Eva, it is true... all of your words. I was no good, my time as an acolyte was fraught with failure, it showed me I was ill-suited to serve the priesthood. Blind luck put me on that field, beating those boys for their taunts, taking my vengeance. I see not into people's depths, Stanimir seemed a man desperate to help his people and not a man twisting belief in your desires..." He throws his head back, his hands to his face covering his eyes, his voice has changed, it almost seems like he is crying... or trying to cry?
A tumultous laugh escapes from the Paladin, full of the mirth and pomp his companions are used to seeing. "Hah, I was not cut out for the stage either, but you probably saw that too Madam. I fear you entirely misjudge the details of my past. My failures amongst my peers taught me humility amongst even the basest of people, to serve the people before the church. That blind luck was the unseen hand, guiding me to where I found teachings that must be experienced rather than told. I am wholly given to my cause, Lathander's light illuminates our paths, we must each walk our own, we must make our own judgements, we must act as we believe to be right. My wrath comes not from vengeance, it comes from devotion."
Edlanar is standing again, tall and proud, the timbre of his voice ringing out, his conviction overwhelming. "You seek to shame my friends and I with your words, to twist our confidence and prove your talents. You talk about us being chosen as though it matters to us. Our search is to find a way home though our journey has shown us a land fraught with strife. I care not a damn about being chosen, I care about helping these people and my friends. If you have any power within you to aid us, then do so or we will manage by ourselves!"
Bring out your inner chatacter class...