Madame Eva wheezes with laughter at Alessa’s request, the air escaping through thin, dried lips.  Many of her teeth are missing, and the few that remain are gray with decay.  “You think that I, or any Vistani have power over mist?  Heh!  Strahd controls mists.  Strahd is the land. It is only with his permission our folk may come and go.  And you are not Vistani.”

Tilting her ear toward Zied, she smiles.  “Ah yes.  Madame Eva overhears discussions where you speak of your secrets and fears.  And which discussions were those, exactly?  And it is not for Stanimir, nor me, and certainly not Strahd to decide your Rema.  Threads are already tied.  At best, I can describe them.  Better to say, the Tarokka will tell.”  She brandishes her cards.

She grows silent as Ed appears to break down, only to rise again defiantly.  “That is more like it,” she says quietly.  “You will need this fire if you are to face darkness, to wade through it and emerge alive from other side.  And there is… much darkness here.”

“Sit.  Let us see what Tarokka have to say.”

Four small stools--were they present before?--are tucked against the wall of the tent.

Her old hands working deftly, the ancient seer removes fourteen cards from the top of the deck, setting them aside. The remaining cards, she shuffles nimbly twice, three times, four.

Madam Eva sets both decks upon the surface of the velvet table. Closing her eyes, she places her right hand over the surface of the larger deck. The crimson flames dim and swirl in eldritch patterns as her lips move silently, a distant tension spreading through the air. The sounds of the rustling trees and rippling pool beyond the tent's walls begin to dim, the external world growing mute and insubstantial as the space within grows more solid - more real.

Slowly, reverently, the crone draws three cards from the top of the deck, laying them face down separately on the table, with the second laid between and above its partners. She then moves to the smaller deck, drawing two more cards. The first, she places below the first three, forming a cross. The second, she places in the center.

The lights of the candles sway like silhouettes, leaning in toward the cards like anxious watchers - yet the air in the tent is perfectly still. No light intrudes through the seams in the tent's walls; no voice rings out in the silence. Shadows and mist swirl at the boundaries of the tent, where the darkness of deepest night dwells - but here, at its center, light yet reigns.

The crone then moves her wrinkled hand to the left-most card - the first. She closes her eyes and tilts her head, as if listening to an unspoken word. The arcane lights swirl and then shift, their colors changing to a deep, piercing blue. "This card tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient will help you better understand your enemy."

She flips the card.

The cerulean light dances across its surface, revealing an illustration of a hooded man who scowls while twisting the wheel of a rack. "The Nine of Swords - the Torturer." Her white eyes shift from side to side, as though reading from an unseen text. "There is a town where all is not well. There you will find a house of corruption, and within, a dark room full of still ghosts."

 She moves her hand to the second card, this one at the top of the cross. As she closes her eyes and listens once more, the candlelight flares, its color bursting into a fierce, cheery yellow.

"This card tells of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope."

She flips the card.

This time, the light reveals a new illustration: an armor-clad, determined maiden presenting a fine and noble sword. "The One of Swords - the Avenger." Her blind eyes stare deep into the shadows that lurk in the corners of the tent. "The treasure lies in a dragon’s house, in hands once clean and now corrupted."

She moves her hand to the third card, at the right arm of the cross, her eyelids closing like a trance, her lips pursed in quiet contemplation. The candlelight vanishes, for a heartbeat - and then returns in a nova of fierce, burning white, so pure and strong and clean that it hurts to look at, burns to see—

Madam Eva's white eyes snap open, burning with a fierce determination. "This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight."

She flips the card. 

The light reveals a third illustration: A cloaked and hooded executioner stands purposely over his blade. "The Seven of Swords - the Hooded One." The crone's voice is strong with purpose. "I see a faceless god. He awaits you at the end of a long and winding road, deep in the mountains."

She moves to the fourth card, at the bottom of the cross, and listens once more, tracing small circles across its back as she hums a contemplative note. The magic flames leap and dance upon their wicks, now casting swirling violet embers into the air as the walls of the tent gleam with the shimmer of twilight. "This card sheds light on one who will help you greatly in the battle against darkness." 

She flips the card.

This time, the illustration revealed is a monstrous skull suspended in an empty jar. "The Artifact." Madam Eva leans forward. "Look for an entertaining man with a monkey. This man is more than he seems."

Finally, she moves her hand to the fifth card - and nearly recoils, her brow furrowing until the wrinkles split her forehead like a trench. Behind her, shadows encircle the candlelight until the light is very nearly swallowed by the creeping dark. 

When next she speaks, Madam Eva's rasping voice is scarce above a whisper. "Your enemy is a creature of darkness, whose powers are beyond mortality. This card will lead you to him!"

Her hand trembles above the card for a silent moment - and then deft, ancient fingers reveal its opposite side. In the darkness, the fifth and final illustration is only barely visible through the smoke and unnatural murk. 

The illustration is of a young woman dressed in fine silk who stands beneath a window of stained glass. Madam Eva slowly exhales. "The Innocent. He dwells with the one whose blood sealed his doom, a brother of light snuffed out too soon.”

As the last syllable passes her lips, the old woman freezes - and then rocks back in her chair, her eyes rolling until their whites gleam like pearls in the darkness - and then she snaps back, the candlelight burning down to its ordinary crimson glow. 

The sound of the outside world returns - the voices of the Vistani, the crackling of the bonfire, the whisper of the wind, and the lapping of the waves against the shore of the pool. Light, gray and insubstantial, filters in once more through the canvas walls of the tent, and you feel yourselves breathe for the first time since the reading began.

Madam Eva says nothing. She only regards you silently with blind eyes.

Alessa draw a sharp almost convulsive breath - she did not even realize she was holding it while the old vestani was talking. She was staring at the cards, feeling Madam's Eva blind gaze with every cell of her body but unable to look back.

Unusual deck. Alessa saw many variations of fortune-telling cards before, even had one of her own until admitted, that divination was not her thing. Every diviner has one, but as personal as they are... she never saw one so dark, truly dark, not by the look but by the nature. Well, suits the situation they were in. She rubbed her temples noting absentmindedly that the nails began to grow in response to the stress. Alessa took another breath - this time deep, trying to calm herself - and finally looked fortuneteller in the face. "You are saying our fate ... Rema is set and you are giving us glimpses of it. Your cards speak of an enemy and the means to fight him." Madam Eva did not say the name of the "enemy" but Alessa had no doubts of who the cards meant. Could they even do such a thing? Not that they had much choice, of course. How long they will last in these lands before becoming grey shadows of themselves? Provided, "the enemy" even allows them to stay that long. She shook her head slowly - if this was true (here and now Alessa could not question the truth of this prediction) then there was only one question left to ask. "Would his death release us?"

Sezsu snorts derisively. He had remained standing, with arms crossed, away from the table during the reading.

"Fates and fortunes and futures foretold are the tools one plies with the easily controlled," he recites as if the rhyme were something everyone should be familiar with. "Divination can never be trusted. Just as with your opening salvo of parlor tricks: A bit of scrying and spying and -- I'd just like to add -- very faulty assumptions. These cards are meant to reinforce this manufactured mystique," he motions around the tent, "just as much as they are to lead us to self-fulfilled prophecy." Clearly agitated, he begins to pace. "Even if we thought any of this held a mote of truth, you've given us nothing to go on. We don't know where to go, what to look for, who to trust... These mystic tidbits are tailored so that we'll begin seeing evidence to support them in the things we experience in this damned place!"

Stepping up to the table he points to the cards. "A town where all is not well?! That describes this entire land! A house of corruption and ghosts? We've already seen that and I'm sure there are many more. Holy symbols I understand, but dragons and swords made of light and faceless gods? What mountains? All I've seen are never-ending forests and the village of Barovia and that foreboding castle looking down on it. And don't get me started on clowns with monkeys..."

He stops and sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "The only enemy we have here is whoever prevents us from returning home and..."

Stopping mid-sentence, Sezsu's eyes shoot open again and he looks directly at Madame Eva for the first time since he started monologuing. "His brother's blood sealed his doom? How's that now? Do you actually know about this Strahd character beyond the ghost stories everyone else seems afraid to even whisper? I don't mean portents and tales of the pure-hearted hero who will come one day to bring about his demise... I mean the actual story of who he is and this mess all started." An eyebrow raises slightly. "Who's Tatyana?" he asks carefully.

Ed listens as Madam Eva completes her telling, feeling slightly vindicated after his outburst, he pays the woman more attention than he would have done before. "This all sounds rather vague. I could find something to fit so many of those statements and never know which one would be truth. What guidance can your words give us when they hold both no meaning and meaning in everything?"

"Yeah!" Sezsu chimes in. "What he said!"

Alessa: “Rema is set and you are giving us glimpses of it . . . Would [Strahd’s] death release us?”

“Rema is Rema,” Madame Eva replies cryptically.  “A prophecy is obeyed, or is not.  Whether we choose to obey is itself part of the prophecy.  You have already decided, now you must come to understand choice.”

“As to Strahd, who could say? Powers he wields are both malevolent and mysterious.  Perhaps if Strahd dies--if he can die--his grip on Barovia will cease.  Who living has ever known such a Barovia?”

Sezsu: “[Y]ou’ve given us nothing to go on . . . These mystic tidbits are tailored so that we’ll begin seeing evidence to support them in the things we experience in this damned place!”

Ed: “This all sounds rather vague.”

“Things you will experience.”  Madame Eva chuckles, a dry wheeze.  “You will experience your nightmares awakened, your worst fears, and more.  You will face death and the one who many claim to be the devil himself.  By the end, you will be begging for any help at all.  Even my… parlor tricks.  The Tarokka will only reveal what it reveals, and I can only tell you what it whispers.  What you do now is up to you.  Will you simply lie down like dog and die?  Accept that you are trapped in Barovia and drink yourself to your death?  You do not need fortune teller to tell you that is not your way.”

Rubbing the bridge of his noise with his left hand, leaving his right free due to paranoia and the ever excitiment building from the old fortune teller. "You are very dramatic, and this world is certainly potent in drama.  That said. It sounds like you offer no functional aid, or advisement and our associate steered us incorrect.  Still, we'll rememeber your puzzles and prophecy. As generic as they were.  If you have nothing more immediate in terms of information, charted maps, supplies, or work to offer then I don't think we have much left to converse over." 

"Well hold on just a minute, Zied. I've asked some rather pointed questions and Madame Eva, here, seems rather adept at sidestepping them. But I'd like some answers before we conclude our business here."

Shrugs "Feel free. This is more your realm and her's. I just want to cook peacefully ."

"Forgive my companion's brashness, Madam Eva, they are not used to magic of divination," Alessa was traditionally diplomatic regardless of her own despair and frustration. "And I have to admit, we did hope you could point the way out to us. But Rema is Rema." She even managed a shadow of a smile. "Thank you for that prediction. We will remember your words. I am sure I talk for everyone when saying we are not the ones to lie down and die, but before we can do anything, we need to learn a lot. Would you allow us to spend this night by your fire? And maybe ask about these lands?"

There were so many questions... The cards said "town" but so far they only saw one village. How many towns are here? How far is the closest? Sezsu asked about mountains already, and there was the "man with the monkey", who sounded like something exotic enough to be famous. The group really needed information!

“Legend says that Strahd has ruled Barovia for many hundreds of years.  The story how this came to be is lost to time.  Tatyana is not such unusual name.  This may be a Vistana, but not one that I know. Strahd himself may be the only one to know the answers to these questions."

"A map?"  She cackles.  "You ask a blind woman for a map. Yes, I am sure someone can draw one for you.  Ask Arahja.  You must pardon me that I myself cannot."

"Perhaps, as the Vistani are tellers of such stories and legends, you or your companions would grace us with these tales. After all, if you are expecting us to fulfil these fortunes, to maybe be these chosen, then we should know the tales of Barovia, of devils, of Strahd." Ed paces the small tent, just casually musing the suggestion at Madam Eva.

"Sounds convincingly not helpful," Sezsu mutters as he strokes his chin and glares at the blind woman, trying to discern any sort of untruth or purposeful omission of pertinent information by any outward tells.

Insight: 30 (with Guidance)

"If we're doing story time. Given our previouos experience, I feel like that tends to be a group affair? If so...." Clasping his hands together, with more excitment shown than the previous discussion. "Mayhap a potluck full of stories and knowledge to be shared? I could handle our group's dish, as well as some recumbrance for the information my companions desire." Zied suggestions, rather plantively preferring to go cook than to talk to blind prophets.

Ed: "Perhaps, as the Vistani are tellers of such stories and legends, you or your companions would grace us with these tales. After all, if you are expecting us to fulfill these fortunes, to maybe be these chosen, then we should know the tales of Barovia, of devils, of Strahd." 

“I expect only that you will become worm food,” Madame Eva says evenly.  “Whether you live to see your Rema is in your hands.”  She turns to Alessa.  Hesitates.  “...Or perhaps it is all beyond you.”

“Go then.  Enjoy the fire, wine, and food.  Speak to Arahja for map.  He will ask no questions.  I suggest you stay here for night.  At daybreak, your path is yours to tread.  Next city is Vellaki, northwest.  In time our paths may cross again.  Assuming we are not dead.”

This was all Alessandra was asking for - if Vistani did not mind their presence, she was going to spend the night in that camp. She bowed her head to the old woman, not commenting on Madam's Eva cheerful farewell, and left the tent.

The bearded giant Arahja was easy to spot. "Madam Eva welcomed us to your fires for the night. If you do not mind it we would love to join you here." She was talking on behalf of everyone in the group here but truly, with the roads full of werewolves and - no doubts! - undead, a camp full of people was the better place to rest. "You asked us for the stories but now I beg you to share yours. Whether it was fate that brought us here or some evil intent of someone, we are stuck and need to know more about these lands to simply survive. Madam Eva said there is a city, Vellaki is nearby, to the northwest from here. Can you tell something about that place? Or others? Are there more cities around?"

Alessa tried to pace the myriads questions she had to not overwhelm (or bored) vistani.

Back at the bonfire, the wine is flowing freely, the music grows louder, and more and more Vistani have appeared to sing and dance. "Of course!" Arahja bellows in response to Alessa's news.  One of his hands grasps a wine cup, but he cups the other over his mouth and yells,  "We have GUESTS!"  The other Vistani all but leap into action.  Blankets and cushions of bright fabric are laid on then ground and wine cups are thrust into your hands. 

"We trade in stories," Arahja reminds you.  "A story for a story.  Well!  Since you seem to be a bit shy, I will tell one first.  Then you will tell us one from your travels.  Yes."

Arahja stands before the fire, the orange light gleaming in his dark eyes.  The other Vistani quiet down, eager for a tale.

“Once upon a time,” he begins. “There was little boy born in little town. He was perfect, or so his mother thought. But one thing was different about him. He had gold screw in his belly button. Just the head of it peeping out."

“Now his mother was simply glad he had all his fingers and toes to count with. But as boy grew up he realized not everyone had screws in their belly buttons, let alone gold ones. He asked his mother what it was for, but she didn’t know. Next he asked his father, but his father didn’t know. He asked his grandparents, but they didn’t know either."

“That settled it for a while, but it kept nagging him. Finally, when he was old enough, he packed bag and set out, hoping he could find someone who knew truth of this. He went from place to place, asking everyone who claimed to know something about anything. He asked midwives and physickers, but they couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The boy asked arcanists, tinkers, and old hermits living in woods, but no one had ever seen anything like it.  He went to ask Vallaki merchants, thinking if anyone would know about gold, it would be them. But Vallaki merchants didn’t know. He went to arcanists, thinking if anyone would know about screws and their workings, they would. But arcanists didn’t know.  Boy followed road over southwest to ask witches in Berez, but none of them could give him answer."

“Finally the boy went to Lord Strahd, the wisest of all in the land. Strahd looked closely at head of golden screw peeping from boy’s belly button. Then Strahd made a gesture, and his chamberlain Rahadin brought out pillow of golden silk. On that pillow was golden box. Strahd took golden key from his pocket, opened box, and inside was golden screwdriver.  Strahd took the screwdriver and motioned boy to come closer."

"Trembling with excitement, the boy did."

"Then Strahd took the golden screwdriver and put it in the boy’s belly button.”

Arahja pauses to take a long drink of wine. His audience leans in closer.

“Then Strahd carefully turned golden screw. Once: Nothing. Twice: Nothing. Then he turned it third time, and the boy’s ass fell off.”

There is a moment of stunned silence.

“What?” Rina asks incredulously.

“His ass fell off.”

Sezsu lingers and keeps an eye on Madame Eva as Alessa leaves the tent. With absolutely none of his curiosity sated and even more frustration with their circumstance (not to mention bewilderment at the fortuneteller's seeming interest in his arcanist companion), a weight seems to lift from him as he rejoins the group around the fire. The joviality and boisterousness of the Vistani is a welcome comfort after the last few days of constant somber wariness. He takes an offered wine cup, shrugs, takes a gulp, and groans audibly at Arahja's "story."

"Ok," he chimes in. "If that's to be the way of it, I have a very old story from my home. One that has been passed down through my order, to the younglings in their early training. It's rarely told outside of our cloisters but what the hey? 'When in Barovia,' eh?"

He reaches down and grabs a small handful of dirt at his feet and, in a wide, sweeping motion, tosses it into the fire while casting faerie fire, making the firewood, stones of the firepit, blankets, logs, and all of the objects in the immediate area glow a dull green.

"Many generations ago, a young merchant (whose name has been lost to time) was traveling down the road past my temple and a wheel of his wagon suddenly broke. He went to the monastery, knocked on the door, and said, 'My wagon broke. May I spend the night?'"

"The monks graciously accepted him, fed him dinner, and even fixed his wagon. As the man tried to fall asleep, he heard a strange sound. A sound unlike anything he had ever heard before. The tales of sirens luring sailors to their deaths on jagged rocks came to mind. But even with that image in his head, it's impossible to shut out. He didn't sleep that night."

"He tossed and turned trying to figure out what could possibly be making such a seductive sound. The next morning, he asked the monks what the sound was, but they said, 'Our most humble apologies, but we can't tell you. You're not a monk.' Distraught, the man was forced to leave and continue his journey."

"Years later, after never being able to forget that sound, the man went back to the monastery and plead for the answer again. The monks only replied, 'Our most humble apologies, but we can't tell you. You're not a monk.'"

"The man said, 'If the only way to find out what makes that beautiful sound is to become a monk, then please, make me a monk!'"

"The monks replied, 'You must travel the world and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of grains of sand. When you find these answers, you will have become a monk.'"

"The man set about his task, determined to do whatever it took. After years of searching he returned as a gray-haired old man and knocked on the door of the monastery. A monk answered. He was taken before a gathering of all the monks."

"'In my quest to find what makes that beautiful sound, I travelled the world and have found what you asked for: By design, the world is in a state of perpetual change. Only the gods know the answer. All a man can know is himself, and only then if he is honest and reflective and willing to strip away self-deception.'"

"The monks replied, 'Congratulations. You have become a monk. We shall now show you the way to the mystery of the sacred sound.' They lead the man to a wooden door, where the master of our order said, 'The sound is beyond that door.' The monks gave him a key, and he opened the door. Behind the wooden door was another made of stone. The man was given the key to the stone door and he opened it, only to find a door made of ruby. And so it went that he needed keys to doors of emerald, pearl and gold."

"Finally, they came to a door made of diamonds. The sound had become very clear and definite. The monks said, "This is the last key to the last door." The man was overwhelmingly apprehensive. His life's wish was behind that door! With trembling hands, he unlocked the door, turned the knob, and slowly pushed the door open. Falling to his knees, he was utterly amazed to discover the source of that haunting and seductive sound…"

Following the huge man's lead, Sezsu drains the last of his wine and looks around the faces of the gathered Vistani as if he didn't know why they were still staring at him. Then he smirks.

"My most humble apologies, but I can't tell you what it was. You're not monks."

Alessa was listening but after a few words from Arahja she frowned and even Sezsu's story did not change that expression. When she spoke her tone was cold, she could not or did not want to hide her frustration anymore. Gods see she was patient! "What's next, Arahja? A story about Goldenlock and three vampires? Or the boy that cried werewolf? We asked for help and got old anecdote dressed as barovian history. If this is all you have to tell about these lands, I thank you again for your hospitality and with your permission will try to get some rest. If we are on our own here, we will need strength. Good night."

"Oh come now," Sezsu says almost jovially while glancing quickly back at Madame Eva's tent. It's a bit of a strange turn from his sullen mood all day. "We have the rest of the evening and the morning if necessary to get serious things done. For now we have hospitable hosts with a warm fire, good food, and better wine. I, for one, am happy to be around happy people again. It feels like it's been an eternity since I've seen anyone smile." Looking back to the Vistani, he continues. "She can rest if she'd like, but I'd love to hear more of your marvelous tales! Have you any true stories about this Strahd we keep hearing about? I'm very curious about him."