Two of the women get up and leave the campfire.  "We needn't spend the whole night speaking of doom and death..." one says as she departs back to her tent.

Answering Soren, one of the men says, "In these matters, Madame Eva speaks for herself.  You are guests here tonight and we will not force you to see hear.  But if you wish to know of her, or know what she knows of you, you will have to ask her yourselves."

Flooded with relief that no one takes Zefla up on her offer, she continues to listen to Giles's tale.  She wonders if he actually did hear the voice but doesn't want to admit it.  Decides to leave well enough alone.

As Soren rises to go meet Madam Eva, she does as well.  "Thank you for accepting us as your guests, I look forward to meeting your Madam Eva."  She also thought she had her fill of doom and gloom stories, and starts to head in the direction the others pointed out.

Burr also follows Soren, not wanting to be rude.

He studies those he passes looking for signs that they will betray them or have determined Ireenas identity,

Insight- 16

Giles stands and follows, turning to ”Rita” for a moment and saying “Why don’t you head to our tent or wagon, wherever they are allowing us to stay, my dear.  I don’t know if Madam Eva’s words might be troubling to you, I think it is something that we.. must handle.  You keep watch over Saskia, she has certainly been through enough as well today.  We will be back in a bit.”  Giles turns and follows the others toward Madam Eva’s tent with hunched shoulders and a foreboding sense of gloom on his mind, his hand keeps flipping the coin back and forth, as a habit to try to calm himself down.  

Some of the women lead Rita and Saskia away to a small tent to get out of the rain, while the four of you head toward the large tent by the water's edge.  It's been here a long time.  The temporary nature of a tent notwithstanding, it has been built to last with a crude wooden foundation setup upon the sandy grass, the wood old and creaking beneath your feet.

One of the Vistani men walks with you, poking his head inside the tent to say softly, 'They are here,' before stepping aside to allow you in.

Paper lanterns cast a reddish glow over the interior of this tent, revealing a low table covered in a black velvet cloth. Glints of light seem to flash from a crystal ball on the table as a hunched figure peers into its depths.  For a moment, you begin to think this is some sick joke.  The ancient body at the table is some grisly mummy, a corpse propped up to play pranks on travelers.  Then the glassy, blind eyes turn to look at you and she smiles.

As the crone speaks, her voice crackles like dry weeds. “At last you have arrived!” Cackling laughter bursts like mad lightning from her withered lips.

"Step forward... come in, come in."  She beckons you toward her table with knobby fingers that appear to have the texture of candlewax.

"Father Giles, is it?  Tell me, when your church gave you that special trinket, do you suspect they knew where the fates were taking you?"

"Little Zefla.  I so rarely see the wee folk.  Good that you stand up tall for your own interests. Who else will, after all?"

"Soren, walker of quiet woods, the unnatural forces of this land must be so upsetting for you.  Tell me, I hope that Anya's games with the bonfire did not trouble you too greatly?"

"And Burr Hollen.  A simple man; a man of few means, and fewer words, is that right?  Do not fret or worry.  I ask nothing of you that you cannot afford to give."

"The four of you... sit here beside me.  Talk a while.  Ask Madame Eva what troubles her, and she can tell some of what troubles you in kind."

Burr smiled, she reminded him a little of the grammaws and nanas back home.

" What could possibly trouble a woman so rich in family and respect?"

" But, as you likely know....for ourselves? We wish to go home."

GIles looks down at the coin in his hands, flipping through his fingers, over and over.  He seems to be at a loss for words, a first for him.  “Uhhhh…. I… don’t know.”  Is all that he can manage.  He stays quiet and sees what the old crone will see next…

Soren keeps his posture neutral and his eyes respectful as befits an interloper, even a welcomed one, speaking with a pack leader.  On his shoulder, Nettle stops her occasional preening and looks around the interior of the tent curiously.

"Pack lea- ah..., Madame Eva.  There was a woman in my mother's tribe who could see and hear beyond somehow.  As you must, to know so much about us.  Do you already know where we are from and how we came to arrive in Barovia through the mists while fighting werewolves?  If so, you must already feel the truth of Burr's words.  We all seek to go home.  But we hear that the mists trap us - and everyone.  Everyone except the Vistani?"

Soren shudders and continues.  "My fear of fire... is instinctive and well-earned.  If the flames are well-controlled then... I can merely watch warily.  But you speak of what troubles you.  The pallor of the malnourished forests and seeming ever-present danger of this land.  Witches like Morgantha roaming the paths with their stolen children and dark magic, held at bay only by fear of a greater power.  Strahd the 'darklord" brooding in his castle over everything.  The absence of a SUN.  Surely, as leader, all of these things and more trouble you?  This land seems cursed.  Why do you stay?"

The crone listens to Burr and Soren, cocking her head looking at/past them with her pale, cataract covered eyes.  "I am something of a seer, yes.  I am not omniscient.   I am granted visions, sometimes, when I ask for them.  And rarely when I do not ask."

"Home?  Of course.  There are few who find themselves here that do not immediately long to return to the comforts of home.  To parents and children; husbands or wives."  She lowers her head.  "Monumental obstacles stand in your way.  The mists will not willingly relinquish that which they have snared."

"You ask about the Vistani... how we are able to cross where others may not?  This has truth to it, but is only part of the story." 

The settles back into her chair, her head bobbing and gesticulating slowing until little moves but her lips.  She relates an old tale about the Vistani and how they came to be connected to this land.  Their people are ancient, claiming descent from a displaced line of kings - betrayed and cast out of their forgotten country.  For millennia the Vistani made and lost their fortunes on the road, traveling the vast trade routes, and doing what they could to preserve their culture.  They never settled long in one spot, as the people seemed plagued by misfortune, or else local populations came to believe they brought misfortune with them.

It was long ago when a wounded stranger stumbled into a Vistani camp.  He was pierced with arrows and far from his home, pursued by enemies.  The Vistani have a long and proud tradition of guest right, so when the hounds and trackers of his enemies neared, they hid the stranger and led his pursuers astray.  He collapsed in their wagons, too weak to stand.  So the Vistani packed up and made way for the young man's homeland.  His enemies, suspicious of the Vistani, pursued and sent assassins, but still the people would not give him up.  Once his wounds were healed, he fought side by side with his protectors, shedding blood together.  Eventually they reached safety and delivered the man back to his family.  He was revealed to be a prince, his father a powerful king and conqueror.  In his time traveling with the Vistani, the prince had become enamored with their culture and music, and they with him.  He swore then, and made sure that his father did as well, that the Vistani were forever to be protected within his lands.  They were free to come as they please, stay as long as they liked, and leave when they wish, and that they would always be safe within his lands.

"That story took place nearly five hundred years ago.  And that prince was Strahd Von Zarovich.  Later in life, he would conquer this valley, which he renamed Barovia, in honor of his father.  In time, tribes of Vistani followed him here."  She sneers a little now.  "It is here that a curse befell him, turning him into the tyrant he is today."

"The mists came, taking Barovia away and trapping all, including Strahd.  Alone are the Vistani able to leave, Strahd's ancient promise to us stronger even than the Dark Powers that curse this land."

"Why do I stay?  What could I want?" she asks at last.  "I must see this curse ended.  I swore I would live to see the day when Strahd was released from this curse, and Barovia and its people free of the mists.  It is hard, now.  This old body cannot sustain much longer.  If the curse is not broken soon, I will be forced to break my oath instead."

"I will be blunt.  If you ever wish to leave Barovia, you must break the curse.  And that almost certainly means destroying Strahd Von Zarovich."

She sits back up in her chair and leans over her table, her voice lowering, conspiratorially.  "Impossible, it may seem.  Greater heroes than you have failed, that's true.  But you may not be so alone as you think.  No Vistani will take up arms against the darklord, but there are others here who may rise to meet the challenge.  If you like... I can consult the cards on your behalf...?"  Just like that, a deck of seers cards is in her hands, shuffled and manipulated with a dexterity that seems impossible for those old boney fingers. 

Zefla watches the old woman intently.  She wasn't keen on being called little and had stayed silent as Burr had already mentioned what they all wanted.  She looks at the crystal ball in front of the woman and wonders if she looked into it if she'd find anything.  She debates, but decides to sit still and at that moment, the crone dives into her story.

It was as she thought, and hoped she was wrong.  But how were they to defeat a creature that a great wizard could not?  That made no sense?  Even that child-stealing woman with the delicious treats appeared afraid of something, and it must have been the darklord... at least she hoped, otherwise there is something else to deal with as well.

As the Madam pulls out her deck of cards, Zefla is transfixed and leans forward, eyes never leaving the cards.  "Yes, please do."

Giles likewise is fascinated once the cards are brought out.  He puts his coin away in his pouch and pulls up any chair available.  “Cards?  Really?”  He rubs his chin… “How… how does it work?”  He brings his mage hand forward, getting near the deck, then looks up and meets her eyes, letting the hand go, dispelling it.  He sits there tapping his chin, with curiosity that has gotten the better of him.  

" As one recently felled by two deeply unimpressive goblins......the idea of fighting the cursed Lord of an entire land is laughable indeed."

Soren smiles at Burr.  "And yet the werewolves ran from your blows.  It is true what you say, though.  We seem a small an unlikely pack to bring down some dark lord who frightens lightning-calling witches, slays mighty wizards and commands werewolves and undead.  Perhaps we might find allies and our pack might grow as suggested.  Though by all accounts Strahd himself seems ready, even for multitudes."  He thinks of Raquon of Greyhawk.

He has never heard of using cards... stiff pieces of paper with drawings and symbols on them... as something to consult with, but he supposes this must be how Divination magic works, for what little (nothing) he knows of it.  He nods respectfully at Madame Eva to signal his acceptance.

As she shuffles the deck, Soren can't help but ask:  "One thing I did not understand," (well many things really, he thinks, but one for now).  "You described the darklord Strahd as being both the cause and the victim of the curse that lies upon this land.  Of the entrapping mists and the lack of Sun.  Enamored of the Vistani and the Vistani with him. Yet for all others to escape this land and free him, he must be destroyed.  And you as pack leader of his favored people the Vistani, Madame Eva, actively seek this outcome?  How can all of these things together be true?"

Zefla takes her eyes off the cards briefly to glance at Soren, eyebrows raised, "For someone who states they don't know a lot about things, you sure pick up on a lot in a hurry."

Eyes back on the cards, she remarks, "And yeah, what he said."

As she continues to shuffle and work the cards, her head rolls a little toward Soren.  "The history here is thick with contradiction and confusion.  I cannot see all that was, and will not tell all that I see.  Some things will remain a mystery... at least for now."

"You should know that I wish no harm upon Strahd.  Quite the contrary, our bonds of affection run deep.  But he is afflicted.  Were there a way to drain the poison, to heal what ails him,  I would much prefer it.  But time is short and redemption is a dead dream.  If he is to be free of this curse, and this land with him, it is only through the blistering light of oblivion."

As fast as dealer in a back-alley card game, she draws seven cards and lays them out face down on the table.  She draws a deep breath and then reaches out for one of the cards, hesitating for just a moment.  "It is time we begin...".  She flips the card.

Her fingers linger over the surface of the card.  "There are items which can aid you in your quest."  She cocks her head to the side as if listening to something.  "The Myrmidon.  This card speaks of reversals of fate; of triumph of the underdog.  It tells us of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope.  Look for a den of wolves in the hills overlooking a mountain lake. The treasure belongs to Mother Night.  Retrieve it from her grasp and it will light your way."

Without pausing to entertain questions, she moves to the next card.

"The Necromancer," she whispers.  "It speaks of dark tidings; of those who tread forbidden paths.  There is a foul tome, bound in skin.  It can gather in a force powerful enough to challenge the darklord."  She tilts back, her eyes looking up.  "I see a woman, hanging above a roaring fire.  Find her, and you will find this treasure."

"The Beggar," she says with the weight of sad knowledge.  "This card tells of the changing of fortunes.  Another book... but no spells.  This tome tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient will help you better understand your enemy.  A wounded elf has already uncovered what you seek, in his own quest for lost knowledge. He will part with the treasure to see his dark dreams fulfilled."

"The Bishop.  Power... zeal... corruption."  Is there a hint of fear in her face?  "This is a card of tremendous portent. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight, hidden in deepest darkness. What you seek lies in a pile of treasure, beyond a set of amber doors."

Despite the next card's devious appearance, she seems relieved to move on from the last.  "The Traitor.  Deviousness and deception.  There is another item... its nature is hidden from us; it can help you, but how?"  She squints, as though her unseeing eyes were trying to read fine print.  "Look for a wealthy woman. A staunch ally of the devil, she keeps the treasure under lock and key, with the remainder of an ancient enemy."

"The Donjon.  No more items... this is an ally.  This card sheds light on one who will help you greatly in the battle against darkness."  She frowns.  "But it also speaks of isolation and imprisonment; of one who is trapped in their own beliefs.  You must search for a troubled young man surrounded by wealth and madness. His home is his prison; his family his restraints."

She hesitates again before she turns over the last card, looking in Zefla's direction.  Then she flips it over.

She releases a long, slow breath.  "The Executioner."

"Imminent death."

"Your enemy is a creature of darkness, whose powers are beyond mortality. This card foretells where you will face him, at last, for good and for all.  I see a dark figure on a towering balcony, looking down upon this tortured land with a twisted smile.  I see..." she is cut off, and a withered hand rises to her temple.  

"Nothing more.  The reading is over."  She sits back in her chair, hands over her face.  "You are our guests tonight." Her voice is little more than a whisper.  "You are free to enjoy our hospitality, or not, according to your inclination.  In the morning, the darklord will pass by, on his way to the village.  It would be best if you and your charge are not seen; you have my word we will not reveal you.  Once he is gone, you must depart for Vallaki... what happens next is up to you."

She sighs again, her already frail body suddenly looking vastly diminished.  "Go.  Leave me now."

If there is one near the edge of the table, Giles picks up a card and flips it over, looking at it with wonder.  He feels along the back of it, looks for any telltale markings.  “How did you?”  he begins.  Then he asks “We don’t, I mean I don’t… I don’t understand.  I don’t understand what you just said to us.  Can you be a bit more specific?  Have you given others.. similar readings, before?  Where should we go…”. Giles turns and looks at the others, feeling that he has just experienced something akin to real magic, but he doesn’t understand it.  

Burr nods to himself as if understanding something, " The cards are a map.....guideposts along the way.  I still say we will all die, but at least we have a path to walk while doing so."

" The "wolves" then?  That was our original job anyway."

Soren is quite certain he understands even less of the cards than his companions do.  He looks up to gaze at Madame Eva slack-jawed for a moment.

But since being driven from his forest home, Soren is no stranger to observing details that are utterly foreign to him as best he can, always having prided himself on his Perception.  He tries to file away every detail the seer shows and speaks to the group to try to make sense of later.

As he stands up, he gives the old crone one of his strange bows, like a wolf stretching with its paws out and its head low.  He urges Giles quietly:  "Not-Father.  We are guests in the pack-leader's den.  If she wishes us gone now, we should go."

He does not take the map from his pack, remembering that it may not be safe to reveal in front of the Vistani since it had been stolen from other Vistani by Raquon of Greyhawk.  But from what he recalls, there was a forest northwest of Vallaki called "The Forest of the Wolves," with a lake right in the middle, which could be what the first, Myrmidion card referred to.  He whispers this to Burr and the others once out of the tent.

Forest of the Wolves.  It sounds like Neverwnter Wood, my lost home.  And yet I doubt it is...  are these actual wolves or something worse?

With wide-open eyes, Zefla stares at the cards placed in front of them.  As Giles reaches for one, she almost stops him but decides against it.  This was all like nothing she had seen before, almost felt dreamlike as Madam Eva talked about each card, one more ominous than the last.

She feels a tingle up her spine when Madam Eva briefly looks at Zefla before the last card.  She wonders what that meant and tries her best to shake it off.

She stands with the others, "Yes, after we rest, wolves, lets start with the first card, makes the most sense anyways.  What do you guys think of Strahd coming here while we hide?"  She asks the last part as they are walking out of the tent, "Do you believe the Vistani will keep us hidden even though they have such a close relationship?"

Giles, the card is thick and tougher than you expected.  The material isn't paper, it is a flat sheet of some light metal, like tin.  Evaluating it skeptically, you note the painted face has some texture to it.  Perhaps... perhaps intimate familiarity with the cards could let someone identify them by touch alone?  But that feels like a stretch.

She does not raise her head to Giles' follow up questions.  "I wish you luck and speed... but I have no more help to give."  She pulls up a thin blanket in her lap and turns over in her chair, a pained, slow maneuver.

Outside, most of the Vistani are still around their bonfire, and it seems Ireena and the girl have retired for the evening.