The party sets off in the storm in the direction you last saw Rictavio heading.
The streets are empty around you, with the town's residents sheltering for the night inside their homes, windows shuttered against the wind and pounding rain. Sorenand Gilesboth catch the silhouette of a figure walking away from you and the group turns in that direction, though you can't seem to catch up. It isn't long before you find yourselves on unfamiliar streets, drenched with cold rain.
As you look for the half elf, or for a landmark to find your way, another bright bolt of lightning illuminates the world around you, showing a handful of large, if somewhat dilapidated manor houses. As the flash subsides, it is answered by purple flashes of light from the attic windows of the largest of the manors on this cul-de-sac. Another flash of lightning passes, and the purple lights cease.
You seem to be in the south/central part of Vallaki now, with no sign of Rictavio.
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Burr is distracted by the purple flashes of light, " Do you think someone needs help or will a bunch of drenched foreigners knocking on a manor door lead to unpleasantness.......well more unpleasantness than getting soaked to the bone like we've lost our senses?"
Soren has no clue what the purple lights might be. He raises his voice to be heard through the storm. "In my limited experience with city-dwellers, those who live in large dens do not often welcome in strangers unannounced amidst foul weather, whether to investigate purple lights or not."
Drenched but not too bothered by it, he turns to Giles. "I do not see Rictavio. What do you suggest, not-Father?"
As a last ditch attempt, drawing on Silvanus'guidance, Soren attempts to search the ground for mud which might have a fresh footprint on it that could indicate which direction the departed half-elf has gone.
Giles stops in his tracks, the storm seeming to defy him as he pursues Rictavio in the night. He grips the coin tight in his hand and prays to Tymora quickly, letting all other sounds and the rain wash over him, looking through the gloom to spot him.
Giles hears Burr, but doesn’t answer directly, gripping the ever present coin in his hand, letting the rain wash over him, soaking his beard. “Dammit. I lost him. I just … I have a hunch okay? I wonder about the safety of the church, about Ireena, as well, but I wonder about this Rictavio fellow. All is not well, that’s for damn sure.” Rain continues pounding down, as he stands in the street, looking each direction, but feeling very lost. “No, I don’t suggest pounding on random doors, dammit. I wish we could have tracked him. I’m sorry that I drug you all out at night, in the rain, but I had a hunch…..”. He tails off there, looking over to Soren with a weak smile, asking simply “Did you see anything Soren, good friend? Am I wrong about this?”
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Standing absolutely drenched from head to toe, Zefla glares at Giles. "A hunch? That is what we are doing out here? Following your hunch? The hell with this!"
Cursing under her breath and basically stomping, the sopping wet halfling heads to the large manor where they saw the purple light and without hesitating, pounds on the front door.
“Wait…” Giles calls after her in the dark, in the rain. “That’s how she speaks to me, frequently. In my gut. I don’t think it’s a bad wolf steak, or a case of the flux, I think it is her, speaking to me, warning me when something is not right. Or an opportunity. Just like I did with Ireena, in the village of Barovia. It was a feeling I had, in my gut. Well, it is still working now. But my feeble eyes can’t see what I need to see. Don’t hold that against me….” Giles is explaining, and seems very tired.
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Soren, your careful search of the street turns up no tracks. If Rictavio came this way, the storm is washing away all trace of his passing. Yet, your search is not entirely fruitless. Wedged between two cobblestones and fluttering in the current, you find a waterlogged piece of parchment. Were it not written on rich and hardy stock, it would have likely been obliterated by the rain. As it is, once you lift it up and let the water run off, the script is still legible. It is an invitation, though it is not addressed.
Zefla, you rap your fist hard upon the stately oaken door of the manor house. Though the shutters are closed tightly against the storm, you do see light coming from some of the rooms inside. You do not have to knock twice, as shortly after the first knock you hear a gruff man's voice shout something from inside. 15 seconds later, the same voice shouts again, louder.
"Emeric!"
More seconds pass and then heavy footsteps sound from the other side of the door. You hear a lock opening and a man uttering, "Where has that useless butler gone..." before the door is thrown open before you.
"Put the branches in the foyer with the others. And no, you may not 'shelter from the storm' here. Not even for a moment." Before you stands a tall, broad man with a shaved bald head. He is in studded leather armor, but the buckles are unlatched and ties are undone, as though he were half undressed, revealing his broad chest. He has a fur cloak draped over his shoulders and a wine glass in his hand.
The other hand, holding the door... it isn't human. Thin, elongated fingers end in black claws, and near the elbow barbed spines erupt from the skin. It is the hand of a monster.
No sooner has he opened the door and started to step back to allow your entrance, he notices Zefla'sarmory strapped to her back and his eyes narrow. "Hmmn." He swirls the wine glass and brings it to his lips, finishing the contents. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Who are you, little warrior? What business do you have with Baron Vargas on such a night as this?"
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Making sure not to look at the monster forearm, Zefla gives a little bow. She's dealt with many a noble at the Lizard's Gizzard and knew how to smooth out her rough edges when the need called for it. "I am Zefla Shadowquick, sir, and these are my friends." She makes a sweeping arm gesture towards her drowned rats of friends, then goes back to addressing the Baron.
"I'm afraid I do not have any branches for you, but that we are in fact looking for a bit of shelter from this storm. Have you noticed how wicked it is? Wouldn't sharing stories by the fire be an enchanting way to spend this frightful evening?"
Burr watches dubiously and waits for the inevitable " Release the Hounds" from said Baron....if thats who the man is...he has no idea what rich people do or how they act.
Soren stares at the invitation to the Wachter Book Club at the Wachterhaus in befuddlement before tucking it away to keep it dry.
Shrugging helplessly to Giles to indicate he does not know which way Rictavio went, Soren mumbles, "A book club invitation from Lady Fiona Wachter. The invitation says she has servants. So she is... a noble? Maybe Baron Vargas Vallakovich's wife?"
Soren's mouth opens, then closes as gears grind inside the druid's head, attempting to comprehend the ways of Barovian aristocracy. "But no, she would be Fiona Vallakovich if she were his wife. And the house would be called Vallakovichhaus, or something... not Wachterhaus..."
It is at this moment the Zefla's knock is answered and Soren turns, taken aback, recoiling from the monstrous, spiny hand. No beast nor humanoid has such a paw or claw. Consequently, it takes Soren time to register the rest of what the bald, broad-chested man with the drink actually says.
Business with Baron Vargas Vallakovich? I was just thinking about... but this cannot be him. Barons do not answer their own doors on stormy nights... do they? Maybe the Baron is up in the attic with purple lights. You know, making things more joyous.
"All will be well in joyous Vallaki." Soren's voice is thick as he calls out, suspecting he is committing yet another faux pas. "Is Baron Vallakovich home?"
"No," the large man answers flatly, and you would be forgiven for some confusion as to whether he was answering Zefla's request for a fireside chat, or Soren'squery as to whether the master of the house was home.
Zefla, as you're closest and observing him directly, please give me an insight check.
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Zefla, he has seemingly declined your self-invitation, yet he makes no effort to close the door or do much of anything else. He is just standing there looking at you.
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Giles steps up behind Zefla, seeing this conversation unfold and not particularly heading in any direction. “Oh uh, Zefla, why did you bang on that door? Hello, good evening Baron! My friend here ended up knocking on the wrong door. We were looking for someone who seemed to be lost in the rain, and in the end it turns out we were the ones who were lost! We were going to head back to the tavern. Startling storm, isn’t it? But never you mind, we won’t disturb you. Isn’t that right, Zefla? She was chasing after me … so, if there is nothing more, I bid you good night, we just had a delightful wolf steak, All Will Be Well! Good evening!” Giles can’t help but look at the arm, he forces his head back up, willing himself to look the Baron in the eyes, and paste a cheesy grin on his mouth.
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Hearing the different voices competing for his attention, the large man shakes his head. "What foolishness is this? I am not the Baron." Gone is the vaguely vacant look from his face, replaced with annoyance. He releases the door from his monstrous hand, holding up the gruesome limb in front of him as if to say, "Can't you see? Don't you recognize me?"
"Baron Vargas is already busy with a petitioner. He is far more patient than I, but his home is not a flophouse. If you wish to speak with him, come back another time."
He handwaves toward Giles. "The inn, fine, go back to the inn." He turns, closing the door on Zefla. Before it shuts, you hear him holler again, with malice in his voice, "Emeric! Are you asleep somewhere, curr? The master of the house will hear about this!"
The door slams shut.
The rain continues to pour from the dark sky, though the worst of the lightning storm seems to have abated while you spoke with the strange doorman.
Do you wish to continue searching Vallaki for the strange half-elf?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
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Giles perception w/disadv : 11
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The party sets off in the storm in the direction you last saw Rictavio heading.
The streets are empty around you, with the town's residents sheltering for the night inside their homes, windows shuttered against the wind and pounding rain. Soren and Giles both catch the silhouette of a figure walking away from you and the group turns in that direction, though you can't seem to catch up. It isn't long before you find yourselves on unfamiliar streets, drenched with cold rain.
As you look for the half elf, or for a landmark to find your way, another bright bolt of lightning illuminates the world around you, showing a handful of large, if somewhat dilapidated manor houses. As the flash subsides, it is answered by purple flashes of light from the attic windows of the largest of the manors on this cul-de-sac. Another flash of lightning passes, and the purple lights cease.
You seem to be in the south/central part of Vallaki now, with no sign of Rictavio.
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Burr is distracted by the purple flashes of light, " Do you think someone needs help or will a bunch of drenched foreigners knocking on a manor door lead to unpleasantness.......well more unpleasantness than getting soaked to the bone like we've lost our senses?"
Soren has no clue what the purple lights might be. He raises his voice to be heard through the storm. "In my limited experience with city-dwellers, those who live in large dens do not often welcome in strangers unannounced amidst foul weather, whether to investigate purple lights or not."
Drenched but not too bothered by it, he turns to Giles. "I do not see Rictavio. What do you suggest, not-Father?"
As a last ditch attempt, drawing on Silvanus' guidance, Soren attempts to search the ground for mud which might have a fresh footprint on it that could indicate which direction the departed half-elf has gone.
Survival plus Guidance: 25 + 2 = 27 (OOC: wow)
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Giles stops in his tracks, the storm seeming to defy him as he pursues Rictavio in the night. He grips the coin tight in his hand and prays to Tymora quickly, letting all other sounds and the rain wash over him, looking through the gloom to spot him.
Guidance : 3 , added to above perception roll.
Giles hears Burr, but doesn’t answer directly, gripping the ever present coin in his hand, letting the rain wash over him, soaking his beard. “Dammit. I lost him. I just … I have a hunch okay? I wonder about the safety of the church, about Ireena, as well, but I wonder about this Rictavio fellow. All is not well, that’s for damn sure.” Rain continues pounding down, as he stands in the street, looking each direction, but feeling very lost. “No, I don’t suggest pounding on random doors, dammit. I wish we could have tracked him. I’m sorry that I drug you all out at night, in the rain, but I had a hunch…..”. He tails off there, looking over to Soren with a weak smile, asking simply “Did you see anything Soren, good friend? Am I wrong about this?”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Standing absolutely drenched from head to toe, Zefla glares at Giles. "A hunch? That is what we are doing out here? Following your hunch? The hell with this!"
Cursing under her breath and basically stomping, the sopping wet halfling heads to the large manor where they saw the purple light and without hesitating, pounds on the front door.
“Wait…” Giles calls after her in the dark, in the rain. “That’s how she speaks to me, frequently. In my gut. I don’t think it’s a bad wolf steak, or a case of the flux, I think it is her, speaking to me, warning me when something is not right. Or an opportunity. Just like I did with Ireena, in the village of Barovia. It was a feeling I had, in my gut. Well, it is still working now. But my feeble eyes can’t see what I need to see. Don’t hold that against me….” Giles is explaining, and seems very tired.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
" I guess we're knocking then...", Burr said with a grin to Soren and Giles, kinda glad for an opportunity to get out of the rain.
Soren, your careful search of the street turns up no tracks. If Rictavio came this way, the storm is washing away all trace of his passing. Yet, your search is not entirely fruitless. Wedged between two cobblestones and fluttering in the current, you find a waterlogged piece of parchment. Were it not written on rich and hardy stock, it would have likely been obliterated by the rain. As it is, once you lift it up and let the water run off, the script is still legible. It is an invitation, though it is not addressed.
Zefla, you rap your fist hard upon the stately oaken door of the manor house. Though the shutters are closed tightly against the storm, you do see light coming from some of the rooms inside. You do not have to knock twice, as shortly after the first knock you hear a gruff man's voice shout something from inside. 15 seconds later, the same voice shouts again, louder.
"Emeric!"
More seconds pass and then heavy footsteps sound from the other side of the door. You hear a lock opening and a man uttering, "Where has that useless butler gone..." before the door is thrown open before you.
"Put the branches in the foyer with the others. And no, you may not 'shelter from the storm' here. Not even for a moment." Before you stands a tall, broad man with a shaved bald head. He is in studded leather armor, but the buckles are unlatched and ties are undone, as though he were half undressed, revealing his broad chest. He has a fur cloak draped over his shoulders and a wine glass in his hand.
The other hand, holding the door... it isn't human. Thin, elongated fingers end in black claws, and near the elbow barbed spines erupt from the skin. It is the hand of a monster.
No sooner has he opened the door and started to step back to allow your entrance, he notices Zefla's armory strapped to her back and his eyes narrow. "Hmmn." He swirls the wine glass and brings it to his lips, finishing the contents. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Who are you, little warrior? What business do you have with Baron Vargas on such a night as this?"
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Making sure not to look at the monster forearm, Zefla gives a little bow. She's dealt with many a noble at the Lizard's Gizzard and knew how to smooth out her rough edges when the need called for it. "I am Zefla Shadowquick, sir, and these are my friends." She makes a sweeping arm gesture towards her drowned rats of friends, then goes back to addressing the Baron.
"I'm afraid I do not have any branches for you, but that we are in fact looking for a bit of shelter from this storm. Have you noticed how wicked it is? Wouldn't sharing stories by the fire be an enchanting way to spend this frightful evening?"
Burr watches dubiously and waits for the inevitable " Release the Hounds" from said Baron....if thats who the man is...he has no idea what rich people do or how they act.
( He's a little too far removed to note the arm.)
(Zefla is totally intrigued by the arm and after everything else that has happened since they “landed” she figures why not? lol)
Soren stares at the invitation to the Wachter Book Club at the Wachterhaus in befuddlement before tucking it away to keep it dry.
Shrugging helplessly to Giles to indicate he does not know which way Rictavio went, Soren mumbles, "A book club invitation from Lady Fiona Wachter. The invitation says she has servants. So she is... a noble? Maybe Baron Vargas Vallakovich's wife?"
Soren's mouth opens, then closes as gears grind inside the druid's head, attempting to comprehend the ways of Barovian aristocracy. "But no, she would be Fiona Vallakovich if she were his wife. And the house would be called Vallakovichhaus, or something... not Wachterhaus..."
It is at this moment the Zefla's knock is answered and Soren turns, taken aback, recoiling from the monstrous, spiny hand. No beast nor humanoid has such a paw or claw. Consequently, it takes Soren time to register the rest of what the bald, broad-chested man with the drink actually says.
Business with Baron Vargas Vallakovich? I was just thinking about... but this cannot be him. Barons do not answer their own doors on stormy nights... do they? Maybe the Baron is up in the attic with purple lights. You know, making things more joyous.
"All will be well in joyous Vallaki." Soren's voice is thick as he calls out, suspecting he is committing yet another faux pas. "Is Baron Vallakovich home?"
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
"No," the large man answers flatly, and you would be forgiven for some confusion as to whether he was answering Zefla's request for a fireside chat, or Soren's query as to whether the master of the house was home.
Zefla, as you're closest and observing him directly, please give me an insight check.
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Zefla's Insight check: 13
Zefla, he has seemingly declined your self-invitation, yet he makes no effort to close the door or do much of anything else. He is just standing there looking at you.
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Zefla raises an eyebrow at him, then asks, "Then what do you propose, Baron Vargas?"
Giles steps up behind Zefla, seeing this conversation unfold and not particularly heading in any direction. “Oh uh, Zefla, why did you bang on that door? Hello, good evening Baron! My friend here ended up knocking on the wrong door. We were looking for someone who seemed to be lost in the rain, and in the end it turns out we were the ones who were lost! We were going to head back to the tavern. Startling storm, isn’t it? But never you mind, we won’t disturb you. Isn’t that right, Zefla? She was chasing after me … so, if there is nothing more, I bid you good night, we just had a delightful wolf steak, All Will Be Well! Good evening!” Giles can’t help but look at the arm, he forces his head back up, willing himself to look the Baron in the eyes, and paste a cheesy grin on his mouth.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Burr continues his impression of a drowned rat with an increasingly dubious expression.
Hearing the different voices competing for his attention, the large man shakes his head. "What foolishness is this? I am not the Baron." Gone is the vaguely vacant look from his face, replaced with annoyance. He releases the door from his monstrous hand, holding up the gruesome limb in front of him as if to say, "Can't you see? Don't you recognize me?"
"Baron Vargas is already busy with a petitioner. He is far more patient than I, but his home is not a flophouse. If you wish to speak with him, come back another time."
He handwaves toward Giles. "The inn, fine, go back to the inn." He turns, closing the door on Zefla. Before it shuts, you hear him holler again, with malice in his voice, "Emeric! Are you asleep somewhere, curr? The master of the house will hear about this!"
The door slams shut.
The rain continues to pour from the dark sky, though the worst of the lightning storm seems to have abated while you spoke with the strange doorman.
Do you wish to continue searching Vallaki for the strange half-elf?
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War