Giles tries a different tack.  He walks up to the bar, walking the coin along his fingers, back and forth, back and forth.  He’s done it so many times that he doesn’t even seem to notice what his hand is doing.  He says to the barkeep, “A uh, glass of your nice red wine, do you have any good vintages currently that you recommend?  Nothing too new, of course.  It has to… mellow… in the ground for a bit, right?  A good bit longer than a few days I imagine.  But I’m not a vigneron.  How’s business?  Hey uh, did you know that someone marked up your sign outside?  Have you thought about fixing it, might… cheer up the place!  Anyway, we’ll just be sitting here minding our own business.  Just thought I’d have a sampling of what you might have….”  There is a glint in his eye, he suddenly flips the coin and catches it, breaking into a big smile.  “Anyone that ever comes through that likes a good.. game of chance?   Know of anyone we should speak to, in these parts?”

Burr regarded the pub with  a lopsided grin:- cheap, dirty and depressing....this was more his speed.

He flicked eyes over to the two women....probably best if Zefla approached them.....

As they all enter the bar, Zefla stands there for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the change in light.  She watches as each of her three companions try a different tactic to the place and it makes her smile.  Though she does notice no one approach the brightly colored women and she suspects that Soren is correct in his assumption that they are not from this place.

With a sigh, she approaches the table with the two women, attempting to start up a conversation, "Why hello there ladies, I hope you don't mind my interruption, but we here are new in town and are struggling to figure things out.  I was hoping you might be able to help?  You both look lovely by the way, I really love these bright colors you're wearing, sure livens up the drab environment here." 

While Burr and Soren take refuge at the table, Giles and Zefla make contact with the locals.

The three women [DM had to check what he wrote in post  399 since everyone keeps saying two women] at the table pause their conversation and eye Zefla.  The one nearest to her replies.  "We take no offense, and appreciate your generous compliment.  Your own attire is delightfully foreign." 

"But this is a private table and we have our own concerns to attend to.  Arik at the bar can see to drinks and food, if you have need of nourishment.  Otherwise, I'm afraid we have no help to offer you, little one."

"Just one glass?" the barkeep asks as Giles continues speaking over him.  He grabs one of the small wooden cups and fills it with a thin red wine from behind the bar.  "We just have the one drink available for order.  Other wines are out of stock.  That'll be five coppers."  Its drinkable, but not pleasant.  Giles, it tastes as if someone gave you most of the ingredients of wine, brief instructions, and then gave you an afternoon to figure out the vinting process.

"I just handle the bar.  The sign ain't none of my business."

"Gambling, eh?" He makes eye contact with you for the first time.  "Some of them Vistani -" he stops himself, glancing over at the three women talking to Zelfa.  After a moment to organize what he plans to say next, he starts over.  "Some of the ladies' cousins and kin stop in from time to time," he says in an almost whisper.  "They like to roll the bones but the gals don't approve.  So they either do it when the ladies are upstairs, or else go out in the alley."

Giles hides the pucker that comes to his face when he has a sip of the wine, thinking “That is about the worst wine I’ve ever…” but outwardly he holds onto the grin, choking it down.  “They do, do they” he speaks in a low voice, “well then, how often do the Vistani stop by?  Perhaps they know a little more of who to talk to.  And they may be up to a friendly game, here or there.  Say, what’s your name?  How long have you been here?  Do you remember, have you always been from .. this place?”  He looks at him with a questioning look and steels himself to take another judicious sip of the rotgut wine.

Burr files away that Vistani are  people rather than a name..

" So...what was the ruckus we saw earlier?"

Zefla nods to the women, "Yes, I will leave you to your private conversation.  Thank you."  and she turns back to her friends.  She wonders what concerns they have and found their response in general amusing.  She knows their last comment has in the past bothered her, but she likes her size and has a feeling there aren't many like her in this area.

She heads over to join Soren at his table, seeing Giles deep in conversation with the bartender.  "So, think that man that asked us to meet him here will show up soon?  It's pretty depressing in this place.  Though, I doubt any place in town is very uplifting."

Soren agrees.  "It is true.  This tavern is as... depressing?  As depressing as the town and the forest we first found ourselves in.  As if the vibrancy of natural life has been leached out by... something."  He thinks of the dark castle on the distant bluff.  "The Vistani clothing is the brightest thing here."

He shakes his head, not knowing how long the party might have to wait.  "I do not know city ways.  But the best I could tell, the blond swordsman's father was the... Burgomaster?  The pack leader of this town of Barovia.  Yet the pack set upon and slew him.  Something to do with his daughter, the swordsman's sister, and consorting with 'the devil'.  I did not understand."  Soren's voice drops even lower, to a whisper.

"But I have a sinking feeling that 'the devil' in question here is the same Lord of Barovia, the land, not the town, whose letter to Raquon of Greyhawk we found next to Raquon's corpse in the house.  Perhaps he lives in that castle.  Who else but a 'devil' could kill someone just by writing them a letter?"

Soren shifts uncomfortably and takes a new tack.  "I will say that the sister was inconsolable at her father's death, 'devil' or no.  She and her brother did not seem to be the type to warrant such hatred and bloodthirst from their pack.  The town has been turned against itself.  I hope we find out more from the swordsman once he arrives.  He seemed to recognize our plight and was not afraid of us as others have been."

[Cups of wine are 5cp, or a wooden pitcher is available for 4sp (pitchers serve 9 of the small cups).  As noted in Giles convo with the barkeep, the wine is bottom shelf quality, on par with the worst you've ever had served at a tavern, or in Burr's case, seen homebrewed by peat harvesters.  The tavern also serves bowls of a thin oatmeal like foodstuff they call 'babla.'  These are 9cp for a bowl.]

 "Arik is the name," the bartender says as he goes back to polishing the drinkware.  "Every tenday, or so," he says in response to the question about Vistani visitors.

He becomes noticeably ill at ease when you ask if he is from this place.  At last he says, "This is my home.  I've never been beyond the mists.  Excuse me, I have to get something in the back."  He steps away quickly without stopping for more questions.

...

After 20 minutes in the tavern, a man staggers in.  His hands and face are black from soot.  He hangs a dirty knit cap on a hook by the door and starts toward the bar.  As he passes, one of the women, without looking up, says loudly, "Jaromir murdered the Burgomaster this morning."  The man pauses mid-step, turns on his heel, retrieves his cap and walks quickly back outside.

...

Another 20 minutes pass. 

The women continue their quiet conversation.  Even without eavesdropping, its hard not to overhear bits of their conversation.  They speak common, but mixed with many slang or local terms you don't recognize.  Still, it seems they are discussing the finances and supply difficulties of the tavern, of which the three of them are apparently the owners.

Burr looks at Soren, " This Strauss....Stroud?  He is in control here........do you think he could also be in control of who enters and leaves here?  Must we beg an audience in order to leave?  And would one responsible for leaving their lands in such a state ever grant us escape?"

Burr swore,  he had talked more than he liked to.

" Or do we simply accept our fate, find jobs and settle in to this....wonderful...place?"

Having promised to buy drinks, Soren forks over four silver for a pitcher of wine and regrets it immediately, spluttering and coughing at the first sip.  Not nearly as good as that ale in Daggerford, though at least this way, I am less likely to wake up feeling like a tree fell on my head.

He pays another silver for the babla and attempts to choke it down, not knowing where his next meal will come from in this lifeless land.  "Perhaps the people in this town might not be so angry if they had some decent food and drink," he observes, a bit paler in the face than normal.  "Do you think the fare would be better if it were not for the 'supply difficulties' those women are speaking of?  I would ask them but it seemed they wanted privacy."

As the time continues to pass without the blond swordsman appearing, Soren starts to feel self-conscious about keeping his companions here in this ill-appointed tavern with its bland food and terrible drink.  He listens to Burr thoughtfully.

"I... I do not think I can stay here my whole life without going mad if that is what you are suggesting, Burr.  The nature here is wrong, as if drained of vitality.  Many of the people too.  There must be a way out.  Though from what I remember of the letter, Strahd von Zarovich did not seem a particularly merciful ruler.  He described this as his land, and if we cannot leave, than our inability to do so may even be his doing."

" Well...I'm not sure about you but I was almost taken out by a couple of goblins....so I don't fancy our chances strong-arming the lord of these lands."

He tipped back a cup of the wine, " Not the absolute worst I've tasted.  but then the taste has rarely been the point."

He nodded to Soren, " Your right though, of the folks we've seen resignation or madness seem to be the two options here."

“Pleased to meet you Arik!  Nice chatting with you!” He calls after him, sound trailing off.  “Good times.”  Giles turns back around and sees his companions at a table and walks over with his glass of swill.  He walks over and has a seat, he seems antsy and can’t quite sit still.  “This place… not exactly the worst I’ve ever been… but close.” He says in a low voice.   “You getting anywhere?  Not the friendliest bunch here…”. He looks over at the Vistani women and raises his glass, smile on his face, giving a faux toast.

Zefla listens to her friends talk and adds, "Well, if your friend isn't here soon, we should check out that mercantile shop.  At the very least I would think a shop owner would be willing to talk.  Maybe we'd get some information from them before we even mention Gertruda.  As for those women?" she shrugs towards the Vistani as Giles asks, "I didn't get anywhere with them, not rude, but definitely pushed away."

Zefla sits feeling a bit defeated by the situation, unsure of what to do, but definitely not about to give in and hole up in one of the deserted houses along the row.  More like loot the houses along the row.. this thought brings a smile to her face and she takes a sip of her wine, instantly regretting it.

As the man that walks in turns on his heel after hearing about the burgomaster, she asks the group, "Should we find this Jaromir if other other leads don't pan out?"

Soren, the babla is better than the wine.  It starts with a bland, cold glob of wheat and rye paste.  The bartender ladels some hot water over top, and then sticks a small green pepper, no larger than your little finger into the center.  The pepper saves the dish, as it is not very spicy but provides just enough flavor.

No sooner does Zefla ponder whether they should visit the shop, than the blond man steps into the tavern.  He still has the sword on his hip, but his posture is more relaxed than before.  Tired, even.  He hangs in the doorway for a moment as his eyes adjust to the gloom.  Then he walks confidently toward your table.  One of the women hands him a wine... in one of the larger glass goblets, without saying anything.  He takes it without breaking stride.

As he reaches your table, he tips the glass back, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.  

He looks each of you in the eye.  "Have you only just been pulled through the mists?"  Not hearing any disagreement, he continues, "Then we share something in common.  This is the worst day of all of our lives."

He pulls over a chair and joins you.  "My name is Ismark Kolyana.  My father was the Burgomaster.  On his behalf, allow me to welcome you to Barovia."

As usual, Soren cannot conceive of any reason why he should not be forthright.  He nods at the man with respect and begins.

"Ismark Kolyana.  You meet with us despite the loss you have suffered and the dissension that is tearing apart your pack here in the town of Barovia.  Thank you.  But how did you guess our situation?  I am Soren Thornpaw, once of Neverwinter Wood, but my companions and I were in the militia of Daggerford under the command of Sir Rowan Caskbow.  Do you know of these places and how to return there?"

Soren looks closely at Ismark's face, searching for a glimmer of hope, though deep down, he already knows the answer.

"We set out south from Daggerford yesterday on the trail of reported attacks by werewolves.  Towards evening we were separated, finding and fighting the werewolves before being surrounded by mists.  We arrived in the forests of this land, south of here across the river bridge.  You said earlier that 'our kind' attracts unwanted attention.  I do not fully understand why?  We did notice an elderly woman pushing a handcart on our way here and true enough, she shunned us, though she did inform us that the 'mistwalking Vistani' were in the other direction.  And the bartender implied that these three women here who appear to own this tavern and gave you your wine are Vistani.  Can they help us, walking the mists as they are said to do?"

Soren sorely wishes to further ask Ismark about Strahd von Zarovich and the dark castle on the bluff.  And if Strahd himself is the 'devil' who Jarmomir the murderer accused Ismark's now disconsolate sister of consorting with.  But he is not sure how to do so without risking grave offense.

Burr watched Ismark carefully, " So there are two missing women?"

Ismark shakes his head.  "Your homeland is unknown to me."

"You are in Barovia.  Our land is one of wild forests and mountain valleys.  The borders of our home are impassable and none but the Vistani know what lay beyond.  Only they are able to pass through the mists that surround Barovia to travel the trade routes and bring back treasures from the wider world.  Anyone else who tries to go through the mists is choked and strangled by the vapors... I tried it myself as a young man... had I not turned back, I'm sure I would have perished."

"You are far from the first strangers to be brought here against your will.  Its said to happen every few years.   A band of foreigners arrive, confused, asking in strange accents about distant lands and how to return.  Sometimes they are human, but sometimes there are wild an unusual figures as well... elves, dwarves... lizards that walk upright like men, if you believe the stories."

"They are pulled through the mists that surround Barovia, taken from their homelands and trapped here."

"It is always a herald of dangerous times when the strangers appear."  He holds out his hand.  "Sometimes they are followers of strange gods, seeking to convert the people of Barovia, or save their souls.  Sometimes they are said to be conquerors or powerful magic users.  Some try to be heroes, aiding our villagers, while others look to loot and steal.  All of them fight to return to their homelands, and all of them eventually come into conflict with the ruler of Barovia... Count Strahd von Zarovich."  There is malice in his voice as he speaks that name.

"Strahd... the Devil Strahd, as many call him... is a force.  He has ruled Barovia for as long as any can remember.  That is his castle up on the mountain - Castle Ravenloft.  He is ageless, they say, perhaps immortal.  He wields powerful magic, able to summon the mists and control the beasts of this land.  His word is law... and those that disobey his commands find themselves dragged away in the night by his servants: zombies, ghouls and vampires."

He is quiet for a moment, as if thinking how to tell the next part of his story.  "My family has run this village as his Burgomasters for generations.  We collect the taxes for him, post his edicts in the village square... it was always the way of things.  It has made us..." he pauses, "... unpopular with some.  We are seen as servants of the devil."

"This grew worse of late.  For the last fortnight, Strahd has taken an interest in my sister, Ireena.  I did not think it reciprocated.  While Strahd is wealthy and powerful, he is cold and cruel, and he already has a gaggle of brides and consorts.  Ireena is a fierce girl and I would never have thought her one to settle to be part of the devil's harem.  But... she seems..." he struggles to find the word.  "Bewitched, I think.  When the topic of Strahd comes up, she is not herself.  He eyes glaze and he speech becomes lazy and thoughtless.  I worry that he is casting some magic upon her."

"And she has been seen walking with him in the fields outside the village at night.  That's what led to the mob attack today."  He grits his teeth hard.  "They wanted to take her away, to stone her for consorting with Strahd.  Its madness... not only to kill an innocent girl, but I cannot imagine the hell Strahd would bring down upon these fools."

"And perhaps that is inevitable, now.  They killed my father.  As much as I want to find Jaromir and his friends and cut them down... my father was Strahd's voice in this village.  Jaromir and the others are doomed already... death would be a mercy for them, I think.  And not one I am inclined to deliver."

He gets up, walks to the bar, and grasps another cup of wine that Arik has already poured for him.  Returning to the table, "But I am left with the problem of what to do about my sister.  I do not think it is safe for her here any longer.  Not with the villagers... not with Strahd.  I need to get her removed from this place.  To the west is a much larger town called Vallaki.  I've heard they have strong walls that keep out the undead and that Strahd has no control there.  I would like to hire you.  If you would consent to escort my sister from here to Vallaki and see that she finds safe lodging there, away from Strahd, I will pay you 500 gp."

"Perhaps you can bribe the Vistani to take you home."  He takes another long drink of wine.  "I need to know your answer quickly.  For now, I must get back to the manor.  Please... if you will help me then come see me at my father's house and we will make arrangements."

Giles eyes get wide at the mention of 500 gp, his pupils dilate.  You see the coin going up and down his hand get even a little faster as Ismark tells his tale.  He asks simply, “How far away is Vallaki?  We do have a map… would the Vistani take us there, or would we be walking there alone with Ireena?  Do you have any horses?  It seems that the faster we could move, the better, or to be hidden amongst a group, maybe disguised...”  He pauses, chewing on his lower lip, and a glint comes in his eyes and a slow smile.  “I’m in.  I can’t speak for my companions of course, but I .. would like to help the poor child, of course…”. He knits his hands together and puts on a somber, understanding face and looks at Ismark with kindness.  

"  Whilst I've little love for Tax Collectors....I've less love for murderous mobs."

" Ismark, I will assist your sister.  But I must ask, do you know anything of the missing child Gertrude?"