Soren sits back sipping a small pour of Red Dragon Crush (as small as possible without being impolite) and lets the words of his companions and Davian Martikov wash over him as he reflects back on their brief experience in the land of Barovia thus far.  It takes some time for his thoughts to settle.

After a long pause in the conversation, Soren finally starts up again.

"Something has been bothering me about how we came to this land, and I never thought of it until what you just said, Davian.  Are you telling us that Strahd summoned us, as he does all outsiders, into Barovia on purpose?  Choosing us specifically?  Something did feel inevitable about those mists.  How the werewolves almost drew us into them.  But why would he choose us, four militia members?  We were accompanied in our werewolf hunt by a knight, Sir Roland Caskbow, and a mage, Lady Tourmaline Bauer.  Surely, they would have been more interesting... playthings for him."

Which reminds Soren.  He pulls the map and the letter he had brought from the abandoned house where they first took refuge in Barovia, found next to the dead adventurer from yet another land (Greyhawk) who had drunk Strahd's poisoned wine rather than face his wrath.  Soren unfolds the letter.

"Davian, you say the mage and his entourage were just a year ago, and that Strahd had not seemed himself for two decades.  I think Strahd acknowledges this in his letter to one of the outsiders who presumably came with the mage.  Raquon of Greyhawk.  A letter we found next to Raquon's corpse.  In it, Strahd also acknowledges his thinking had become 'obtuse, withdrawn and distracted',  and thanked Raquon for rekindling Strahd's fire.  He wrote he might one day owe Raquon for his 'freedom'.  I do not know what it means, but it may have to do with why he summoned us so soon."

Soren shows everyone the letter (from post 235, which Soren took with him in post 245)

Raquon of Greyhawk,

Two weeks have passed since you and the mage led that rabble to my castle.  In the aftermath, I did not count you among the dead.  It was but a day before I tracked you to this mouldy thicket where you have gone to ground.  I have watched, curious to see if there was more fight in you; if you would rally yet again.  Alas, no.  You are a spent force.

It is clear that you are no threat to me, still I cannot allow your crimes to go unanswered.  You may not lurk in my Barovia, no matter how deep a hole you dig.  You took up arms against me, denounced me in front of my people, and destroyed some of my most beloved servants.  You played for blood and lost; your life is forfeit.

But I am not without mercy.  Do you recall our conversation outside the walls of Vallaki?  I do.  It is rare that I am surprised, but you accomplished this feat.  You have given me much to think about.  Dust had settled around my mind, I think.  My thinking over these long years had become obtuse, withdrawn and distracted, but perhaps you have rekindled a fire that should never have gone out.  There may come a day when I look back and owe my freedom to your wise words.

With this in mind, I make an offering of peace.  Attached to this letter is a bottle of wine from my most favored cellar.  It also happens to be possessed of a singular poison.  Drink deep, savor .  You shall feel no pain and within an hour you will drift off to a final sleep.  You have my word.

You also have my word that, should you still draw breath when the moon rises tonight, I will visit horrors upon you unlike anything you have seen since you passed through the mists.  No locked door or barred window will keep you from my reach.  After my servants drag you back to the dungeons below Ravenloft, you shall have an eternity to regret rejecting my offer of a quick death.

With courteous respect,

Lord and Master of Barovia,

Strahd Von Zarovich

Giles eyes go unfocused and he stares at his glass of wine as Soren reads the letter.  So much has transpired since then…. He starts to relax, feeling that they are safe here, for the night.  Such a small thing is huge in this land.  Suddenly he feels so tired, he waits and listens for Davian’s response to the letter.  If they could understand a little more about Strahd, that would help, he waits to gain any insight available.  He takes a large drink and watches Davian across the table.  

Burr nods off on the floor...

As the letter is passed around and its contents revisited, Davian takes a long time to read it.  He sets it down on the table and then finishes the wine in his cup.  

There is a long pause.

"What freedom does he seek?  From his vampirism, perhaps?  Or from Barovia?"

"It's an interesting thought," he says at last.  "We've all spent our whole lives here.  The mists... the edge of our world... it is a constant thing.  It's all we have ever known.  But for the tales of the Vistani and the odd goods they traffic in, and the outsiders brought in by the Devil and the stories they tell, we might believe the whole of all creation is contained here in this valley.  None leave, but for the Vistani, and they only with Strahd's blessing.  To consider that he could be a prisoner here himself... able to grant leave to others but never leave on his own...".

"I have always considered Strahd the master of the mists... that he controls them as he controls so much else here.  But what if it isn't that simple?"

"Have you spoken with any of the Cult of Ezra?" he asks, seemingly changing the subject.  He answers without waiting for a response.  "They came of their own, years ago.  They worship the mists, or something like that.  They claim they came from another place, but not a wide-open world like you lot... another realm surrounded by mists.  One of many, they claimed, that could be traveled between by hopping through the mists like skipping stones on a pond.  Until they came here, and were sealed in."  He asks to see Soren's map again.  Laying it out on the table, he points to a settlement in the far west, 'Zeindenburg.'  "Here... all this..." he traces a finger from the 'Cursed Woods' down to the outskirts of 'Teufeldorf,' "... is gone.  Swallowed by the mists.  Zeindenburg no longers exists... or at least it doesn't exist in Barovia.  And those same mists creep closer to Teufeldorf each day."  He frowns and appears to be deep in thought.  "The Cult of Ezra claims it is a liberation... that the people should flock to Teufeldorf and travel with it to some other realm.  Others think the encroaching mists mean oblivion, and refugees flee toward Vallaki or other smaller settlements."

He lowers his head and shakes it, as though the thread of thought has escaped him.  "Eh.  It has been a long day, and I am no mystic.  These mysteries are beyond me.  Come.  We are all bunking here in the main house tonight.  I'll see you to your accommodations, such that they are."

Zefla is set up to bunk with the adult women, young children and the baby.  Davian, his son-in-law Dag, and his eldest grandson Cladiu share the master bedroom, while Soren, Burr and Giles are afforded the remaining bunk room.

You sleep, uninterrupted, until the stirring of the Martikovs wakes you in the morning.  You look out the windows on another grey, sunless day in Barovia.  Exhaustion and other status effects are gone (except for max HP drain from the Hag... that remains).

[Congratulations!  You have reached Level Four!]

Soren awakens, relieved at not being visited by Morgantha in his dreams, and determined to return to Vallaki as soon as he can to assist Father Lucian and Ireena in finding the stolen relics that he had promised to do the previous night.

Though he feels his connection to Silvanus is distant in this cursed land, he nevertheless feels a small glow of accomplishment.  Believing that a mighty blow had been struck against the corruption of nature the previous night and that he and his companions had been at the heart of striking that blow.

This is a harsh, unforgiving land, where terrors and abominations thrive and both people and nature are on the defensive.  I must be stronger and more resilient if my beast friends and I are to support my companions as they supported me against the blights, dark druids and rabid axe-men.

(Soren gains the Resilient Constitution feat).

In addition to the blood spear claimed by Burr, the party has a chance to examine the battleaxe that was used to cut down the Gulthias Tree.

It is indeed magical.  The yester hill axe, for lack of a better name, has a handle carved with leaves and vines, and the weapon weighs half as much as a normal battleaxe.  When the axe hits a plant, whether an ordinary plant or a plant creature, the target takes an extra 1d8 slashing damage.

" Soren, would this suit you?", Burr says handing the axe over.

( Burrs kind of in the lull between Levels currently due to multiclassing so just gets some more hp.)

As they wake in the morning and Zefla enjoys a quiet, restful night with the women.  She hopes the rest of her team did as well and no nightmares will be reported this morning.

Heading down to join the rest, she asks, "So we heading back to Vallaki this morning?  Go help the church?  We should also let Urwin know of what transpired here."

Soren smiles and shakes his head as Burr offers him the magic axe.  (Soren is not proficient with a battleaxe and his Strength is no good).

"My friend, I lack the physical might to wield such melee weapons made for the strong.  Even my dagger will suit me better.  And whoever heard of a druid carrying a weapon specialized in destroying plants?  Though I am thankful it was so effective in your hands to end the Gulthias Tree.  I sense that Zefla too prefers finesse or [Tooltip Not Found] weapons, so unless Giles wants it, I suggest you keep it, Burr, in case we battle corrupted plants again."

He turns to Zefla.  "Yes, I at least hope to return to Vallaki at once.  I should have been there last night, as I promised Father Lucien I would help him and Ireena recover the stolen relic - the Bones of Saint Andral which protect the cathedral.  In my rush yesterday morning, I was unable to properly track the dirt-strewn shoe-prints of the thieves, one set of tracks disappearing into town, and another into a neighborhood close to the cathedral.  I sense the Bones are what keep evil out of the cathedral.  Even approaching it a few days ago, we all saw how the encroaching mist was kept at bay.  Father Lucien confirmed he felt the protection of his sanctuary is gone.  This means that Strahd's minions may now be able to enter."

Soren looks stricken.  "We promised Ireena's brother Ismark we would ensure her safety, and we did.  She is a grown woman of course, not a child, yet we have left her in jeopardy yesterday with the Bones gone from the cathedral.  I sensed the fierce storm that hit Vallaki just after we first left her there manifested Strahd's wrath that she was out of his reach then.  No longer.  Silvanus and Tymora both grant that we are not too late now!"

If his companions are ready, Soren pays his respects to Davian and the other Martikovs before departing back to Vallaki as early as possible.

Burr prepared to leave and follow Soren, strangely the winery felt the most like home since they had arrived in this terrible place.....

Giles wakes up feeling refreshed, no dark dreams bothered him that night, despite it all.  He walks into the main room and sees his companions preparing to leave and he seeks out Davian.  If he finds him this morning, he tells him “We are leaving to head back to Vallaki.  I’m glad that we could help, is there any note that you would have us bring to your brother, any message, or any special bottles of wine.  I’m sure he’s glad that this has been set aright and that your wines can be served there again.  Anything else you would have us take to him as we prepare to leave?”  Giles looks for any rations to replenish along the way, preparing his pack and reading to travel like the others.

Davian greets you as you prepare for the long walk back to Vallaki.  He has a gift for each one of you... a bottle of Red Dragon Crush, each wrapped up snugly in a red handkerchief for transport.  "Make it last.  With the gem you returned, the grapes will grow up strong and fast... but with the poisoning of the wine in our vats, and the damage to the rest of the vineyard, it may be many weeks before we are able to send more shipments out.  And the gem you recovered empowers the vines that produce our Purple Grapemash.  Barovia may not see this vintage again for some time," he says, gesturing to the bottles he hands each of you.

"I wish you safe travels.  If ever you find yourself in this part of the valley again, stop by.  Know that you are friends of the Wizard of Wines, and of the Martikovs.  You can find shelter here, if need be."  He looks off toward the nearby highlands.  "Go, and see to your other concerns.  We can take care of things here.  If you should one day find yourselves with the time or inclination to retrieve our other gem from the mountain clans... it is too much to ask, but you have proven yourselves more than capable."  He shuffles uncomfortably, as if not used to given friendly speeches. 

He makes a face that is somewhere between pursed lips and a smile at Giles.  "No.  Thank you.  My sons took a message for me to Urwin already along with that wine yesterday."   

Saying their goodbyes, the party departs the vineyard, walking past some of the Martikov kin as they labor in the terraced fields, pulling out dead vines, or repairing damaged fences.  They also pass the grisly burn pit, where the charred remains of druids and blights await a covering of lye and dirt.

They march back with a hurried pace.  Though it has only been a little over a day, it feels like they have been gone from Vallaki for an age.  The again pass through those unsettling Barovian gates, that swing open of their own accord, and pass through the trail marked on the map as the Dreadpass.  They cannot help but keep their eyes on the grim fortress high up on the ridge, where perhaps more of those mountain clan berserkers watch them even now.  If so, they give no sign, and the party passes through without incident.  

The weather is overcast - as always - but it is dryer and the mists seem... less overbearing.  You cover ground quickly and meet no one on the roads.  Retracing their steps from yesterday, it is midday when they reach the outskirts of Vallaki, passing by the fortified apothecary compounds west of town and approaching the town gates.  

They all notice an odor on the air... smoke, but not the faint, almost pleasant odor of cookfires and stoves.  It is a wet, dirty smoke, like burning garbage.  As they approach the western gate, they see four guards today, which seems like more than yesterday.  Upon closer inspection, all look ragged, with bags under their bloodshot eyes, and they finger their weapons as you approach.  One of them, on duty yesterday, recognizes you lot. 

"Yeah.  They are staying at the Blue Water.  They got papers." 

Another looks at you, humorlessly.  "Right.  Then best get to the plaza.  The Baron has started the festival early.  Attendance is mandatory."

"All will be well," they all speak in unison, mechanically and without inflection.

Soren feels dread at the pit of his stomach, knowing that the cathedral was unprotected last night, and smelling the rancid smoke.  Something in the back of his mind gibbers and whines in fear.  No... no... not fire... I have seen and smelled enough fire to last a lifetime...  He prays silently to Silvanus.

"All will be well," he manages in a strained voice as he begins to move towards the plaza as directed, "but please tell us.  What is the... the smoke from?  You look as you have not slept in your dens for the night."

He looks at their garments and for any apparent injuries to try to guess if they have been fighting fires all night, or fighting, or...

Soren Insight plus Guidance:  13 + 1 = 14

Burr is not looking forward to the festivities......especially enforced activities. He looks to Sorens concern but there is nothing they can do about something that has already happened, they need simply deal with the aftermath.

Giles sniffs the air and tries to identify the smell, walking forward into Vallaki.  “We can head to the Blue Water later, but I think we need to head to the church first….”  He has a sense of unease overcome him, his mind racing to bad places similar to Soren.

Investigation : 2 (he really has no idea what the source of the smell would be…)

The guards aren't interested in Soren's questions.  "Don't worry about it.  Everything is fine.  Now... we are shutting this gate again, so either get in or get out."

Soren:

In response to the guard's ultimatum about shutting the gate, Soren chooses to get in rather than get out.

Once through and past earshot, he says quietly:  "It sounds as if we must make for the plaza first or make an adversary of the Baron who runs the pack here.  Perhaps we will learn what has happened and visit the cathedral as soon as we can afterwards.  Agreed?"

Burr nods and makes for the plaza...

As it happens, the party does not need to make a choice between the festival and the cathedral.  Located not far from the western gate, St. Andral's is on the direct route between their entry point and the town center where the festival is being held.  As you hurry east through town, you can see the bell tower of St. Andral's Cathedral rising up ahead of you.  

Any relief you may have felt at seeing it intact, is short-lived.  

It was not the church that burned.  Instead, it was a row of townhouses directly across the street.  Three, or possibly four, multi-story homes, now charred heaps, the debris collapsed into the cellars.  A bucket brigade continues to work at the smoldering portions of one of the homes, belching out thick grey steam and smoke.

The church is standing, but far from its former stately appearance.  Most of the stained-glass windows, depicting the saints and martyrs, have been smashed out and the heavy wooden doors are off of their hinges.  Long claw marks gouge the doors, and even some of the bricks outside the doorway. Peering inside, you can see dark stains covering the entry way carpets, and many of the pews are overturned.  

Most distressing of all, the small cemetery adjacent to the cathedral has a handful of freshly dug graves, along with a much larger, square shaped area of disturbed earth.  

More town guards prevent access to the sites, steering any passing townsfolk away, and admonishing them to get to the festival immediately.  Those who do pass hurry away without looking, but for one small boy who stares in fascination at the grisly scene, even as his parents avert their eyes.

Giles is alarmed, he starts to walk quickly, going up to anyone near the area asking “Where is Father Lucien?  What happened here?”  He scans faces, looking for him, glancing inside the church.  He turns to Burr, Zefla and Soren and says “Will he be in the city square, will they have made him gather and “make merry”, while his church is smouldering?”  He puts his hands through his hair as if to straighten it up ,but he rubs it vigorously in frustration, leaving him with crazy man hair.  He is obviously distressed.