Transmutation. The paper returns to normal, reforming the line. None of you have proficiency in cartographer's tools. Nonetheless, you may want to look into getting some. As for final actions in Villaki, put it in your next few posts.

You set out for Castle Ravenloft. After some time you pass by some landmarks, a windmill and a pair of gates. Immediately after the gates, you come across a fork in the road. Parked at the fork in the road, pointed east, is a large black carriage drawn by two black horses. Behind the carriage is a road to the castle. The horses snort puffs of steamy breath into the chill mountain air. The side door of the carriage swings open silently. 

((Oh, Kess can change her Whispers of the Dead proficiency to cartographer's tools. She'll buy the tools and 6 arrows, assuming the prices here are normal.))

Ok, so the good news is that it's not 10 times the price. The bad news is that it's 5 times the price.

((Oof. Just the arrows then unless everyone wants to chip in.))

I can create some cartographer's tools. Currently used my feature for some smith's tools, but now I have my gear back I don't need a duplicate set.
With thieves’ tools or artisan’s tools in hand, you can magically create one set of artisan’s tools in an unoccupied space within 5 feet of you. This creation requires 1 hour of uninterrupted work, which can coincide with a short or long rest. Though the product of magic, the tools are nonmagical, and they vanish when you use this feature again.

Kessintra halts at the sight of the black carriage, her hand brushing against the repurposed invitation and Garrick's newly crafted cartographer's tools as she tucks them into her pack. The wailing of her spirits grows louder as the door opens by itself.

"I can't say this is unexpected," she remarks with a sigh, grasping her lyre tightly as she moves to climb inside.

Ismirk enters the carriage with you. The doors swing shut and start down the road. After winding through the forest and craggy mountain peaks, the road takes a sudden turn to the east, and the startling, awesome presence of Castle Ravenloft towers before you. The carriage comes to a dead stop before twin turrets of stone, broken from years of exposure. Beyond these guard towers is the precipice of a fifty-foot-wide, fog-filled chasm that disappears into unknown depths.

A lowered drawbridge of old, shored-up wooden beams stretches across the chasm, between you and the archway to the courtyard. The chains of the drawbridge creak in the wind, their rust-eaten iron straining under the weight. From atop the high walls, stone gargoyles stare at you out of their hollow eye sockets and grin hideously. A rotting wooden portcullis, green with growth, hangs above the entry tunnel. Beyond this location, the main doors of Ravenloft stand open. A rich, warm light spills from within, flooding the courtyard. Torches flutter sadly in sconces on both sides of the open doors. Sporadic flashes of lightning lance the weeping clouds overhead as thunder shakes the ground. Through the drizzle, you see torch flames fluttering on each side of the keep’s open main doors. Warm light spills out of the entrance, flooding the courtyard. High above the entrance is a round window with shards of broken glass lodged in its iron frame. In front of you is a misshapen humanoid in a suit. He slouches over. The left side his face is covered with lizard scales, and he has the ears of a panther. His left foot looks like a duck’s webbed foot, and his arms have patches of black dog fur. He speaks in squeals, his voice sounding like a raven's cry. "Come, come. Rahadin is waiting for you."

Zan whispers to the group, who's Rahadin?

I think that’s Strahd?

"He's Strahd's elf servant. Of course the first elf we meet here is a vampire's lackey." Kessintra murmurs, reluctantly moving to follow the...thing before them. Her grip on her lyre grows tighter the deeper they move into the castle, her eyes flicking back and forth seemingly at nothing. It feels like being underwater. Her hands shakily move to play but only manage discordant notes.

The ornate outer doors of the castle hang open, flanked by fluttering torches in iron sconces. Twenty feet inside the castle is a second set of doors. Overhead, in the vaulted entry foyer, four statues of dragons glare down, their eyes flickering in the torchlight. You hear faint music coming from an organ, drowning out the lyre. The thing leads you further in. 

Cobwebs stretch between the columns that support the vaulted ceiling of a great, dusty hall dimly lit by sputtering torches in iron sconces. The torches cast odd shadows across the faces of eight stone gargoyles squatting motionlessly on the rim of the domed ceiling. Cracked and faded ceiling frescoes are covered by decay. Double doors of bronze stand closed to the east. To the north, a wide staircase climbs into darkness. A lit hallway to the south contains another set of bronze doors, through which you hear sad and majestic organ tones. In the center is the old, wrinkly elf with grey skin. 

Kess: 

 You can hear faint screams emanating from him. You can't make out what they say. He looks you all up and down.

Kessintra's fingers falter on the lyre until she lets the strings fall silent. Its faint warmth is no match for the cold, suffocating presence of the place or the mournful tones of the organ. Her eyes widen when the elderly elf comes into view, scanning the empty space around him wildly for a few moments. Against her better judgment, Kess steps closer, her voice low and unsure.

"You are...the same?" she asks, her tone edged with reluctant curiosity and unease. Her gaze sharpens as she searches his expression. She doesn’t like the idea that they share anything, but the pull of recognition is undeniable.

Insight: 5 -.-

Rahadin stares into your soul. "Dusk elves and Drow are not the same. Not to mention that you don't put thought into events you attend, given that you didn't wear formal attire to this one. Follow me."

He does down the hallway and turns away from the room with the music, heading up a spiral staircase. If you follow, you pass by two doors on your ascent. You come to a dark landing ten feet wide and twenty feet long. A cold draft of wind rushes down the spiral staircase at the north end of the east wall and whistles mournfully through the room before streaming down the stairs to the south.

An ornate, square rug covers the floor to the south. Set into the west wall is an ironbound wooden door with a wooden trapdoor set into the floor in front of it. Hanging on the north wall above the trapdoor is a framed portrait of a handsome, well-dressed man with a serene yet penetrating gaze. It's Strahd, as a human.

Kessintra flinches slightly at Rahadin’s cold words, unsure if she should feel relieved or disappointed by his answer. She swallows her retort, choosing instead to remain silent as she follows him, casting a glance back toward the door where the organ music continues to play, its mournful tones lingering in her ears.

Her steps are careful as they ascend, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings and mentally cataloging them for later. When the group has a moment alone, she’ll add it all to the map with Garrick’s tools.

The portrait of Strahd as a mortal stops her in her tracks for a moment before she approaches it. It looks almost too alive for a painting. This version of Strahd is so starkly different from the predator they’ve encountered, and it leaves an odd weight in her chest.

“So...this is who he used to be,” she murmurs thoughtfully, remembering how the old Vistani had spoken of their cursed prince. With a final glance, she steps back, her unease deepening as she prepares to continue.

Rahadin leads you through the door. As thunder shakes the tower, heavy beams groan under the weight of the ceiling. Three ornate lanterns hang by chains from these beams, each casting a dim glow. The curved west wall is fitted with three windows of leaded glass in steel latticework. A bookcase sits on the east wall between two doors. Plush, overstuffed chairs and couches are placed about the room. The fabric has faded with age, and the patterns it depicts are nearly gone. You can see the roof of the castle through the windows. On one couch, suits and dresses are folded neatly next to each other. Atop each one is one of your names. "Wear this over what you have on now. Then we will go to the dining room."

A flicker of unease crosses Kess' face as the realization sinks in—these outfits were chosen specifically for each of them, either by Rahadin or Strahd himself. Like they are just dolls. The thought sends a chill through her as she reluctantly moves toward the one bearing her name.

Picking up the dress, she inspects it carefully, her fingers brushing over the fabric as she searches for any signs of a trap or spellwork. Memories of her time dressing up as her Matron’s double tug at the edges of her mind, but those days feel distant and irrelevant compared to the discomfort she feels now. “Picked out just for us,” she mutters quietly, her suspicion clear as she casts a wary glance toward her companions, gauging their reactions.

Perception to inspect dress: 16

It's a fine dress, purple with grey accents. It seems to be made out of an expensive material.

Garrick puts on his suit, appreciating the fine material despite himself.

Kess puts on the dress once she is certain it is safe. She likes the colors, at least.

"Rahadin, our more heavily armored friends may have trouble getting these on without removing some things. Could we have a few minutes of privacy, please?"

"Of course. I'll wait outside." He exits.