Mad Mary? You sure she isn't possessed? That sounds suspicious, if you ask me. Aka says, concerned.

(Sorry for the delay)

"I wouldn't worry about her," Ismark says, "it's just a name the townsfolk have started using. What else could you call a woman who cries day and night?"

Ericina, try as you might you and your friend, Fuzzball, aren't able to sniff out any way into the house. It seems well-boarded up.

"Come on," says Ismark, "My father's home is at the end of this street."

He motions for you all to follow him further down the road. At the end of the street you all can now clearly see the burgomaster's mansion in all of its, relative, splendor.

The weary-looking mansion squats behind a rusting iron fence. The iron gates are twisted and torn. The right gate lies cast aside, while the left swings lazily in the wind. The stuttering squeal and clang of the gate repeats with mindless precision. Weeds choke the grounds and press with menace upon the house itself. Yet, against the walls, the growth has been tramped down to create a path all about the domain. Heavy claw markings have stripped the once-beautiful finish of the walls. Great black marks tell of the fires that have assailed the mansion. Not a pane nor a shard of glass stands in any window. All the windows are barred with planks, each one marked with stains of evil omen.

Ismark strolls right up to the front door and gives it three solid hits. "Ireena!" he calls, "It's me, open up!"

Before long you hear the sounds of heavy locks being pushed back from the heavy woodeVallaki whe Ireena, a striking woman with auburn locks, steps out from behind them. 

"Oh, Ismark," she says, "You're drunk again, are you? How do you expect to be burgomaster if you're always deep in your cups?"

"Don't worry about that," Ismark says, gesturing towards the lot of you, "I have found some travellers willing to take us to Vallaki where you'll be safe."

Ireena flashes you all a polite smile before dragging Ismark just out of earshot, but by the looks of it she seems to give her brother an earful. He turns back to you once she lets go of his collar.

"I'm afraid we must ask for another favor..." he says, "Well, you see, our father still hasn't been buried. We must give him last rites before we leave. Will you help us?"

"I've gone through enough funerals in my life, thank you." Bala spats, sharpening his claws with his dagger.

Happily. People who don’t get funerals turn into strange undead, as I’ve seen. Aka looks at the house. Creepy, much?

Having kept relatively quiet and being sure to keep a watchful eye on the drunken Ismark, Krolbrik likely appeared to the villagers of Barovia as a frightening monstrosity... were it not for the fact that it seemed creatures far more frightening and dangerous than him seemed to stalk the land. Krolbrik was used to being subject to ugly slurs or guardsmen mistaking him for a danger until seeing the symbol of the hand of justice which hung around his neck; and yet, the people here seemed tired, defeated.

Whatever has broken them this way had to be awful. 

So, it had seemed, the entire premise for their journey here to Barovia had been on a lie. Stanimir, either through fear or coercion, was giving aid to a vampire... creatures which themselves had been the subject of fear and folklore throughout the world, rumored to be monsters that are wielders of ungodly dark magics and blood sorceries, preying upon people in the darkness of night.

Should the lot of them ever run into Stanimir again, Krolbrik reasoned, he would be having words with the old Vistani. Hobgoblins did not take kindly to deceit, regardless if they were redeemed clans like the Firemights or still followers of the dark god Maglubiyet of his ancestors and the rest of the depraved goblinoid pantheon; a hobgoblin paladin of who followed the righteous Faerunian god of good law, even less.

And then there was the matter of Strahd. It would seem whatever light had been in the man's heart had long ago died, if Ismark was to be believed. 

"Your father is in need of last rites?" Krolbrik rumbled, his normally stoic brows softening in sympathy; he did his best, monstrous features of his goblinoid heritage notwithstanding, to appear frightening to Ireena. Even though his parents still yet lived, the paladin could sympathize with those who had lost their kin. "I am but a stranger to your land, but as a servant of Torm I am sincerely sorry for your loss. I cannot speak for my comrades, but perhaps I can assist you in laying him to rest. I am Krolbrik Firemight, Miss Ireena. It is good to meet you."

Ericina frowns at the mention of a funeral, turning to her rat friend and pulling it so that it laying across her hand so that she can pet it as if it was a cat and she was a villan with a cat. It seems to act out at first but soon calms and settles in her hand. "I don't like funerals or the things that cause them to happen." As she says this she fumbles with the signet ring she wore around her neck.

Ireena nods to you, Krolbrik, "A pleasure," she says. To the rest of you she says, "You all do not need to stay for the rites, we only need help carrying father to the church of the Morninglord for a proper burial. It's just on the other side of town, but too far for just Ismark and I to carry. Father Donovich will send his spirit onward and then we can make ready for Vallaki."

Adira will nod solemnly, thinking of her own father and if she'll ever see him again after coming to this strange and dangerous land. "I will help you bring him to the church."

Ericina nods as she continues to play with her necklace, her other hand still holding onto the rat she had picked up. Once she seems to calms she lets the rat crawl into her pack, moving to hand it bits of rations she had with her. "If we are waiting then perhaps we should rest...."

"You can stay in our home for tonight," Ireena says, "At dawn we can carry father for the funeral."

With your plans set to help with the burgomaster's funeral, the sunlight filtering in through the overcast sky has reached it's brightest and you've got some hours left before sundown to do whatever you wish while you're waiting. What does everyone do?

Aka winces at the sunlight. I’m not best in the sun. I’ll be back In a bit. Follow if you want, guys. I’ll be back in sundown! Aka, the curios kobold he is, runs to where the vulture went, trying to see what it’s doing.

Aka, you duck into the alleyway where the vulture landed and find it preoccupied with plucking apart the ratty corpse of a mongrel dog. As you approach the vulture raises its head towards you, Gore dripping from it's beak as it states you down.

Ericina will wander off to another room of the house and sit down, seemingly preocupied with her new rat friend and messing about with things that she has in her pack.

Bala will follow Aka into the alleyway, whistling at the sight of the vulture. "Hungry fella, ain't it."

Adira will look to see if the caravan they came with has arrived in town yet. Whether they are there or not, she will make sure she is safely indoors before sundown, thinking about the figure in the fog the night before. She will peruse the spellbook that was included in the basket from Strahd- mostly out of curiosity since she isn't a wizard.

Adira, as you wander the streets of Barovia, keeping an eye out for the brightly-colored vardos that the Vistani travellers use. It seems they haven't arrived in town yet. As you stand in the town square searching you're approached by a handsome young man, dressed in fine clothes. He flashes you a kind smile and asks,

"Are you looking for someone, miss?"

Adira will tuck some hair behind an ear, a little self conscious since she must look a bit frazzled after all the mess at the haunted house. "Yes actually. My companions and I traveled here with some Vistani. They had trouble with a broken wagon and insisted we go on without them. I was hoping they would have caught up with us by now, but I don't see any signs of them."

After saying that, she'll remember Ismark's apparent disdain for the Vistani and wonder if everyone in the town feels that way. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything.

"Vistani, huh? I passed a young Vistani man on the road earlier. He said he was on his way to get a spare wheel for a broken wagon. I'll bet that's your man. I passed him near their encampment up near Tser Pool."

He flashes you a handsome and light-hearted smile before reaching out his hand, "My name's Vasili von Holtz, and you are?"

Adira will look quite relieved at the news. Though her dark skin doesn't show a blush, her cheeks warm as she takes the offered hand. "Adira Larklin, travelling bard. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Charmed," he says as he raises your hand to his lips. "Barovia's certainly seen better days, wouldn't you agree?" He says, eyeing the rundown houses and storefronts of the village. He lets out a heavy sigh, "You see, Adira, I came all the way out here from Vallaki in search of beauty. I'm an artist at heart. Alas, I'm afraid Barovia just is not the beautiful town it once was."

"Forgive me for being so bold, but would you pose for me? Just so that this trip is not a complete waste of time?"