"Back out? I most certainly can." She says casually. "Why? Because, I have something you need and was willing to give it to you. For free. You can be nice and i'll give it to you, or you can be an ass and figure it out on your own." She waits a moment to let that sink in. "The rest is not your concern, but I hate this place like everyone else." She points to the tombstones outside that Winter saw earlier. "What you're looking for is there. You're welcome." She give you a mildly annoyed look and returns to the kitchen. 

Oh. Oh **** me. I really know how to charm them. "You're his widow, aren't you? I'm sorry for being such an ass. Thanks." Anborn says, feeling like an ******* and trying to avoid getting smacked in the back of the head again.

Corrin chuckles at Anborn. "I'd heard some priests took vows of celibacy, but I'd never seen one so apt to do it the way you do," he quips as he heads toward the door. "Of course, being Barovia, it looks as if once again we are headed to a cemetery."

Winter crosses her arms in front of her chest watching this train wreck unfold before her and the group and rolls her eyes as she follows behind Corrin towards the door. "You tried, I'll give you that much." She comments over to Anborn.

THE GRAVE

You can hear the distant sounds of panic as most of the town is preoccupied with whatever building has exploded this day as you make your way to the side of the house, and down to the cemetery area of the mansion. There are a few graves, but.****y one says, "Leo Dilisnya - Noble of Vallaki."

This must be the one.

I'm getting absolutely shitfaced after this. Anborn walks over to his grave and starts digging without saying a word.

Buried in the grave is a large chest that contains the bones of Leo Dilisnya.

You have found the body of a once great threat to the Vampire Strahd. Too bad he's dead. 

If you only had a way to resurrect the dead.

"If I was stronger and had the resources, I could bring him back. But I don't and I can't. Sorry. Maybe someone else in Barovia knows what to do. "

“We should find a priest...though, I wonder how they feel about grave robbing around these parts...”

Orilo had remained behind in the house, watching the exchanging, and then later that of Anborn and whoever else left to dig up the grave. Seeing their prize in hand from outside the window, the half-goliath makes his way to find the maid again... and pointedly pushes back growing concern over the explosion situation. It wasn't as if Strahd was likely to attack within two days anyways. "Pardon. Orilo. Orilo Stonethroat Vaimei-Laga." He says to the maid, and bows partway in a formal bow. "Forgive me, if I am barking up the wrong mountain. But, are you aware of suppose places or a person that may know of a means to.. bring back the dead. Preferably alive." He quickly amends. "Or at least of someone in town that may have a strange fascination with the strange in baravoia." 

Anborn just shrugs in response to Corrin and then pulls up the chest, closes it up, and tosses the dirt back in the hole.

"There is a man," the maid mentions, "Rictavio. You might be able to find him in the Inn, down the street. He seems to fit the description of the kind of person you're looking for."

At the mention of Rictavio, Anborn heads to the inn, not making eye contact with the maid.

THE BLUE WATER INN

Ireena and Ismark are seated at a table listening to a man who appears to be telling a tale so outlandish Ireena is completely enthralled. Rictavio appears to be a half-elven bard who is very colorfully dressed. As you approach, Rictavio finishes his story and looks at you all curiously. Ireena and Ismark smile, and are happy to see you. They wave you all over, if you're not close enough.

Anborn tries to look less shitty than he feels right now as he approaches Rictavio. "I'm Anborn, you must be Rictavio. My companions and I were told that you can help us with an issue we have. Can we speak to you in private?" He also purchases a mug of Red Dragon Crush.

Corrin follows Anborn to the half-elven bard. "Oh, I love a good story," he says, before sighing when he hears the war priest wants to talk business. "Maybe after all the important stuff is discussed." Knowing that these conversations typically don't require much of his input, the halfling surveys the room to see what else of interest may be happening. "Maybe Winter is up for some mischief," he ponders out loud.

Perception: 20

Elya looks around the room, surveying it for any trouble or troublemakers. Perception: 19

She gives Ireena a slight glance before continuing the scan the room.

Earlier:

He nods and presses lightly for further details into Rictavio: namely his appearance. "You have our thanks, and my apologies. Because I must ask you let the Burgeonmaster know of pressing arrangements took us elsewhere as well, and that we are... sorry for so rudely leaving." With another formal bow, Orilo took his leave of the place. Though made a mental note to look into the explosion in the town later. 

Present:

Speaking not a greeting, but nodding one instead, Orilo finds himself a seat nearby, or a wall to lean against to listen on idly as Anborn takes the lead on things. Though if he hears Corrin's outspoken thought aloud, he forgets about Rictavio long enough to stare daggers at the halfling. "Or maybe do something a little less likely to wind you imprisoned, perhaps. Stoutling." He would suggest strongly.

Anborn hears the Paladin admonish Corrin and without turning around, agrees with the giant. "Agreed. We have enough on our plate to deal with without having to worry about whether we need to get you out of the stocks. How about you talk to Rictavio, Corrin? You know about the divine, you're a hell of a lot better with people than I am, and you seem pretty excited about getting to meet him."

Corrin shrugs and approaches the bard. "Hello there, good sir. I must admit, that in my many travels, I have heard some good tales spun, both far and wide. What tale have you to share that may draw my friends and mine thoughts away from the bitter reality of the fiendish realm," the halfling challenges. "And be warned, we have quite the bard amongst our numbers," Corrin looks about. "Or we did. Appears we've misplaced another ally, but that's a tale for another day. Spin your yarn, wordsmith, and amaze us. If it's worthy, the talkative giant here (point to Orilo) will gladly present you a generous sum for the distraction."

The halfling then finds a seat, grabbing the nearest person's unattended ale and taking a swig. "Come now, friends, don't be rude," he smiles. "Have a seat and hear this man's tale."

If the bard complies, Corrin only somewhat listens to the tale, instead listening to the cadence and crafting of the story, checking to see if the man is more than some denizen of inns.

Insight: 18