Under raging storm clouds, a lone figure stands silhouetted against the ancient walls of Castle Ravenloft. The vampire Count Strahd von Zarovich stares down a sheer cliff at the village below. A cold, bitter wind spins dead leaves about him, billowing his cape in the darkness. Lightning splits the clouds overhead, casting stark white light across him. Strahd turns to the sky, revealing the angular muscles of his face and hands. He has a look of power — and of madness. His once handsome face is contorted by a tragedy darker than the night itself.
Rumbling thunder pounds the castle spires. The wind’s howling increases as Strahd turns his gaze back to the village. Far below, yet not beyond his ken, a party of adventurers has just entered his domain. Strahd’s face forms a twisted smile as his dark plan unfolds. He knew they were coming, and he knows why they have come — all according to his plan. He, the master of Ravenloft, will attend to them. Another lightning flash rips through the darkness, its thunder echoing through the castle’s towers. But Strahd is gone. Only the howling of the wind — or perhaps a lone wolf — fills the midnight air. The master of Ravenloft is having guests for dinner. And you are invited.
PROLOGUE
Our journey begins in complete darkness.
An emptiness. Impossibly cold. Eternally dark. On the very edge of the known cosmos, completely devoid of light - that is exactly where our journey begins.
Like an outsider looking in, we travel inward, forward, and can see and know the universe on its grandest scale, our mind unable to comprehend its size and greatness. Our time and place completely unknown, yet we feel we are being pulled - drawn - to a specific point in the grandest scale of all – eternity.
We travel faster and faster inward, passing the largest and oldest of galactic phenomenon, and hone in on some time and place much smaller - an impossibly large galactic cluster of a hundred galaxies in some unknown part of this universe. In one of these massive galaxies, along one of its beautiful spiral arms, is a star system of some unremarkable age and size, and faster than we can understand or comprehend, we see a planet slowly orbiting a pale yellow sun.
The name of this particular planet is unimportant, but the story we’re about to be a part of is, and more so are the souls that this story involves. Inspecting the planet closer is a continent swathed in darkness, so vast, like a festering wound on the world that never healed. Just like at the very edge of the cosmos where we began, we zoom in on the land and find that it’s horribly dark - haunted, corrupted, poisoned, and closer still, we find an area called Barovia, and looming over it, an enormous castle called Ravenloft.
This is where our story begins.
BEGINNINGS
A NIGHT LIKE ANY OTHER To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring. Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside. Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk.
A STRANGE VISITOR Suddenly, the tavern door swings open, and a hush falls over the room. Framed by the lamp-lit fog, a form strides through the doorway. His heavy, booted footfalls and the jingle of his coins shatter the silence. His brightly colored clothes are draped in loose folds about him, and his hat hangs askew, hiding his eyes in shadows. Without hesitation, he walks up to your table and stands proudly in a wide stance with folded arms. In an accented voice he says, “I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master’s aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods at night!” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to all of you in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table. “Take the west road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia.”
THE LETTER Amid the silent stares of the patronage, the ***** strides to the bar and says to the wary barkeep, “Fill the glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” He drops a purse heavy with gold on the bar. With that, he leaves. The babble of tavern voices resumes, although somewhat subdued. The letter is lying before you. The seal is in the shape of a crest you don’t recognize.
TEAM BUILDING TASK#1 - Our adventure begins in an unimportant place, during an unimportant land. What IS important are you all, and for whatever reason, you have all met here tonight, together. Take this opportunity to introduce yourselves, and if you wish, you can elaborate on how you may know one another. Take this time to talk, ask questions, work out relationships, etc.
One of the patrons seated at the table is a man in his mid-20s. He's easy on the eyes, although a bit weathered. He has fair skin, with short auburn hair and a beard that he hasn't shaved in about a week. He's wearing a long, brown coat with a popped collar, but the jingle of chain mail can still be faintly heard underneath. On his legs are green trousers and his feet are covered in brown boots. There is a holy symbol of Torm around his neck, a hammer on his belt, and a shield on his back. He is currently regaling everyone at his table (and any other patrons who are willing to listen) with a tale of how he saved a family from Goblins recently.
"And then I said 'I'll make some holey men out of you!' Of course, that joke might have gone better if I had an actual sword or some other weapon that pokes holes in people and not a hammer, but that's not really the main point of this story, is it? I saved a family of terrified peasants and also accidentally taught some new four-letter words to children. Their parents gave me an earful about that, because apparently smashing goblins into thick paste is acceptable in front of children, but bad words is just too much for their fragile little minds."
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Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
A younger man, in his early twenties, sips his watered down mead slowly as he listens to this tale of heroism. Strong drink never agreed with Song. It hit him far too hard and fast, and too much can ruin his voice for the day. That was not a good idea for a singer and bard. Song is more pretty than handsome, with blonde hair, naturally tanned skin and golden eyes. Song enjoyed his looks, as he could turn the heads of both woman and men. His bardic attire is more subdued than many other bards. Upon his back is his trusty lyre, and upon his belt are daggers.
Raising his glass to the group, he speaks approvingly of Anborn."I for one, will speak in golden tones of this deed! A tad foul-mouthed or no, you are brave soul! I'm sure that Torm smiled upon you that day. I'd love to hear more stories from around the table. Heroic tales nourish me more than good bread. And perhaps we can end this night with a round of songs as well. I'd love to trade some. Though there's not a lot I haven't heard."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
A thin halfling with a mop of unruly brown hair and dressed in an oversized coat adorned with countless pockets and pouches flits around the table, pausing here and there to listen to the tale while curiously inspecting the occasional pouch, pack and bag or taking a sip from a disregarded tankard. He attentively offers an "ooh"and "ahh" as the tale is spun, giggling at the asides and applauding at the end.
The voice sent chills down the rogues spine, yet she manged to keep a calm and collected look about her visage.
"You pride yourself in being a successful bounty hunter. Best in all of Faerun! They say," He speaks slow and glares down at her menacingly, leaning forth in his throne like chair. "Yet you've failed to bring me Cora Perkins..."
Her lips part but nothing escapes her throat, her mouth automatically closing soon after her grey blue eyes go downcast, unable to gather the courage to look at him in the eyes anymore. A moment later she manages to croak out, "I apolo--"
"Spare me your apologies, child!" He spits, cutting her off before she could continue. "I do not want to hear your excuses." He sinks back into his chair as his eyes pierces daggers at her, letting a sick silence fall between them before breaking it with a growl. "How will you make up for your failure?"
Winter doesn't speak, or move, she stands there as her lips thin in thought. Was that a literal question? How was she suppose to atone for her failure? She could withstand the pain of a flogging, she thought, or train until her lungs had given out, but she knew none of those would be satisfactory punishments. Nothing was ever good enough. She had stopped forging her mind for ideas once she heard him chuckle deeply, meeting his gaze again, trying to mask the fear.
"Such a disappointment. Can't even think of a suitable punishment for yourself..." He muses with a sadistic grin, adjusting himself to sit legs crossed. "Let's see... How about a new target?"
Her ears perked in interest and listened to his words intently.
Winter had wasted no time in starting her hunt however the only thing was she didn't know where to start. Her betters often would give her a location, a place to start her hunt, but in letting her live they decided to leave that information out, only giving her a name of the person she would be stalking after, and after an empty good luck, they threw her out. She would be unable to return to the bounty trade until she came back successful and told her to not even bother trying to come back empty handed and with no other choice given to her, she accepted.
The hunter started in Waterdeep, staying at local taverns, trying to gather up any information on the person she was looking for, following leads and had somehow ended up with a group of people she found herself instantly regretting. There were times she knew she was beat and needed help, but this... This was insufferable.
She had been trying to make notes in her journal as they shared stories, listening with little to no interest. You only need them for so long, you will leave once you've gathered up enough information... She kept telling herself mentally. But why do they talk so damn much!?The jet black haired lass closes her journal with much control having wanted to slam the book down and tell them all to shut up. Instead she slips her pencil and journal back into her bag, and attempts to not look completely and utterly annoyed with them all.
Aeydof the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
If not the largest of patrons, the man seated next to the worshipper of Torm is a close second. It is hard to gauge his age, as much of his skin was covered in armor or thick clothing; both of which were all a mix of dull greys, browns, and have seen a great deal of wear. At a guess just judging by the way the man carried himself, he is definitely getting up in years. But the years have yet seen fit to truly drain him of all his vitality. Although he brought a drink over earlier, not a one patron can recall him ever taking a sip from it. Yet, there it was, sitting right next to one of his sheathed daggers. A fierce looking flail rests still on his person, and his shield -- which bore a symbol unlike any well-known one -- sat rested at his side.
For all his imposing prescence, the man has been polite, but ever curt in his responses as much as possible. So while not the most sociable, Orilo had listened with seeming rapt attention to Anborn's story. Though now and then, Song could swear the man looked in his direction. The deep shadows of his closed helm, however, made it always difficult to confirm anything.
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When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Sitting with the others at the table is a tall, brown haired Genasi. Her light blue skin seems damp despite the lack of any recent rain, and her navy blue eyes are fixated on a small globe of water which hovers in front of her. She wears a simple beige colored shirt, laced all the way to the neck, as well as breeches and a pair of worn brown boots. All her clothing is spotted with droplets of water, and her hair seems to lift slightly off her shoulders on occasion, as though she had briefly dipped underwater. Leaning next to her chair is a large greataxe with a simple wooden shaft and an unadorned steel blade, and four javelins, all neatly resting in a row.
As Anborn tells his story, she seems to be ignoring it completely. At certain points, however, she moves her hands slightly more vigorously as she manipulates the water, and forms what appears to be an insignia of some sort for the briefest of moments. She drinks from a tin flask that clips onto her belt. A small taste reveals that it is no liquor, but plain water. As Anborn wraps up his story, she smiles slightly and freezes the water while it is in the shape of a decently squished goblin and then goes to refill her flask.
Ledanra always felt that she was simply better than her clutch peers and though they surely all felt the same in regards to her, Ledanra had embodied that belief to the very core of her being. Her haughty, 'matter of fact' manner would have been entirely insufferable if it wasn't perceived to be justified. She had learned earlier than most that people can be convinced of a thing if they are simply told it often enough, or with the right amount of conviction. Thus it was that Ledanra rose through the ranks of her pureblood peers and was soon sent out into the human world as one of the many agents that have secretly infiltrated so many aspects of the human society.
Over the years of involving herself in court politics and intrigue, Ledanra grew a strange affection for the humans. Not an affection like humans shared with each other though, more like how the master of hounds feels affection for his pups, as they grow under his training and command. They were so malleable, so weak of mind as a species, that Ledanra got unforgivably sloppy. A particularly ambitious, well-funded, prick of a meat-sack had been vying with her for some time over a small matter of no real consequence, something about how another noble she was trying to elevate to a higher station in court would have stripped the man's father of his lands and wealth, leaving the wretch with nothing. Unfortunately the man, Renaldic, had somehow managed to bribe a large number of individuals that Ledanra had herself spent an awfully large amount of money to procure their opinions and allegiances. This meant that when she had expected Renaldic out of the way for some time, he turned up at an entirely ill-opportune moment and forced her to abandon a scheme of nearly a year in the making.
Ledanra's inner-rage was so profound that she literally set the man on fire. There and then. In front of most of the court... Now, whilst this was entirely justified in her vaunted opinion it did cause her some notable level of concern. Renaldic was after all just a human and his suffering was nothing that Ledanra would normally offer more than a passing thought to. Her concern however, for that it was her doing was never a doubt in her mind, was how she had set him on fire. She had no idea! Fortunately, however she had accomplished it, those gathered around seemed not to immediately recognise that she had been the cause of it.
That was the first time Ledanra had ever used more than her innate magical talents that every Yuan-ti possess. Images of how much easier her work would be if she were able to control this talent filled her mind, thinking of the tales of wizards, and the times that she had met such folk when they had come on quests to teh area... Yes, this was no fluke. This was but the first touch of a new power. She was determined that it wouldn't be the last.
Above: Character backstory. Below: Illustration of Ledanra (thanks to Pintrest & the unknown artist)
Ledanra sits at the table, only vaguely listening to the tales that are being told. She has been tight-lipped throughout, not revealing much of her past, other than that her previous lifestyle did a far superior job of catering to her somewhat picky palette, and had far better vintages of wine on offer. The woman's hair was dark, not the jet back of the hard-eyed woman cloistered behind her journal, but such a dark shade of green that it was barely perceptible as the colour, only giving the faintest hints when the light caught it 'just so'. Her Olive skin too had a sheen that gave away a more exotic colouring that many of the peoples in this land would have seen before. She is striking in her appearance, attractive certainly but the sharp angles around her eyes gave her face an edge, and the coldness in her eyes did nothing but accentuate the hardness behind her unusually sweet smile.
Dressed in garments a little too rich and made of slightly too fine a cloth to be considered travel clothes, they are still what Lednanra has been using as such. A lightweight and loosely hanging blouse, and hose that fit tightly but are adorned with a short wrap hiding her hips and thighs mask her figure though it is clear that she is lithely built. Probably not born out of hard work, for her muscles show none of the lean strength seen on those such as acrobats, no she is merely a slim build, but wears it well and those travelling with her would have to be blind not to understand that she knows how to show her shape well - her languid, slow, courtly movements reflecting the lifestyle that she has been used to, but belying some of the quickness that lies beneath.
Uninterested in the tale the menfolk are so richly engaged in, Ledanra's eyes take in the other women in the group. One give the impression that she is mildly irritated over something, the other focused on a ball of water she seems to be shaping. Almost entranced by the ease that the genasi is playing with the thing then seeing is take the shape of a goblin before freezing into a flatter version of the same, possibly something that the tall woman had had a hand in achieving in the past, Ledanra leans over "Tell me, how do you shape it such? Can you create the globe, or must you have the water already?"
As Anborn finishes his story, he notices the Genasi woman who had been fidgeting with the water and turning it into a smashed goblin in honor of his story. "Yes. That's a rather interesting ability you have there. You don't possess some sort of talent with magic, do you?" Before the woman can respond, the traveler intruded on their conversation and dropped a letter on the table before leaving. "Well good evening to you too! Moving on from the rudeness of that intrusion, we have this letter and it appears to be from someone important, judging from this crest. Let's see who it's from." And with that, Anborn removes the seal and begins reading the letter.
Sitting back down, she appears slightly flustered by the questions. "Ah, oh, uh, well it's nothing really. I can just take small amounts of water and mold it. It helps when I need something to do with my hands, or when I'm feeling..."
She trails off, but then continues, "As for whether it's magic or not, I suppose it is, although I've never shown much of an aptitude for it other than a little trick here or there. I do need the water to start with, but that's easy enough. Uh well, how about this letter? The man seemed rather important, and it looks like someone is looking for our help. Ah, and my name is Elya, what are yours?"
Unless someone else moves to open the letter, Elya will reach for it, break the seal, and read what's inside out loud to the group, trying to speak so that only those at the table can hear. Her fingers leave small spots of water as they make contact with the parchment.
While you all talk and get aquainted, here is the letter:
It appears that this Kolyan Indirovich, the Burgomaster of Barovia, has a special request to help a woman named Ireena Kolyana who wounded and inflicted with an "evil so deadly".
Corrin drops the book that he’s been perusing back into th ensuspecting merchant’s pack, pocketing the quill, however. Seeing the strange man drop the letter on the table, the halfling’s Insatiable curiosity is piqued. He moves to the table, places both hands on it for support and Sean’s on his tip toes to peer across the table.
“Wow, what do you think that is? Where’s Barovia? Who was that guy? Man, he was creepy. I wonder where he went? Hey, did he buy us all drinks? I could use a drink. Are you going to drink yours? Wow.”
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Corrin Kettlewhistle: Halfling Life Cleric (Curse of Strahd) Kip Dalton: Human Lore Bard (Waterdeep Dragon Heist) Debauchery Dalliance: Half-Drow Oath of Conquest Paladin (White Plume Mountain)
"From what that strange man said, Barovia is a land that we can get to by marching west down the road through the Svalich Woods for five hours. The writer of this letter is a fellow named Kolyan Indirovich who needs us to save the woman he loves from some sort of evil affliction. He says that the land of Barovia has plenty of wealth to offer us and that it's ours if we save her. Does that sound like a job we want to take?"
And as if he was responding to the Halfling, Anborn quickly drinks from the cup that he was given.
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Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
Winter wasn’t too much interested in the letter being read until Anborn mentioned the riches. Maybe she could use the money for her benefit? With enough she could settle down and if the job was quick (which it sounded like it was) then she could hop back in the bosses face and quit bounty hunting for good...
”Whether you all are in it or not,” She speaks finally after being mostly silent through their little adventure. “I’m in.”
With that she looks down at the ale that was brought for her and slides it in the direction of Corrin.
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Aeydof the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
Corrin happily accepts the ale, pulling a big swig immediately while shooting a smile toward his new best friend. Suddenly, he stops drinking, cocks his head and smiles while nodding.
“Oooh, I agree. That sounds exciting!” Then turning to the others, he blurts, “I’m in as well!”
Elya frowns at the letter as she reads it. "Well, his handwriting is a bit hard for me to decipher, but this man seems to need our help. Although I'm not sure how much use I will be in healing this woman, I'm in."
In one smooth motion, the 'giant' of the group had shifted from leaning forward from intense interest to laxily leaning back in his seat as the stranger approached them. Only after the man leaves does his grip truly relax on the dagger slipped in hand during the seeming casual motion. Orilo passes along his own tankard to the chattering halfling as if an afterthought as well.
"Drink fast."He intones in a voice so gravely from disuse, the grinding of stone would sound more pleasantly soft in comparison. Though he rises wordlessly, joints and bone pop loudly in the motion, and somehow even more so from a few more active twist and press at the neck. While the others continue to contemplate and discuss, he just straps his dagger back to his hip, dons his shield, and starts for the door. Just as he is about to duck under its frame however, Orilo stops short to look back to would-be compatriots. "Keep up." Though the warning is directed at all, Song can be certain this time that of his attention being distinctly on him. There is no waiting for an answer or rebuttal out of him, much to perhaps the chagrin of some. For he steps out presumably to immediately begin the 5 hour walk.
"Well he's certainly a sociable fellow. But it does seem like we should be heading after our large friend. From what the interloper said, the Svalich woods don't sound like a place to travel alone at night. My name is Anborn by the way, pleasure to be making your acquaintance." He says with a smile before he walks out the door.
Seeing the genasi's awkwardness in answering the questions asked her way, Ledanra mentally files that away should it be useful too her later. The others round the table each have quite unique personalities, and each one will probably require handling in their own way, to get the best out of them.
Ledanra's interest was piqued when the words 'evil so deadly' were uttered, for though the riches would always be a welcome addition she could have probably earned the same while still sitting in a comfier chair, with better wine, and probably better company. Though the last was debatable, at least some of this lot had backbone and enough between their ears to piece together a moderately well constructed string of hints into a cohesive idea.
"I too am well enough inclined to venture over to this Barovia."Looking after the old man as he walks out the door, "Though I am not of a mind to be walking there right this moment. Serving girl! Come here. Tell me, is there a horse or carriage, maybe a wagon, in this hole... village that we can hire?"She sips at her wine, remembering that it is ill flavoured swill and instantly regretting her absent minded decision.
Unfortunately, this unremarkable town is so unremarkable, it has no means of faster transportation than walking. A perfect chance, it seems, to take time to get acquainted. You all follow Orilo and begin the walk west to this place you've never heard of called Barovia.
As you walk west, rolling thunderclouds cast a gray pall over the land. It is evening time. Pardon my crappy lettering lol.
A. The Old Svalich Road
Black pools of water stand like dark mirrors in and around the muddy roadway. Giant trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist. As you all walk westward, you notice a thick fog following you, as if guiding you, and limiting your direction of travel. While not threatening, it always looms behind you, like a herder guiding his flock. It took about 5 hours walking from the unremarkable inn to reach AREA B.
B. The Gates Of Barovia
The fog spills out of the forest to swallow up the road behind you. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
As you approach, the gates swing open, screeching as the hinges move.
Points Of Interest:As I take you all on this journey, I like to provide a little independent exploration when I can, or when appropriate. This adventure, as it unfolds, will allow you all to explore the world you're visiting at your own pace if you want. From this location, you can explore two points of interest: THE WOODS that surround you, or THE IVLIS RIVER, which is south on the map.
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BEGINNING FEBRUARY 26
CURSE OF STRAHD
Under raging storm clouds, a lone figure stands silhouetted against the ancient walls of Castle Ravenloft. The vampire Count Strahd von Zarovich stares down a sheer cliff at the village below. A cold, bitter wind spins dead leaves about him, billowing his cape in the darkness. Lightning splits the clouds overhead, casting stark white light across him. Strahd turns to the sky, revealing the angular muscles of his face and hands. He has a look of power — and of madness. His once handsome face is contorted by a tragedy darker than the night itself.
Rumbling thunder pounds the castle spires. The wind’s howling increases as Strahd turns his gaze back to the village. Far below, yet not beyond his ken, a party of adventurers has just entered his domain. Strahd’s face forms a twisted smile as his dark plan unfolds. He knew they were coming, and he knows why they have come — all according to his plan. He, the master of Ravenloft, will attend to them. Another lightning flash rips through the darkness, its thunder echoing through the castle’s towers. But Strahd is gone. Only the howling of the wind — or perhaps a lone wolf — fills the midnight air. The master of Ravenloft is having guests for dinner. And you are invited.
PROLOGUE
Our journey begins in complete darkness.
An emptiness. Impossibly cold. Eternally dark. On the very edge of the known cosmos, completely devoid of light - that is exactly where our journey begins.
Like an outsider looking in, we travel inward, forward, and can see and know the universe on its grandest scale, our mind unable to comprehend its size and greatness. Our time and place completely unknown, yet we feel we are being pulled - drawn - to a specific point in the grandest scale of all – eternity.
We travel faster and faster inward, passing the largest and oldest of galactic phenomenon, and hone in on some time and place much smaller - an impossibly large galactic cluster of a hundred galaxies in some unknown part of this universe. In one of these massive galaxies, along one of its beautiful spiral arms, is a star system of some unremarkable age and size, and faster than we can understand or comprehend, we see a planet slowly orbiting a pale yellow sun.
The name of this particular planet is unimportant, but the story we’re about to be a part of is, and more so are the souls that this story involves. Inspecting the planet closer is a continent swathed in darkness, so vast, like a festering wound on the world that never healed. Just like at the very edge of the cosmos where we began, we zoom in on the land and find that it’s horribly dark - haunted, corrupted, poisoned, and closer still, we find an area called Barovia, and looming over it, an enormous castle called Ravenloft.
This is where our story begins.
BEGINNINGS
A NIGHT LIKE ANY OTHER
To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring. Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside. Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk.
A STRANGE VISITOR
Suddenly, the tavern door swings open, and a hush falls over the room. Framed by the lamp-lit fog, a form strides through the doorway. His heavy, booted footfalls and the jingle of his coins shatter the silence. His brightly colored clothes are draped in loose folds about him, and his hat hangs askew, hiding his eyes in shadows. Without hesitation, he walks up to your table and stands proudly in a wide stance with folded arms. In an accented voice he says, “I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master’s aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods at night!” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to all of you in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table. “Take the west road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia.”
THE LETTER
Amid the silent stares of the patronage, the ***** strides to the bar and says to the wary barkeep, “Fill the glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” He drops a purse heavy with gold on the bar. With that, he leaves. The babble of tavern voices resumes, although somewhat subdued. The letter is lying before you. The seal is in the shape of a crest you don’t recognize.
TEAM BUILDING TASK#1 - Our adventure begins in an unimportant place, during an unimportant land. What IS important are you all, and for whatever reason, you have all met here tonight, together. Take this opportunity to introduce yourselves, and if you wish, you can elaborate on how you may know one another. Take this time to talk, ask questions, work out relationships, etc.
One of the patrons seated at the table is a man in his mid-20s. He's easy on the eyes, although a bit weathered. He has fair skin, with short auburn hair and a beard that he hasn't shaved in about a week. He's wearing a long, brown coat with a popped collar, but the jingle of chain mail can still be faintly heard underneath. On his legs are green trousers and his feet are covered in brown boots. There is a holy symbol of Torm around his neck, a hammer on his belt, and a shield on his back. He is currently regaling everyone at his table (and any other patrons who are willing to listen) with a tale of how he saved a family from Goblins recently.
"And then I said 'I'll make some holey men out of you!' Of course, that joke might have gone better if I had an actual sword or some other weapon that pokes holes in people and not a hammer, but that's not really the main point of this story, is it? I saved a family of terrified peasants and also accidentally taught some new four-letter words to children. Their parents gave me an earful about that, because apparently smashing goblins into thick paste is acceptable in front of children, but bad words is just too much for their fragile little minds."
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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A younger man, in his early twenties, sips his watered down mead slowly as he listens to this tale of heroism. Strong drink never agreed with Song. It hit him far too hard and fast, and too much can ruin his voice for the day. That was not a good idea for a singer and bard. Song is more pretty than handsome, with blonde hair, naturally tanned skin and golden eyes. Song enjoyed his looks, as he could turn the heads of both woman and men. His bardic attire is more subdued than many other bards. Upon his back is his trusty lyre, and upon his belt are daggers.
Raising his glass to the group, he speaks approvingly of Anborn. "I for one, will speak in golden tones of this deed! A tad foul-mouthed or no, you are brave soul! I'm sure that Torm smiled upon you that day. I'd love to hear more stories from around the table. Heroic tales nourish me more than good bread. And perhaps we can end this night with a round of songs as well. I'd love to trade some. Though there's not a lot I haven't heard."
Just a nerdy dude.
A thin halfling with a mop of unruly brown hair and dressed in an oversized coat adorned with countless pockets and pouches flits around the table, pausing here and there to listen to the tale while curiously inspecting the occasional pouch, pack and bag or taking a sip from a disregarded tankard. He attentively offers an "ooh" and "ahh" as the tale is spun, giggling at the asides and applauding at the end.
"Bravo! Bravo!" he utters appreciatively.
9 (Sleight of Hand)
Corrin Kettlewhistle: Halfling Life Cleric (Curse of Strahd)
Kip Dalton: Human Lore Bard (Waterdeep Dragon Heist)
Debauchery Dalliance: Half-Drow Oath of Conquest Paladin (White Plume Mountain)
"Winter White."
The voice sent chills down the rogues spine, yet she manged to keep a calm and collected look about her visage.
"You pride yourself in being a successful bounty hunter. Best in all of Faerun! They say," He speaks slow and glares down at her menacingly, leaning forth in his throne like chair. "Yet you've failed to bring me Cora Perkins..."
Her lips part but nothing escapes her throat, her mouth automatically closing soon after her grey blue eyes go downcast, unable to gather the courage to look at him in the eyes anymore. A moment later she manages to croak out, "I apolo--"
"Spare me your apologies, child!" He spits, cutting her off before she could continue. "I do not want to hear your excuses." He sinks back into his chair as his eyes pierces daggers at her, letting a sick silence fall between them before breaking it with a growl. "How will you make up for your failure?"
Winter doesn't speak, or move, she stands there as her lips thin in thought. Was that a literal question? How was she suppose to atone for her failure? She could withstand the pain of a flogging, she thought, or train until her lungs had given out, but she knew none of those would be satisfactory punishments. Nothing was ever good enough. She had stopped forging her mind for ideas once she heard him chuckle deeply, meeting his gaze again, trying to mask the fear.
"Such a disappointment. Can't even think of a suitable punishment for yourself..." He muses with a sadistic grin, adjusting himself to sit legs crossed. "Let's see... How about a new target?"
Her ears perked in interest and listened to his words intently.
Winter had wasted no time in starting her hunt however the only thing was she didn't know where to start. Her betters often would give her a location, a place to start her hunt, but in letting her live they decided to leave that information out, only giving her a name of the person she would be stalking after, and after an empty good luck, they threw her out. She would be unable to return to the bounty trade until she came back successful and told her to not even bother trying to come back empty handed and with no other choice given to her, she accepted.
The hunter started in Waterdeep, staying at local taverns, trying to gather up any information on the person she was looking for, following leads and had somehow ended up with a group of people she found herself instantly regretting. There were times she knew she was beat and needed help, but this... This was insufferable.
She had been trying to make notes in her journal as they shared stories, listening with little to no interest. You only need them for so long, you will leave once you've gathered up enough information... She kept telling herself mentally. But why do they talk so damn much!? The jet black haired lass closes her journal with much control having wanted to slam the book down and tell them all to shut up. Instead she slips her pencil and journal back into her bag, and attempts to not look completely and utterly annoyed with them all.
Reference to how Winter looks:
Aeyd of the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk
Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm
Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid
Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue
Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm
/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Sitting with the others at the table is a tall, brown haired Genasi. Her light blue skin seems damp despite the lack of any recent rain, and her navy blue eyes are fixated on a small globe of water which hovers in front of her. She wears a simple beige colored shirt, laced all the way to the neck, as well as breeches and a pair of worn brown boots. All her clothing is spotted with droplets of water, and her hair seems to lift slightly off her shoulders on occasion, as though she had briefly dipped underwater. Leaning next to her chair is a large greataxe with a simple wooden shaft and an unadorned steel blade, and four javelins, all neatly resting in a row.
As Anborn tells his story, she seems to be ignoring it completely. At certain points, however, she moves her hands slightly more vigorously as she manipulates the water, and forms what appears to be an insignia of some sort for the briefest of moments. She drinks from a tin flask that clips onto her belt. A small taste reveals that it is no liquor, but plain water. As Anborn wraps up his story, she smiles slightly and freezes the water while it is in the shape of a decently squished goblin and then goes to refill her flask.
Ledanra always felt that she was simply better than her clutch peers and though they surely all felt the same in regards to her, Ledanra had embodied that belief to the very core of her being. Her haughty, 'matter of fact' manner would have been entirely insufferable if it wasn't perceived to be justified. She had learned earlier than most that people can be convinced of a thing if they are simply told it often enough, or with the right amount of conviction. Thus it was that Ledanra rose through the ranks of her pureblood peers and was soon sent out into the human world as one of the many agents that have secretly infiltrated so many aspects of the human society.
Over the years of involving herself in court politics and intrigue, Ledanra grew a strange affection for the humans. Not an affection like humans shared with each other though, more like how the master of hounds feels affection for his pups, as they grow under his training and command. They were so malleable, so weak of mind as a species, that Ledanra got unforgivably sloppy. A particularly ambitious, well-funded, prick of a meat-sack had been vying with her for some time over a small matter of no real consequence, something about how another noble she was trying to elevate to a higher station in court would have stripped the man's father of his lands and wealth, leaving the wretch with nothing. Unfortunately the man, Renaldic, had somehow managed to bribe a large number of individuals that Ledanra had herself spent an awfully large amount of money to procure their opinions and allegiances. This meant that when she had expected Renaldic out of the way for some time, he turned up at an entirely ill-opportune moment and forced her to abandon a scheme of nearly a year in the making.
Ledanra's inner-rage was so profound that she literally set the man on fire. There and then. In front of most of the court... Now, whilst this was entirely justified in her vaunted opinion it did cause her some notable level of concern. Renaldic was after all just a human and his suffering was nothing that Ledanra would normally offer more than a passing thought to. Her concern however, for that it was her doing was never a doubt in her mind, was how she had set him on fire. She had no idea! Fortunately, however she had accomplished it, those gathered around seemed not to immediately recognise that she had been the cause of it.
That was the first time Ledanra had ever used more than her innate magical talents that every Yuan-ti possess. Images of how much easier her work would be if she were able to control this talent filled her mind, thinking of the tales of wizards, and the times that she had met such folk when they had come on quests to teh area... Yes, this was no fluke. This was but the first touch of a new power. She was determined that it wouldn't be the last.
Above: Character backstory. Below: Illustration of Ledanra (thanks to Pintrest & the unknown artist)
Ledanra sits at the table, only vaguely listening to the tales that are being told. She has been tight-lipped throughout, not revealing much of her past, other than that her previous lifestyle did a far superior job of catering to her somewhat picky palette, and had far better vintages of wine on offer. The woman's hair was dark, not the jet back of the hard-eyed woman cloistered behind her journal, but such a dark shade of green that it was barely perceptible as the colour, only giving the faintest hints when the light caught it 'just so'. Her Olive skin too had a sheen that gave away a more exotic colouring that many of the peoples in this land would have seen before. She is striking in her appearance, attractive certainly but the sharp angles around her eyes gave her face an edge, and the coldness in her eyes did nothing but accentuate the hardness behind her unusually sweet smile.
Dressed in garments a little too rich and made of slightly too fine a cloth to be considered travel clothes, they are still what Lednanra has been using as such. A lightweight and loosely hanging blouse, and hose that fit tightly but are adorned with a short wrap hiding her hips and thighs mask her figure though it is clear that she is lithely built. Probably not born out of hard work, for her muscles show none of the lean strength seen on those such as acrobats, no she is merely a slim build, but wears it well and those travelling with her would have to be blind not to understand that she knows how to show her shape well - her languid, slow, courtly movements reflecting the lifestyle that she has been used to, but belying some of the quickness that lies beneath.
Uninterested in the tale the menfolk are so richly engaged in, Ledanra's eyes take in the other women in the group. One give the impression that she is mildly irritated over something, the other focused on a ball of water she seems to be shaping. Almost entranced by the ease that the genasi is playing with the thing then seeing is take the shape of a goblin before freezing into a flatter version of the same, possibly something that the tall woman had had a hand in achieving in the past, Ledanra leans over "Tell me, how do you shape it such? Can you create the globe, or must you have the water already?"
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
As Anborn finishes his story, he notices the Genasi woman who had been fidgeting with the water and turning it into a smashed goblin in honor of his story. "Yes. That's a rather interesting ability you have there. You don't possess some sort of talent with magic, do you?" Before the woman can respond, the traveler intruded on their conversation and dropped a letter on the table before leaving. "Well good evening to you too! Moving on from the rudeness of that intrusion, we have this letter and it appears to be from someone important, judging from this crest. Let's see who it's from." And with that, Anborn removes the seal and begins reading the letter.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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Sitting back down, she appears slightly flustered by the questions. "Ah, oh, uh, well it's nothing really. I can just take small amounts of water and mold it. It helps when I need something to do with my hands, or when I'm feeling..."
She trails off, but then continues, "As for whether it's magic or not, I suppose it is, although I've never shown much of an aptitude for it other than a little trick here or there. I do need the water to start with, but that's easy enough. Uh well, how about this letter? The man seemed rather important, and it looks like someone is looking for our help. Ah, and my name is Elya, what are yours?"
Unless someone else moves to open the letter, Elya will reach for it, break the seal, and read what's inside out loud to the group, trying to speak so that only those at the table can hear. Her fingers leave small spots of water as they make contact with the parchment.
While you all talk and get aquainted, here is the letter:
It appears that this Kolyan Indirovich, the Burgomaster of Barovia, has a special request to help a woman named Ireena Kolyana who wounded and inflicted with an "evil so deadly".
Corrin drops the book that he’s been perusing back into th ensuspecting merchant’s pack, pocketing the quill, however. Seeing the strange man drop the letter on the table, the halfling’s Insatiable curiosity is piqued. He moves to the table, places both hands on it for support and Sean’s on his tip toes to peer across the table.
“Wow, what do you think that is? Where’s Barovia? Who was that guy? Man, he was creepy. I wonder where he went? Hey, did he buy us all drinks? I could use a drink. Are you going to drink yours? Wow.”
Corrin Kettlewhistle: Halfling Life Cleric (Curse of Strahd)
Kip Dalton: Human Lore Bard (Waterdeep Dragon Heist)
Debauchery Dalliance: Half-Drow Oath of Conquest Paladin (White Plume Mountain)
"From what that strange man said, Barovia is a land that we can get to by marching west down the road through the Svalich Woods for five hours. The writer of this letter is a fellow named Kolyan Indirovich who needs us to save the woman he loves from some sort of evil affliction. He says that the land of Barovia has plenty of wealth to offer us and that it's ours if we save her. Does that sound like a job we want to take?"
And as if he was responding to the Halfling, Anborn quickly drinks from the cup that he was given.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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Winter wasn’t too much interested in the letter being read until Anborn mentioned the riches. Maybe she could use the money for her benefit? With enough she could settle down and if the job was quick (which it sounded like it was) then she could hop back in the bosses face and quit bounty hunting for good...
”Whether you all are in it or not,” She speaks finally after being mostly silent through their little adventure. “I’m in.”
With that she looks down at the ale that was brought for her and slides it in the direction of Corrin.
Aeyd of the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk
Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm
Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid
Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue
Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm
/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
Corrin happily accepts the ale, pulling a big swig immediately while shooting a smile toward his new best friend. Suddenly, he stops drinking, cocks his head and smiles while nodding.
“Oooh, I agree. That sounds exciting!” Then turning to the others, he blurts, “I’m in as well!”
Corrin Kettlewhistle: Halfling Life Cleric (Curse of Strahd)
Kip Dalton: Human Lore Bard (Waterdeep Dragon Heist)
Debauchery Dalliance: Half-Drow Oath of Conquest Paladin (White Plume Mountain)
Elya frowns at the letter as she reads it. "Well, his handwriting is a bit hard for me to decipher, but this man seems to need our help. Although I'm not sure how much use I will be in healing this woman, I'm in."
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
"Well he's certainly a sociable fellow. But it does seem like we should be heading after our large friend. From what the interloper said, the Svalich woods don't sound like a place to travel alone at night. My name is Anborn by the way, pleasure to be making your acquaintance." He says with a smile before he walks out the door.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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Seeing the genasi's awkwardness in answering the questions asked her way, Ledanra mentally files that away should it be useful too her later. The others round the table each have quite unique personalities, and each one will probably require handling in their own way, to get the best out of them.
Ledanra's interest was piqued when the words 'evil so deadly' were uttered, for though the riches would always be a welcome addition she could have probably earned the same while still sitting in a comfier chair, with better wine, and probably better company. Though the last was debatable, at least some of this lot had backbone and enough between their ears to piece together a moderately well constructed string of hints into a cohesive idea.
"I too am well enough inclined to venture over to this Barovia." Looking after the old man as he walks out the door, "Though I am not of a mind to be walking there right this moment. Serving girl! Come here. Tell me, is there a horse or carriage, maybe a wagon, in this hole... village that we can hire?" She sips at her wine, remembering that it is ill flavoured swill and instantly regretting her absent minded decision.
"I am Ledanra by the way."
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
THE JOURNEY BEGINS
Unfortunately, this unremarkable town is so unremarkable, it has no means of faster transportation than walking. A perfect chance, it seems, to take time to get acquainted. You all follow Orilo and begin the walk west to this place you've never heard of called Barovia.
As you walk west, rolling thunderclouds cast a gray pall over the land. It is evening time. Pardon my crappy lettering lol.
A. The Old Svalich Road
Black pools of water stand like dark mirrors in and around the muddy roadway. Giant trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist. As you all walk westward, you notice a thick fog following you, as if guiding you, and limiting your direction of travel. While not threatening, it always looms behind you, like a herder guiding his flock. It took about 5 hours walking from the unremarkable inn to reach AREA B.
B. The Gates Of Barovia
The fog spills out of the forest to swallow up the road behind you. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
As you approach, the gates swing open, screeching as the hinges move.
Points Of Interest: As I take you all on this journey, I like to provide a little independent exploration when I can, or when appropriate. This adventure, as it unfolds, will allow you all to explore the world you're visiting at your own pace if you want. From this location, you can explore two points of interest: THE WOODS that surround you, or THE IVLIS RIVER, which is south on the map.