"Yes, but what kind of impression?"
You approach the main entrance of the keep.
The ornately-carved, massive, oaken doors hang open. Fluttering torches cast dim yellow flickers of light from the foyer beyond. Twenty feet into the castle, a second set of doors suddenly swings open effortlessly, and the sound of organ music beyond increases in volume. Overhead, in each corner of the entryway, looms a stone statue of a dragons. They glare down, their eyes flickering in the torchlight.
You step inside, out of the rain. Despite the warmth of the light, the air itself remains nearly as cold as it was outside.
The organ piece being played reaches its conclusion. After a brief moment, another piece begins.
"Yes, but what kind of impression?"
"Slimey."
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"Probably. This feels like a game...entertainment. Cat and mouse with us as the mice. We must expect treachery."
Her anger at the situation perhaps getting the best of her, Theodora continues to plod purposefully forward oblivious to any hidden treachery.
Proceeding through the doors to the east that seemed to open of their own accord, the adventurers find themselves in a great hall.
Cobwebs hang from dust-covered columns of this once-grand room, illuminated by torches fluttering in iron sconces. The dust and webs cast strange, moving shadows across the faces of stone gargoyles squatting motionlessly on the rim of the domed ceiling. Cracked and faded ceiling frescoes are covered by centuries of decay. Two doors of bronze stand closed to the east. To the north, a wide staircase climbs into darkness. All the while, sad and majestic organ tones float about you from a lit hallway to the south.
As the last of you enter the great hall, the double-doors through which you entered close behind you, their rusty hinges creaking.
The organ music is, despite all that it heralds, a joy to listen to… but still, Petracleus keeps one hand upon the hilt of his rapier and watches for movement…
”Be prepared friends… I fear our host is playing with us as a cat does its prey”, Petracleus flashes a smile, ”only this time, he’s going to find that his prey fights back…”
The only movement in the room that Petracleus can see are the shadows dancing in the flickering torchlight and the cobwebs still blowing in the breeze that manages to find its way in from the storm outside.
Lightning flashes outside, and another deafening crack of thunder echoes through the large room. The organist, however, does not skip a beat in his or her performance.
As the doors close, Countessa utters, "And the trap is sprung."
"Agreed" , Verran chimes in, though having a thought a moment afterwards. "I do recall something about...something that was taken by...him from our friends in town that might assist us. Might be worth looking for."
"Didn't the gypsy say that the idol was by his throne? And that we would need it?" He'll turn to Irene (the mayors daughter?) asking, "What does it look like anyway?"
"I do believe that the music is inviting us towards our host. Whether we like it or not, we are guests here and should introduce ourselves as soon as possible...", bound by chivalry, Petracleus makes his way along the lit passage to the south.
Quietly humming along to the tune that fills the castle, he tries to identify the music...
"I'm inclined to directly confront this fiend now, but I don't want to put any of your lives in jeopardy. Finding the idol first is probably better, if we have an idea of where to look." Theodora offers her two coppers.
"Daimon, you mean the Talisman of Barovia? Well, it's very beautiful. It looks like a stylized dagger with a wide crossguard, and is made of gold and mithril. In the center is a stylized raven symbol. Around the raven are holy symbols of Erasitl, Sarenrae, Desna, Shelyn, Pharasma, Abadar, and Aroden. It's fairly large: about eight inches long, and it weighs about two pounds. When last I saw it, it also had a heavy golden chain that was long enough to hang it around your neck."
Looking around, she adds, "Strahd did invite us to dinner. I'm guessing that the dining room is that way." She points toward the lit corridor to the south.
Celowyn does not see anything particularly threatening down the lit hall to the south, so you decide to head in that direction.
Torchlight flutters against the walls of this vaulted hall. To the east, a dark and forbidding hallway runs into darkness. Beside that opening, a suit of armor, oiled and glistening, stands at attention in a shallow alcove. To the west, large double doors hang slightly open, a steady bright light escaping through the opening. Swells of organ music come from behind the doors, spilling their melody of power and defeat into the hall.
Eager to deal with Strahd quickly and directly, Theodora strides up to one of the west doors and pushes it open wide with her falchion.
Eager not to give the wrong impression, Petracleus lets his cloak hang such that his swords are not visible... frowning a little as Theodora brazenly pushes the doors open with her falchion, he enters the room beyond.
...maybe now we will meet the organist...
This is a magnificent 40-foot-square room, brilliantly lit by three massive crystal chandeliers. Pillars of stone stand against dull white marble walls, supporting the ceiling. In the center of the room, a long, heavy table stands covered with a fine white satin cloth. The table is laden with delectable foods of every type: roasted beast basted in a savory sauce, roots and herbs of every taste, and sweet fruits and vegetables. Nine places are set with fine delicate china and silver, one at the head of the table. At each place there is a crystal goblet filled with red wine whose delectable fragrance tantalizes your senses. At the center of the far west wall stands a massive organ. Its pipes blare out a thunderous melody that offers in its tone greatness and despair. Seated at the keyboard, with back toward you, a single caped figure pounds the keys in raptured ecstasy. The music reaches its finale, and figure suddenly stops its performance. A deep silence falls over the dining hall as the final chord reverberates through the room. The figure slowly turns toward you.
"Good evening!"
Seated at the organ is a handsome-looking man of indeterminate age wearing elegant formal evening attire, although in a fashion that went out of style decades ago. His raven hair is slicked back, showing a prominent widow's peak. His ears are distinctly pointed, although not quite like an elf's. He rises from the organ bench, standing about six feet in height. He then bows to you slightly and then gestures toward the table.
"I am Strahd von Zarovich. It is so gracious of you to accept my invitation at this late hour. Welcome to Castle Ravenloft, my home. Please, come in. Have a seat. Join me at the table."
"Whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?" Countessa asks, standing behind a chair.
"Good Evening to you sir", Petracleus bows quite elegantly before choosing a seat near to 'Strahd von Zarovich' and nodding to Ireena to sit on the other side of him...
If we keep ourselves between Ireena and Strahd, he will know that she is protected....
"That was a wonderful piece you were playing earlier... Forgive me, I couldn't quite place it?"
Countessa likewise takes a seat at the table, regarding the food with a careful eye. She does not eat just yet, both from politeness and fear of what the food may contain.
Still gripping her silver falchion, Theodora seems a bit confused for a moment at the man's(?) polite behavior. Her befuddlement only deepens as the others begin to show him mutual respect. Just to be sure, she concentrates for a moment on Strahd and tries to detect any sign of evil in his aura. She does not yet sit, nor lets down her guard after all the horrible things she heard about him.
Verran takes a seat, his expression growing even more grim and distant than normal. It's as though he was trapped in a memory he didn't realize he still had. He'd tried to forget all the time in the pens in Geb. Being around one of these...things again made it all come back.
A faint smile crosses your host's face as you start to take your seats. He walks over to Ireena and offers his hand to her. She reluctantly takes it, and he raises it to his lips and kisses it.
"My dear Ireena, it especially pleases me that you chose to attend as well. I was wounded by your previous rebuffs to my invitations. And I am so sorry to hear about your father."
Ireena nods at her host's address, but does not return the warmth of his greeting.
"Yes. Well, I'm here now."
Your host then releases Ireena's hand and bows deeply toward her.
Theodora silently regards Strahd with an intense gaze, as if sizing him up.
At Petracleus' question, he turns toward the bard, a wide smile crossing his gaunt yet aristocratic face.
"Ah, a man of culture! As you entered, I concluded Prelude and Fugue in A Minor for Organ by Meryl Taggant. Before that I played Theme and Variations on 'The Lillend and the Osyluth', my own composition based on the Varisian folk-tune. And before that I was playing Prelude to Act II of 'Rise of the Whispering Tyrant' by Baltimus. I am so glad to know you appreciated my impromptu concert!
At that, Strahd strides imperiously to the head of the table and then turns to you all. "We get so few visitors to the humble valley Barovia, especially ones so obviously accomplished as yourselves. We have much to discuss." He raises a glass. "To new friends! May you find Barovia so welcoming that you never wish to leave!"
He then brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip.
He regards you all for a moment with an expression that's at both pleased and predatory. He then takes his seat and gestures toward the banquet laid out before you. "But business can wait for now. First, let us partake of this feast!"
"As I thought"
"Creepy"
"Damion does not perform!"
"Was there something strange about that... No."
"Rise of the Whispering Tyrant? That was tune we were to hear as we were devoured by Green Slime? Appropriate.
Countessa still stalls for time, politely refusing to consume.
Petracleus has a goblet of wine to hand, as courtesy must dictate... but for now, at least, he joins Countessa in abstaining from drinking...
...why do you not drink my dear host? Is it because you have no need... or is there something foul afoot here?
When Strahd expresses his sympathies towards Ireena, Petracleus flashes her a look...
...surely she cannot be taken in by such a veneer?
"Again Count, it was a fine rendition... Although I am sad to say that I have not encountered those pieces before - maybe, if it pleases you, there may be an opportunity to enjoy more music after we have partaken of your fine feast", Petracleus - cautious and pensive - starts to place items on his plate...
Theodora appears taken aback by something, but recovers after a few moments. Her immediate instincts are to attack this mockery of humanity, but then she remembers the teachings of Sarenrae concerning redemption, and decides to probe the vampire for any shreds of humanity. She remains standing and cuts straight to the point, "I'm not hungry. Why did you invite us here?"
Strahd fixes Daimon with his gaze. "Green slime? Do you mean on the portcullis in the gatehouse?" He shakes his head slightly. "I had thought that my groundskeeper had taken care of it. I'll have to have a word with him. It's so hard to find decent help these days..."
Petracleus looks to Ireena for her reaction to Strahd's forwardness. She seems to be trying to be civil, but appears very uncomfortable at the attention. At Petracleus' offer to play some music for the count, Strahd appears pleased. "Well, I would look forward to a performance! It has been many years since I've heard the music that's currently popular in Karcau."
At Theodora's comment, your host turns to face her. With a mirthless grin, he says, "Ah, you would seem to be a woman who prefers not to mince words. Very well."
He rises, and as he speaks he walks slowly around the dining table.
"A long time ago, I dabbled with powers that I thought I understood, but truly did not at the time. The result of this indiscretion is that I, and the lands around me, have been cursed. Part of this curse is that I am doomed to remain in Barovia for all eternity. Of course, I choose not to simply submit to this fate, and have spent a great deal of time, effort, and resources to find a way to break the curse. And while I have found that the curse cannot be broken by any earthly magic, I have also discovered a way around it. There is a ritual that will allow me to expand the borders of my realm beyond this valley in the Svalich Peaks. I intend to do just that, and become the ruler of a much expanded Barovia—and not just as a count, but as a king!"
At those words, lightning flashes through the windows high in the walls, and a deafening crash of thunder resounds through the room.
Countessa cocks an eyebrow. "A benevolent king?"
Theodora narrows her eyes and takes a few steps closer to the vampire, "So, instead of leaving, you wish to trap more people in your domain? Why are you telling us this?"
* * *
* * *
To Countessa's question, Strahd replies, "I would be a powerful king! None would dare stand opposed to me!"
He then turns toward Theodora and says, "Why indeed, my dear Theodora? Why indeed? All shall be made clear—that is why I invited you here, after all." He takes another sip from his glass.
"Of course, those living in the lands beyond my own will likely reject my offer of annexation. As a king, I will need an army. Thankfully, I have been slowly assembling one over these past centuries... My army lies underneath the very lands of Barovia, waiting for my command to rise. Now..."
The Count pauses, taking in your collective expressions of horror. He sips from his glass again.
"...an army, of course, needs generals. I have been following your careers from afar for quite some time now. Excellent work in Carrion Hill, by the way. Derro are disgusting creatures. And you two are fine trackers. The creature you chased across half of Ustalav is, of course, in my employ. I am sure you will become acquainted eventually. But I digress."
A feral smile crosses his face again. "I have chosen you to lead my armies. With your skill and my power, we would be unstoppable. Think of the glory! The might! The power you would wield as my generals while my realm expands across Ustalav. And when my realm encompasses Gallowspire... I would be able to seize the mantle of the Whispering Tyrant himself!"
Strahd then looks across the table at Ireena. "And you, my dear Ireena. You shall be my queen! It is your destiny to be at my side!"
Lightning flashes and thunder roars through the room.
"And if we refuse?" Countessa asks, already knowing the answer.
There was only one thing Verran could say at the concept of what Strahd was proposing. Well, one question anyway, and he was really curious as to the answer.
"If you know half as much as you claim to about my 'career', what would make you think I would even consider the notion of leading an army of what I've sworn to destroy?"
Damion elbows whoever's next to him, "He wants me as a general." snort
Wryly, Petracleus smiles to himself, ...well, it seems that a pleasant evening of organ recitals and song is out of the question...
"I am flattered indeed that you have been following our progress across Ustalav and, of your opinion about the Derro, I can agree with you", Petracleus lets his words hang for a moment, "I'm afraid that, upon everything else, I must regretfully dissent..."
"...that you should pursue expansion of this realm into the rightfully entitled lands of your neighbours... No."
"...that I nor indeed any of my friends would, in servitude, lead your armies... No."
"...and that Ireena, against her living will, would be your Queen... No."
...Petracleus, pointedly, sets his wine to one side.
Theodora's appears more confused than angry or fearful as Strahd explains his plan to the group.
He's joking right? Why would he tell us what his plans are and why would he think we would want to be his generals?
However, as it becomes clear that her companions are taking the vampire's words seriously, her expression hardens, "You might be a lunatic, but you're definitely evil. Therefore it is my duty to stop you. You may surrender and I'll quickly put your soul to rest, although I doubt you will accept my offer."
With a barely-concealed look of disgust, Ireena says, "With all due respect, my lord, I will have to decline your proposal."
Strahd shakes his head and snickers dismissively, as if you were petulant children.
"I am not surprised by your reactions to my proposal." He turns his back to you as he walks back to the head of the table. He then faces you again and takes a long draught from his goblet. "However, I am confident you will come around to acceptance once you have had a chance to think it over. In the meantime, please, sit back down and enjoy this feast I have prepared for you all." He then sits at the head of the table.
Seeing several of you hesitate at the delectable-smelling food, he quips, "Please. I would not be so gauche as to poison my guests!" He laughs at his own little joke.
His expression then hardens and he narrows his eyes. "Besides... if I truly wished you ill, you would already be dead."
"Is there any truth to the rumors?" Countessa asks. "Are you, in fact, a vampire?"