19 Rova 4712 - Day of the Inheritor (Iomedae)
Horned Moon, waxing
Ustalav has long been a land haunted by the past. And the dead. The ancient, jagged Hungry Mountains, worn and shaped by wind, rain, and time, hide myriad secret valleys and hamlets. In a humble inn along a little used mountain road in county Amaans, a small band of people gathers to begin a search for one such vale, giving the inn more visitors in one night than it has seen in the last six months. The faint but warm glow of hearthlight through the windows and open door of the inn seem small against the mist-shrouded gloom of night, and low cloud cover keeps the waxing crescent moon mostly hidden.
Wexley clutches his cloak around himself tightly, feeling very exposed sitting here so openly among this band of mostly strangers.
"Cold night." he mumbles in a coarse, gravelly tone, excusing his defensive behavior.
Lyra nods in agreement. "Cold and rather damp. Perhaps some hot stew would help to warm us up." Lyra waves over a serving girl. "Excuse me, could we each please have a bowl of whatever stew happens to be simmering in the kitchen as well as some bread and cheese?"
A large, doughy woman of indeterminate middle-age, her lined face bearing a strong resemblance to the mountainous terrain outside, carts a long community trencher out to the table in her broad arms. "No cheese tonight. But there's a fresh killed goat in the stew." The stew is thick with meat and vegetables, smelling of paprika, coriander, and other local spices, and topped with several pan-fried hen's eggs. A young boy brings out a basket full of small, warm loaves of a dark, nutted bread.
"And we started baking up a sweet pumpkin casserole for later when we saw you coming. Topped with clotted cream. Careful, trencher's hot."
Entering the hearth room is a small creature encased in shining armor and a brilliant red cape. She cups her helm under her rght arm and smiles warmly to the stout peasant woman running the establishment. A long howl stops her mid greeting and she says,"Jack could smell your stew miles away, haha." Pulling up a chair next to Lyra she says,"Glad to see you guys made it in tonight."
"Fresh killed goat?
...
Chupa Cabra!"
"The goatflesh is cooked admirably," Ensebullus states.
"ملعون الضباب،" another rough voice said from the doorway as its owner shook droplets from his duster. Two days worth of beard glistened with damp as well. The cold he could deal with, night dropped the temperature of the Mana Wastes to a shocking chill in places. It was the constant mist that was irritating, cutting down vision and seeping into everything. Taking off his hat he approached the others, brushing the droplets from it as well. He was a little too rough looking to be conventionally handsome and all of his garments were obviously designed with function rather than form in mind.
"Red, Lyra, Wexley, Ensebullus," he said by way of greeting and sitting down as well, unslinging his pack and the long rosewood case from his back as he did so, "Where's the 'sir' of our merry band?" the man drawled in his strange Grand Duchy accent. The 'sir' as he put it was Simon Ravencourt, the man ostensibly in charge of their little group.
Sir Simon Ravencourt leaned his chair back against the wall at the next table over, flipping through a notebook and occasionally jotting notes with a charcoal pencil. A map of the local area was on the table in front of him marked with letters and dotted lines, along with numerous notes and reports.
He was dressed in his usual traveling attire of finely made but worn black leather boots and trousers, a fitted high-collared vest and a bloused white cotton shirt. His leather longcoat was draped over the back of his chair along with a waist-and-shoulder weapons belt that had a number of pouches and sheathes dotting it.
On the table acting as paper weights were an impressive looking whip with the symbol of Pharasma engraved into the sliver handle and an odd-looking gauntlet with a flaring forearm guard.
As the stew came to the others his stomach grumbled audibly, but he ignored it, lost in his work until the halfling and the Gunslinger arrived. Finally looking up he smiled.
"Over here Jeremiah. Just finishing up some work. Glad you both could make it."
"Thank you Red. I was beginning to worry that we'd be stuck sleeping outside tonight again. I much prefer being indoors at night, especially on one like tonight. Cold, damp and you can't even see what little light the moon is putting out due to the clouds."
A squat bird with a long neck, black pointed beak and a large head waddles through the door. It shakes the condensation from its feathers and squawks loudly. A skinny figure follows not long after, his face obscured by a mask with a long pointed nose and a wide-brimmed hat. "Yes, Tobias, I know this is the place. Thank you." Seeing the serving maid, he pulls her aside and asks for a "small-to-large-sized plate of a root-based plant and a warm bowl of soup."
He then looks over the room and spots Simon - the only person he recognizes. Lifting his mask, he makes his way over, the dodo following a few steps behind. He stands, awkwardly waiting for Simon to look up from his notes. Finally, Tobias squawks loudly.
Leon looked up with a scowl that softened when he saw the bird and it's master. Leaning forward and standing to shake the man's hand, he introduced the others. "Calvin. Good. That should be nearly everyone. Calvin, this is Miss Red, Priestess Lyra of Pharasma, misters Jeremiah and Ensebullus, and young mister Wexley. Everyone, this is Doctor Calvin and his walking foghorn, Tobias."
Looking around for someone and seeming a bit miffed that he could not find them, Leon sighed.
"Lyra, do you know where Dourmahr got off to?"
"Dourmahr? Why, he is right.." Lyra pauses as she turn to where the bard was "...here?
Lysa shakes her head. "I swear I didn't even notice him leave. Well, I'm sure he'll be back any moment now. It is very nice to meet you Doctor Calvin."
"A doctor?" Flynt said. Calvin did not look like any of the medics he had ever met and the bird was even odder than his master but it would be nice to have non-magical medical care available. He was still a little uncomfortable relying on magic even outside of Alkenstar and the Wastes.
"We still missin' one?" As it stood their little group was quite the odd bunch but if anything, Ustalav had already proven itself odder. This miserable, mist-shrouded land constantly seemed to try and find new ways to perturb and surprise him. He just hoped travelling with this bunch would not end up putting him in trouble he could have avoided alone.
A tiny gnome slips out of the kitchen, looking over his shoulder to be sure he wasn't spotted. He brings an orange-coated finger to his mouth and smiles. It would be charming except for the mouth full of sharp teeth. "She's right, the pumpkin is sweet...and delicious." In the firelight you see that his skin is eerily pale and that his hair is white with brilliant blue. A little drum is hooked to his belt.
"...and this is Dourmahr." Simon says with a slight chuckle.
"Now that we're all here, let's eat. I'll explain the situation over dinner."
Seeing the serving maid, he pulls her aside and asks for a "small-to-large-sized plate of a root-based plant and a warm bowl of soup."
The proprietor give you and the bird a look, but says "I think I might have a sweet potato I could cook up. And I'll warm a bowl of stock."
"...and this is Dourmahr." Simon says with a slight chuckle.
"Now that we're all here, let's eat. I'll explain the situation over dinner."
Indeed. Wexley, you are aware of three young women of your personal acquaintance you have gone missing from the surrounding countryside in the last six months. There are more you've heard whisperings of, one of which was the daughter of a friend of this Jeremiah Flynt (and how you eventually were put in touch with this group), but the three are the only ones you know personally.
While some of you have heard of Barovia before, none of you have even been there, nor have spoken to anyone who's been there. You're pretty sure it's within a day or two of this inn, but you've all been unable to locate it on any map of the area you've found.
"Does anyone 'know a guy'?"
"Tobias and I are acquainted with a number of people who could fit such a description as that," Calvin says casually. He sops the bottom of his soup bowl with a bit of crust before continuing. "Tobias bit a guy once. Never again. Didn't care for the taste of human flesh, much, did-ja boy? Yeah. Me neither."
"I suppose we could keep on the road for another day, perhaps we will get lucky and pick the right one to lead us there? We could also ask the innkeeper if he knows where it is or at least if he's ever had any patrons from there and which direction they came from."
Indeed, any of you may act away, and I will adjudicate as needed.
"I'm not a fan of wandering off into the unknown and hoping for the best. One thing I've learned about this lovely land is it pays to move quickly," Flynt said, clearly not a fan of the local wildlife. He got his thoughts in order, trying to remember any rumors he had come across about Barovia lest they accidentally enrage any paranoid locals.
When the woman comes back to the table, Lyra stops her a moment to ask a few questions. "Excuse me, but we haven't traveled in this region much and were wondering if you could perhaps help us with some directions. We are trying to get to Barovia, but aren't sure if we are heading the right way. Have you perhaps heard of it or know someone hereabouts that may be more familiar with other nearby towns?"
"I'm not a fan of wandering off into the unknown and hoping for the best. One thing I've learned about this lovely land is it pays to move quickly," Flynt said, clearly not a fan of the local wildlife. He got his thoughts in order, trying to remember any rumors he had come across about Barovia lest they accidentally enrage any paranoid locals.
With Jeremiah leading the discussion, the group of you pick through the sparse rumors and facts you've collected so far. Most notable about them (particularly with that roll) is how very few there are. Most of what you have has led you to this inn, and there's some vague mention of a hard to find trail up into the mountains, not far from here, but that's about it.
GM's Note: Normally, gathering information is a Diplomacy check, but in this instance, the action does seem more of a sifting through information already collected, rather than the collecting itself. Not to mention, Gather Info usually requires some time, and a mob of people of some size or another to gather it from. Which, is rather conspicuously absent here in this inn.
That being said....
When the woman comes back to the table, Lyra stops her a moment to ask a few questions. "Excuse me, but we haven't traveled in this region much and were wondering if you could perhaps help us with some directions. We are trying to get to Barovia, but aren't sure if we are heading the right way. Have you perhaps heard of it or know someone hereabouts that may be more familiar with other nearby towns?"
Lyra:Being the one who is questioning her, could you make a Diplomacy check for me please.
Formatting edited for clarity.
Simon taps his finger against the table as he thinks, then retrieves some papers from his notebook and peruses them.
How could the Count not know about this? The numbers are pretty clear.
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A note on Diplomacy:
While I do use the RAW for Diplomacy, I will also, in certain instances that seem to require more of a "Bargaining/Negotiation" roll, use the Diplomacy skill as outlined in this post by Rich Berlew of Order of the Stick fame. I find it an interesting and useful system addition to the game.
"Heard tell of a mountain path into the area while in the last town, but in these parts that's like saying there is an oasis in the desert. Gotta find it first," Flynt leaned back as Lyra plied the server for information and idly scratching the scruff on his chin. He had seen enough dead ends in his search that he would not be surprised if Barovia was yet another.
(What a wonderful first roll for a game)
I'll also overpay for the food if that helps any :)
Lyra's Diplomacy check: At the mention of Barovia, the woman pales visibly and makes signs of Iomedae, Pharasma, Desna, and other local, unknown gestures, but surprisingly, she answers your question.
"Aye. Take the road north from here. About four miles past the bend to the northeast, there's a disused hunting trail that leads up into the mountains. If you're headed to that vale, whatever your reasons may be, I won't stop you. Never does any good to try anyway. But I'd prefer ye not stay the night."
She does take double payment for dinner, however (a whole whopping 1gp total), and serves up portions of the sweet pumpkin casserole, topped with clotted cream and a dollop of tart, jellied snowberries.
After the serving woman leaves and the group has eaten it's fill, Leon clears a space and spreads out his map, then passes a few pieces of paper to Calvin and Ensebullus.
"Alright, here's what we know."
"Wexley and Jeremiah contacted me when three young women went missing. Lyra, Dourmahr and I came to meet them in a nearby village and began our investigation. The map marks their movements up until the time and place they disappeared."
"Wexley has been traveling in the area for a while now. If he hadn't, he probably would not have noticed the disappearances. It was just dumb luck that he'd met all three of them earlier this year, and then they vanished."
"The locals are quite closed mouthed to outsiders. The small amounts of information were cobbled together to create the notes on the map. Speaking with a few people who live on the outskirts of the villages, we actually got some real information. According to two different people, these disappearances are common around here. Many of the towns folk spin wild tales about people being stolen by the mists. A third mentioned something about a history of women catching ill and dying. He called it the "Young Lady's Wasting" and said there were at least a few cases every generation.
"On a whim, we started looking into the local graveyards under the guise of Lyra's duties as a priestess. That's where we realized there was something more strange going on."
"If you aren't adept with sums and numbers, bear with me. Doctor, the page you have is the data of the numbers of men and women buried in the graveyards, and how long they lived."
"Among men, the average life expectancy in this area is between thirty-five and fifty years. Among women, it's only twenty-five to thirty. Even odder, there is a shockingly high number of women who died between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two."
"More interestingly, if you remove the women that died between those ages from the pool, the life expectancy of the rest is slightly higher than that of the men.
"Ensebullis, the paper you have is a simple list of the population numbers. The number of buried men in this area considerably outnumber the buried women. That means that either the birth rates are very strange here, or that a lot of women simply aren't being buried.
"So that is why I called you all together. This area seems to have a rash of deaths and disappearances among young women that goes back as far as the headstones can count."
"It is slow enough and scattered enough that the locals do not seem to realize the full extent of it, and it has been happening for so long, that to them it is simply the way things are."
"But I think there is something dark at work here, and I aim to stop it."
Flynt's lips drew into a thin line when the deaths were brought up, suddenly the casserole tasted of ash in his mouth. It was an truth he had been trying to avoid admitting to himself. The girl was probably dead. Still, he promised to bring her back to her father, whatever remained. "I've got a promise to fulfill. I'll be headed out after the meal."
The prospect of traveling at night in Ustalav did not appeal to Flynt but unfortunately, they'd be forced to find shelter on the road.
"It would be better for us to sleep for a few hours and then head out right before dawn. The woman said the trail is disused, therefore we may quite easily miss it in the dark. Though I'd like to Bavoria as soon as possible, I don't wish to waste time getting lost and doubling back if we miss the trail. Plus we do need to get at least a little bit of rest in since we have no way of knowing what we may run into on the way there."
"She said we're not welcome here. Sorry priestess, we're in the ditches tonight. We'll need to find a safe place. I'll take first watch." Wexley says gruffly as he stands and begins to adjust his gear.
"Death is unthinking, amoral, and scientific. These numbers are not. I do reckon something awful is about."
GM Note: I must head to bed early tonight, and tomorrow is a travel day for me. I should have some time to post over the weekend, but I'm not really sure how much. If I wind up being dark for the next five days, I apologize in advance (but it is also a possibility).
"Tobias thinks the women, perhaps, flew away," Calvin says, staring intently at the piece of paper. Tobias squawks angrily. "Oh. My apologies. He was merely trying to make a joke. But to be clear, we don't think we're dealing with women who've flown away, correct?"
As they finish their meal, Calvin stands and collects his items. He asks Jeremiah, "Do you not intend to travel with us? Though Tobias and I've not been in Ustalav long, we've learned already the danger of traveling unaccompanied."
"It sounds to me likewe follow a similar path, Ravencourt. The same thing happened in my village due to bugbears. Jack and my axe are ready to deal with the problem here as soon as possible. Since it does not seem we are welcomed in this inn tonight, where do stay? I have a tent, but it isn't big enough for all of us. Plus, I know Jack won't be staying out in the rain, haha."
"The stables. Good idea." Wexley responds in a low voice, as though Red had suggested it.
"It's better if we lay low and don't ask permission." he adds quietly, so the serving maid can't hear.
Wexley draws two starknives and approaches the window, peering out into the night.
"Easy there, Shifty. No need to be so antsy. Jack would have letus know if something is out there. He has a better since for it than we do. Now settle down and put those pointy bits away before someone thinks you have unplanned plans for them."
"I have tent as well. Perhaps we can go a short distance and then set up camp for the rest of the night? I still don't want to miss the trail in the dark and it might be safer to sleep nearby than out in the middle of no-where."
"What the he'll are you doing, son?" Sir Leon said low and rough to Wexley when he drew his weapons inside the tavern. "You touched in the head? Save your blades for when there's trouble."
Looking to the rest of the table, he gathered the man and papers and stood. "No sense talking about it until we're blue in the face. I always carry extra blankets. We'll survive a night or two on the road."
He left a stack of coins on the table to pay for their meal and made his way out to the stables to saddle his horse.
Wexley grunts in indignation, and slides his starknives back under his cloak.
Lyra gathers up her pack and doublechecks to make sure Simon hadn't left behind any papers. Then she'll follow him out to the stables and get her own horse ready to leave as well.
Once outside she'll ask quietly: "I assume you noticed the way the woman paled and made every symbol she knew to ward off evil. Obviously even the locals this far out know that something strange and unnatural is going on in Barovia. I would have asked what she thought was going on there except that I figured that would just get us thrown out of the inn. Likely these poor people are superstitious enough to believe that any mention of what's going on could attract unwanted attention to them as well."
"I noticed. I've seen this sort of reaction before. She knows something bad is happening, but she doesn't believe she can fight it, so she's keeping her head down. If someone comes asking about us, she'll spill everything she can remember just to be seen as helpful."
Simon shakes his head, disgusted.
"Sometimes it's easier to fight monsters than it is to fight human fear and selfishness."
Flynt grabbed his pack and the long case and slung them back over his shoulders. He had needed to sell his horse in the last town and thus travel had been slow and rough going for him. Still, he followed the others outside, since they were no longer welcome in the inn.
"You're tellin' me, only one of those two things can be shot, and if I gotta which then you've got bigger problems than needing to sleep under the sky." He was checking his revolver as he said this, the chamber clicking quietly in the night air. He holstered it immediately though and glanced over at Wexley to make sure he had done the same...
But did not notice anything out of place, so he walked out to the edge of the light escaping the inn's windows. "Let's get aways away before he bed down, I don't fancy having the innkeeper getting antsy and taking some potshots at us to drive us on."
Giving a whistle, Jack, Red's massive lupine mount and constant companion, comes trotting to her side. Climbing up into the saddle, she says,"I would offer you a ride Flynt, but Jack cannot carry a man your size. Old pasty face over there however can hop on back." she finshes gesturing to the ghoulish gnome.