With the dying of daylight, a fog creeps across the land, clutching everything in its clammy grasp. Even for Ustalav, the fog feels especially thick and ominous as it covers the earth beneath it. Inside the Weary Horse Inn, though, the fire is warm enough, and if the few patrons are sullen and stare at you a little boldly, at least the food and drink are good. Plus in Ustalav, staring warily at strangers is almost something of a national art.
For an inn’s common room, it’s quiet. It holds no more than a handful of customers other than yourselves. They keep their voices low, and even the clink of their mugs seems subdued as the fog gathers outside. When the door swings open, every head turns to see who has arrived.
This new arrival loudly stamps the mud off his boots in the doorway. He scans the room and settles his gaze on your table as you all sit quietly watching him. He strides confidently over, throwing a letter down on the table in front of you.
The village of Barovia is in need of heroes. His accent is thick but not so much that you can’t understand him. You’ll do as well as any. Without another word he turns to leave.
The small gnome, slight and somewhat beady eyed, peers at the man as he leaves. His nose twitches and he breaks out into a smile, painting his face into a sort of moony look, while his bright red hair and its odd sticking up-style gives him the look of a slightly mad scientist. His constant companion, a grey-furred wolf who lays at the feet of the gnome, growls deep in his throat, but a soft tsking sound from the gnome quiets him. The gnome, one Cassimmius Throckmorton, Cass to his friends, sits forward and chuckles quietly. "I daresay, comrades, that that man was a mite too chipper for this village. Perhaps he makes his living in the bardic arts, juggling porcupines for spare change? He has the look of a porcupine juggler, I wager. All pointy bits and no smiles. Well, shall we see what the letter says?" Without waiting for consensus, he tears into it, sloughing the envelope off to get at the gooey nougat center.
The village of Barovia is in need of heroes. His accent is thick but not so much that you can’t understand him. You’ll do as well as any. Without another word he turns to leave.
Hmmmph! Crag grunted as the man turned to walk off. He slammed his empty stein to the table. I ain't caring for introductions and a dance, but if you're going to interrupt the party you could ha' at least BOUGHT THE NEXT ROUND! his voice rose to a crescendo as the stranger's retreating back vanished through the tavern door.
Every eye in the place was on him, as the door slammed shut. Crag glared around the common area, one face to another until every eye returned to it's own business. The dwarf known locally as "Igneous" had earned that epithet with a well-known volcanic temperament.
I daresay, comrades, that that man was a mite too chipper for this village. Perhaps he makes his living in the bardic arts, juggling porcupines for spare change? He has the look of a porcupine juggler, I wager. All pointy bits and no smiles. Well, shall we see what the letter says?
Crag eyed the gnome. Crazy.
Eustace gave a low growl. Now, there's a creature after me own heart. Fierce. Fearless. Loyal to a fault. If only the looney, moon-eyed gnome had'nah given him such a gnomish name...
To heroes then?
Aye, Crag nodded. He leaned away from the table, speaking loudly enough for the whole tavern to hear, If'n the wench gets around to refilling this. He gave the timid girl a half-smile as she poured. The effect was not entirely pleasant. Crag's skin, craggier and harder even than the average dwarf's, did not lend itself to smiles.
Cassimmius ripped into the envelope without a moment's thought or hesitation. Crag took a long, slow gulp of ale. That one needs to learn the stone's patience...
As Jonakar sat next to the fire inside of the common room he leaned in close letting the fire warm his hands, while ignoring the scowls and half heard jibes of the Ustalavians. The scowls were easy to deal with, and truth be told Jonakar had stopped caring about what people though about him years ago. Either way it went, it was easier in the long run. If they admired you, and you diden't live upto their standard, then by Iomedae's oath, they would curse you the next day. Hero's... pfah! All that a hero is, is a man who leaves his wife and child at home, while he puts himself at danger. Being the icon for a people that would turn on you in a moment. That's all a hero was. So why are you here then? How are you any better? A voice welled up in him.
Rubbing his hands closer to the flames, he paused while looking down at his meaty hands. They were younger once... stronger... not so worn with age. Making a fist Jonakar felt his knuckles pop. They always hurt when it was cold, or wet, or when he woke up. In truth Jonakar couldn't remember the last time some part of his body diden't hurt. At least when I was back home I had a warm hearth and grandchildren to play with. Gods, what in the hell am I doing out here? Picking up his tumble of whiskey, Jonakar slowly took a sip while reaching into his cloak and withdrawing a heavily creased letter. I should have never listened to that fool of a professor when he sent me that letter. Jonakar mutters to himself while tapping it on the table and thinking about the contents. Then, just as Jonakar is about to open and read it again, the door to the inn swings open and the stranger marches is. Stuffing the letter back into his cloak, Jonakar quietly watches the exchange with his pale blue eyes as the letter is casually tossed to the table and the stranger makes ready to depart.
Slowing rising from his chair, Jonakar moves towards the table where his new associates are seated, where he quietly waits to hear what the missive says.
Cass responds to the dwarf's rocky temperament with his usual response: a smile. "Now, now, my good dwarf, let's see a smile there. How else are you going to attract those dwarven women I hear you wax poetic about when you're in your cups? And Jonaker, good of you to join us. Let Jonaker be a lesson to you, Igneous: as your mother told you, if you keep making that face, it will freeze that way. Our dear Jonaker is proof positive of the fact! And of course, to heroes! May they ever be around to pull our feet from the fire! Cheers!" Cass pauses in his letter ripping to down a quick mouthful of the amber liquid sitting next to him, sold under the dubious label of 'Goodcheer Wine.'
Cass fidgets slightly in his seat, leaning forward to better see the words on the page in front of him. "Hear now, it says..."
Opening the letter, Cassimmius reads it aloud to the group of you.
Hail to thee of might and valor:
I, a lowly servant of the township of Barovia, send honor to thee. We plead for thy so desperately needed assistance within our community.
The love of my life, Ireena Kolyana, has been afflicted by an evil so deadly that even the good people of our town cannot protect her. She languishes from her wound and I would have her saved from this menace. But I fear the only cure lies within the dreaded walls of the castle, where none may enter without risking their lives.
There is much wealth in this community. I offer all that might be had to thee and thy fellows if thou shalt but answer my desperate plea.
Come quickly, for her time is at hand! All that I have shall be thine!
It's signed:
Kolyan Indirovich
Burgomaster of Barovia
Cass sits the letter down. "Well now, we have a damsel in distress, a wealthy Burgomaster, and a town I'm not familiar with. It sounds like quite the adventure, friends! Shall we answer the poor Burgomaster's plea?"
Cass makes a light tsking noise. "Ah, you see, I've only just remembered that we were headed into Barovia anyway, to look for this artifact that the Good Professor is seeking. Surely a damsel in distress is a worthy side trip? I believe the Good Professor would not mind at all!"
What's a "Burgomaster"? The Laird o' his clan, I would guess. We were never going digging through his lands without his blessing in any case. May as well see what's what.
Crag picked up the letter and re-read it. "The love of my life," "afflicted," "her time is at hand," Crag recited. Like as not, the girl got herself in a bad way, and this burgomaster wants to avoid the scandal.
Crag shook his head. It's late. But, if we're late in arriving, I doubt this burgomaster will welcome our presence. Best we were on our way. I'll go and hitch up me mule...
Quietly listening to the exchange Jonakar's only raises one expressive eyebrow at Cassimmius's jibe. Twenty years ago he might have flown into a rage at the slight, beating the halfling until he was unconscious, but now he didn't care. Some might call it maturity but Jonakar had another word for it; apathy. He wasn't sure if it was an improvement. Peace... whispered a voice in his head, soothing his anger and urging him to see the words for what they were... a joke.
A Burgomaster Said Jonakar with a voice like mahogany; warm, strong and smooth. A voice that men might have followed once. is the office of mayor in these parts. Slowing rubbing his chin in thought, Jonakar sat down at the table with the rest of the group. Resting in the chair for a moment the firelight hits just so, and for a instant you can see the man that Jonakar could have been with hard muscle and lines, short golden hair, a sharp angular chin and piercing silver-grey eyes. Then the light flickers and you see how the years have aged him; hard earned muscle slowly turning to fat, hair now more grey then gold and eyes that have lost much of their sparkle. We were already headed to Barovia. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check in on the girl. It might benefit us to have the gratitude of the Mayor. Besides... I have a daughter, and if she was in trouble like this Ireena was, I would want someone to help. Wearily rising, Jonakar places a smattering of coins on the table with a clink. It's going to be dark soon. I don't know if any of you are familiar with Ustalav, but around here people lock there doors at night, and they don't open until the first rays of sun. If we are leaving we need to go soon.
A Burgomaster is the office of mayor in these parts.
We were already headed to Barovia. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check in on the girl. It might benefit us to have the gratitude of the Mayor.
If we are leaving we need to go soon.
Aye, mayor... laird... LASS! Crag shouted at the serving girl. Run fetch the stable boy. Tell him to satchel up me mule. Load 'im with three days o' feed. And... he glared around to make sure no one was watching before he pressed a gold piece in her hand, put some food in that wretched belly o' yours.
"May as well get on the road now, I say. Besides, the moon is out and I quite fancy a stroll!" Cass leaps up, whistles for Eustace and begins to gather his things.
As all at the table prepare to rise, a woman in her thirties descends the stair from the rooms above. The fine stitching and costly fabric of her black dress is evident and would make any noble proud, if they had lived fifty years prior, for it was desperately out of fashion.
A black shawl covers her head but cannot hide the long river of black hair running to her heels. Despite her lean frame and middling height, she appears to be a half-orc as the green of her chin shows below smooth dark lips before being hidden beneath a veil of antique black lace.
With a smile towards those at the table she says in a deep, resonant voice, "Ah, heroes, and just when I am in need. Do you mind caring for two damsels this evening, if one will help you with the other?"
T'ain't no vacation trip we're planning, missy. But, if you can handle a stubborn ass, and me mule, then you can walk aside me to Barovia. But, pack your bags. We ain't standing around til morning.
Miss, Jonakar says as he picks up his gear that was resting next to his chair at the fire. The dwarf has the truth of it. We have some distance to go tonight and it will be dark soon. I can't vouch for your safety on the road if you choose to travel with us, and we will be making the best speed that we can, it will not be enjoyable.
Crag checked the harnesses carefully. Make sure you cinch these up tight, lad. I ain't fer hunting down all my belongings in the dead of night, in the middle of the wilds. And I'll tan your hide for the priveledge, if'n you give it to me.
"Lovely idea! Another member of the party is always welcome, and if that member is lovely, even better! Well, I believe Eustace and I are ready for the road. Let us wander away!" Cass smiles broadly, then walks over to join Esme, leaning in closely to ask, "I say, my dear, have you ever experienced any sort of lunar-based madness? Any history of insanity? Strange or nervous tics? Are you prone to howling at the moon? Eustace and I are definitely fans of the practice!" The gnome gestures at the wolf walking beside him, who has the look of one who has suffered the madness of the gnome as gracefully as a wolf can.
Cass nods at Bertholdt and pats Esme's arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, he's not avoiding you. He's simply a very private man. And I think he believes that I smell bad. Not that I do, but each person's eccentricities must be humored in their time, I say! Why, Bertholdt there has a curious fondness for large round breasts. Indeed, I have spoken to many of his conquests post-coitus and I've found that he seems to live with a distinct obsession for them. I've never had an opportunity to discuss his mammaliaphilia, but as it doesn't seem to handicap him in everyday life, I think it merely a quirk and not a dysfunction."
You all gather yourselves together and head out into the cool night air. The moon rises above you in a slim crescent, casting only a small thread of illumination on the road ahead of you. You know you have some distance ahead of you till you reach Barovia and you set forth at a steady pace.
The miles pass by and the night wears on, the woods around you growing thick and tangled. The mist continues to coat the ground and as you draw closer to your destination it only seems to get thicker, the woods around you almost lost in their depths. Black pools of water stand like dark mirrors about the muddy roadway. Giant tree trunks stand guard on both sides of the old road, their branches clawing at the mist.
Without warning in the deep gray fog, high stone pillars loom up from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road. Huge iron gates hang from the stonework, dew clinging to their rusting bars. Standing before the pillars are two stone statues of armed guardians with wicked polearms. Their carved heads lie among the weeds at their feet, neatly broken from their stone shoulders.
As you approach closer (), the gates slowly swing open away from you with a loud screech of rusted hinges. Beyond, the road continues into the woods and fog.
Riding up to Bertholdt, Jonakar eases his sword hand out of its glove and rests it reassuringly on the pommel his fathers sword. Not the most ominous sight I have seen. Mutters the grizzled veteran taking in the pale luminescent fog and the beheaded statues, while thinking back to his scouting patrols within the keening hills searching for unquiet dead, or his first sight of the ebon hued crypt-fortress known as Gallowspire. No, not the most ominous, but not something to take lightly either. Dammed strange that. wispers the aged man. Almost like we are be invited in... Jonakar trails off.
The dwarf set a steady pace. The patient and steady clop-clopping of the mule created a drowsy lullaby that had heads nodding until the rhythm was shattered as the mule picked its way carefully over rocks or sudden dips in the terrain.
Out of the night, a low whistle sounded and Jonakar ran ahead to catch up to Bertholdt. A few more minutes passed as dwarf, gnome, and woman plodded along before the group reassembled in front of the pillars.
I could smell that briar o' yours a mile and a half down the road, Bertholdt. Crag looked around him. Passable work, considering, the dwarf appraised. This a landmark any o' you are familiar with? It ain't appearing to be guarded. No tolls to pay.
Crag looked towards the open gates and the statues. Suddenly, he spun around, with a look as stern as any dwarf could make. He crossed his arms and practically stamped his feet in impatience. Oh, for the love of... You may as well come out, you know. They ain't for caring that you've got moss growing on you. I told you not to get wet, didn't I?
Before anyone could question the dwarf's odd behavior, a small, roughly humanoid creature, that looked for all the world like it had been badly cobbled together out of rocks, dirt, and clay, clawed its way free of the ground. Strangely, the earth around the unusual being closed up behind it leaving no scar or trace of its passing. It stomped free, shaking itself like a wet dog, but scattering loose pebbles and dirt around instead of water, before looking to Crag. With a voice like chalk breaking it grumbled, Thhhhrrekkkkkkkbbbbbaaatttt, uuuudddd cccccrrrrrrbbbbbbtt!
Bah! Nobody here understands your gibberish, ya overgrown paperweight! Least of all me! So, you may as well just keep it shut.
Crag turned back towards the gates, to find his companions all staring wide-eyed at the dwarf and the newcomer. Crag hitched a thumb towards the creature. Meet Gravel. If you can understand a single word he says, then I'll thank you to tell me what in the hells he's complaining about.
Odd... I haven't felt that in years. Not since... Eyes widening as the elemental mass ruptures from the earth. His horse rearing Jonakar quickly lays a calming hand on his his mount and whispers soothing sounds into its ear. Haste-fully, Jonakar eases his horse away from the earthen creature until the whiteness starts to recede from the eyes of his mount and its ears lay flat. Then, Jonakar slowly eases himself out of the saddle and ties the bridle to a nearby tree.
Frowning, Jonakar starts to move towards the creature and from deep within him, he can feel a surge of visceral emotion boiling up. Frown deepening he tries to identify what it is that he is feeling, but the only way he could describe it was as if the sun was shining on your face, warming you to the core. But it was more then that. It was the smell of a warm pie just baked, and the sounds of your children's laughter. It was the taste of a newly brewed ale, it was all of that and more. It was goodness, hope and honor. Flinching for a seconds breath he understands what this creature is, they are as different as two things can be, but even now, he knows that the elemental can see into him just as he can see into it and he is ashamed. You are both the same. a voice whispers in his head. Sighing in resignation Jonakar steps forward and kneels on the muddy path in front of Crag and his companion.
Ah might know ah thing or two. Jonakar whispers, half to himself. Closing his eyes and reaching deep within himself he touches the shining core of his being. The purity that he never understood, the very thing that had lead him to this muddy road with a handful of strangers. Opening his eyes, Jonakar opens his mouth and voice like a clarion call spills forth.
Честитки брат и мир да биде врз вас. Јас не очекував да бидам тука. Џуџето повици што чакал. Дали е ова твое име?
Esme starts in fear when the creature breaks from the ground, then again when Jonakar breaks into celestial. Involuntarily, she takes two steps back, turning first to the right and then the left, before noticing Cass. She eases over to him, facing the darkness from which they have come and says, "No, Sir Cassimmius, I have never suffered the moon madness, though the old maids of my village tell a tale of my mamman.
It seems that there was a hunter who lived in the village and if you bought him enough ale, he would tell how he tracked a white wolf to the deep wood. Upon cornering the beast, he says it was joined by the rest of it's pack, led by a huge black beast of a wolf.
He claims that upon turning to flee, the wolves lept to give chase. He'd swear that he ran in forlorn hope terrified that the last moon of his life would be a full, for the folks of my village believe that if you die on the night of a full moon, the wolves will hunt your soul all the way to Pharasma's Throne.
If you then bought him another round or three, just before he passed out, supposedly, he'd whisper that the wolves paced him the whole journey home. He further claimed, and I think all believed him, that there beside the giant black, was a skyclad woman, her pale skin shining in the moonlight and her long black hair streaming behind her.
They also say that he'd claim that the woman's laughter was met by that of the wolves as they ran, though by all accounts, he'd say naught more after that. The maids would cluck disapprovingly, saying that after that, he'd hurry home as quickly as possible, bolting himself in and swearing off strong drink for a fortnight."
Esme starts again, this time in embarassment. Looking over Cass's shoulder, she seems relieved when a large breed dog, the kind that halflings use as mounts, came trotting into the light of the gate. Bowing to Cass, she stepped over to the dog, tiredly lifting the sack she'd been carrying and fastening it to the harness worn by the beast.
Leaning down to the dog, she looks it in the eye before asking, "Samantha, where is Ariadne?" The dog turns twice on the spot, sniffs the air and then settles to its haunches in the grass with a whine.
Crag dug a finger into ear to quell the ringing as the peal of Jonakar's melodic speech fell away. In the ringing silence that followed, Gravel turned from Jonakar to Crag and back, his posture displaying his confusion.
Shall we?
We should. Barovia ain't getting any closer. Any of you know this country? Crag eyed the statues. Any significance that they're missing the heads? Locals are superstitious. I might as well be.
"Definitely, let's! I mean, I'm sure the creepy statues do not actually foreshadow any real doom that will fall upon us. That sort of thing only happens in stories, right?" Cass smiles broadly and strides forward.
Cass smiles broadly and strides forward.
Esme turns to the gates as the dog rises, her hand instinctively entwining itself in the fur of it's shaggy haunch. Seeming both nervous and a little scared, she starts for the gate, the dog by her side.
A small figure flits by on feathered wings in the exact moment that she steps between the pillars of the gate. You see black feathered wings and a furry body dressed in a short tunic but no pants. Those with darkvision see the figure alight in a tree on the other side of the gate. It settles down to watch the party, unmoving.
I'm really doing it Mother. You are avenged and I now free. I know not where these gentlemen travel, but it must surely be safer than the home I leave.
Please Lady, forgive me my latest transgressions. My actions were just and I do not regret them. He chose his fate when he first struck torch to tinder. Please judge him accordingly.
She turns to wait on the other side of the gate, her middle finger reflexively crooked behind her index.
Casting one last glance at the Celestial Elemental Jonakar shrugs to the creature before he heads back to his horse. No, I think we are done here. Jonakar mutters to himself, his voice having returned to its warm tone. Let's move onto the town, but before we do, I think we should all be ready for trouble. Taking his own advice. Jonakar begins to put on a old, but serviceable breastplate. Adjusting its straps the older man moves side to side and jumps up and down once making sure that his armor is steady before he straps a dark, wooden shield to his back, the outside surface of it covered in vicious looking spikes. Giving a grunt as he makes a final check of his gear, Jonakar finally nods. Lets go.
Cass smiles at Jonakar's advice, and begins to quickly put on his armor, cinching it up and loosening his scimitar in its sheath. He straps his buckler to his arm and calls Eustace over from where he is busily sniffing the hind end of Esme's dog. Eustace glances at the now-armorer gnome and sidles up so Cass can climb aboard him. Now mounted, wolf and rider look ready for action.
"I believe we are set, Jonakar. Shall we visit the lovely Burg of Barovia?"
Crag rapped his knuckles sharply on his helm and shrugged his shoulders. Ain't never not been ready.
He pulled the massive sledgehammer from where it was slung across his back as he walked towards and through the gates, leading his mule.
You all carry on, the mists continuing to shroud everything around you in a grim gloom. After about 10 minutes, the woods seem to open up ahead of you although through the fog you can't make out much more than that. Grassy fields stretch off to the south and west to the limits of your vision while the forest continues to run along your right side along the north.
Tall shapes loom from the dense fog ahead, and the muddy ground underfoot gives way to slick, wet cobblestones. A dilapitated wooden sign reads "Welcome to the Village of Barovia." As you head closer, the shapes resolve into tenements whose windows are boarded, broken, and lightless. Nothing moves nearby, though the fog limits your visibility. Faint sounds, as of something groaning, echo hollowly from somewhere deeper in the settlement.
Crag gave a low snort of disquiet. He gave Gravel a small hand sign. The elemental gave him a shiver of understanding and then dove into the cobblestone path as if it were a river. The ground, just the same, parted like water and swallowed the creature leaving no sign of his passing.
Crag paused to tether the patient mule to the sign post. He nodded towards the nearest tenement and with a gruff whisper said, No sentries. No streetlights. No country for taking chances. To me mind, this ain't feeling right.
Eustace growls deep in his throat, his hackles raised. He sniffs the air, quickly while Cass' eyes scan the area. Leaning forward on the wolf's back, he slowly draws his scimitar, allowing its magical glow to play across the land like starlight. "I say, this does appear to be a run-down specimen of a town. Perhaps the real estate bubble burst?"
Esme has been relying on the light of her companions. She has no magical means of seeing in the dark, although she can make light if needed.
Looking around the dilapidated town in curiosity, Esme seems unimpressed. Samantha stands at her back, one ear cocked in a questioning look. Once again, Esme's hand buries itself in Samantha's hackles without noticing.
Ariadne, don't get lost now. Stay as close as you can but out of sight.
Looking at Cass, Esme asks, "So, are we meeting someone here? This village seems....quaint."
Scanning the streets Jonakar gives a grunt of distaste. Actually Crag, sad as it is, this seems about right for a small village in Ustalav. Folk around here are superstitious. They think they are safer if they turn off the lights and bar the doors then have a guard patrolling the streets. Like I said when we left the inn. People in these parts don't travel about at night. Then as he scans the streets and starts to notice the broken windows and no lights at all he grows quiet. And they are right to be afraid too. There are things in the night that would take a watchmen before he knew what happened, but this isn't normal. Slipping off his old draft horse, Jonakar takes the reigns in one hand, slipping his fathers sword out of the sheath with the other. Something feels off here. Jonakar says, eyes scanning the fog trying to pierce the gloom. Normally I would suggest that I scout up ahead a little, but with the fog like it is, I doubt that I would see anything until I was right on top of it. Let's move in, but take it slow and steady.
Crag moved towards the town, keeping low to the ground, and using the nearest tenement to grant him cover from the street. Though he could neither see nor feel Gravel beneath his feet, he was confident the creature was pacing him as he went.
As he moved, he cinched the strap of his boulder helmet tightly to his head and drew his sledge from the strap across his back.
The streets are choked with mist, limiting vision to only a few dozen feet. The buildings here at the edge of town look abandoned, burned out, or barricaded. Garbage litters the ground, and a carrion stench assaults your nose. Ahead, an overturned haycart blocks the street.
You're almost upon them before you see the figures coming out of the mist ahead of you. They move with a stilted gait that doesn't belong to anything living.