Petracleus’ gaze lingers on the castle in the mountains whilst the priest tells Merick and the others of Strahd’s dominion over Barovia – despite himself, he feels a small chill crawl up his spine. Lost in thought for a while, he barely notices that his friends have started talking about visiting Madam Eva’s.
Indeed, the bard still seems quite distracted when he agrees it is time to visit the seer.
To Aymehn's question, the priest gives a mirthless smile. "I am sorely tempted, believe me. What has kept me from taking direct action against Strahd so far is what compells me to decline your offer. Strahd has paid me a visit a few times. While always cordial, his subtle threats are clear: Without me here in town, there would be little that would prevent him and his minions to descend upon the town in a reign of blood and terror. I have no reason to doubt him. We both know my place is to remain here in town to provide solace and defense to the remaining villagers of Barovia. Were I to act openly against Strahd, he would repay my bravery with savagery against my flock. I believe that the death of the Burgomaster was a warning to the rest of us not to act against him."
After an uncomfortable silence, you thank the priest for his time, and take your leave. As you begin to file out of the church, Father Danovich says a few parting words. "I will provide you what aid I can. This church has few resources, but what I do have I will share with you, should you decide to take the fight to Strahd himself."
You leave the church about two hours before noon. Wispy clouds streak across an azure sky that stretches above breathtakingly beautiful snow-capped mountains. North of the church, behind a rusty wrought-iron fence, lies a weedy churchyard cluttered with stone grave markers.
Recalling Ismark's and Ireena's directions, the best way to the Varisian encampment would be to follow the Old Svalich Road southwest out of the village, cross the River Ivliss over the Vilage Bridge, and then take the northern fork of the road to Tser Pool, below the waterfall. The Varisian encampment lies along the shores of the pool. Madame Eva lives in the largest and most well-appointed wagon in the camp.
Bidding the priest farewell, Petracleus is happy to step out into what appears to be a glorious day…feeling the sun on his face, he turns to his companions and smiles, ”A fine day for a walk in the countryside, my friends”. Yet he knows that, lurking beneath the façade of the apparently idyllic view, danger is lurking… reassuring himself with the feel of cold steel, he lets his hand rest on the hilt of his rapier.
Leaving the church, you head south down Village Avenue through the village square.
You follow Village Avenue as it rejoins the Old Svalich Road southwest out of town. You cross over the River Ivliss on an ancient stone bridge, passing fields that have yet to be plowed for the planting season. In the distance, you can see the dark outline of a grand castle in the mountains, overlooking the whole valley.
The fields give way to more of the dense forest you encountered on your way in. You eventually come to a fork in the road, and take the northern, less-traveled path. The road quickly becomes less-maintained, devolving into little more than a muddy track. After about an hour, you see an encampment of several tents and wagons that were once brightly-colored. Several people (including a few halflings) mill about the encampment. Many pairs of dark eyes look toward you as you approach.
Merick's dark eyes flitted over the encampment, wary. Not one to normally keep prejudices, he has been told numerous times that Varisians were a sneaky lot, who would seductively dance you to inattentiveness, then rob you blind. He offers a shallow smile to those who look their way, remaining silent in order to let more practiced voices be heard.
Damion does a double take as they pass the fountain while leaving town. He stares suspiciosly at the angel statue with narrowed eyes for a few moments before turning to follow the others muttering, "Creepy damn place. Getting all jittery."
Verran also stayed quiet, not wanting to say something that might inflame this situation. He had no idea how these Varisians fit into the grand scheme of things in this town, but everything was on the table. The thing he feared is that they were working with this Strahd. If they were, well, Pharasma help them.
As you approach the camp, a young girl stands, then turns to the camp and shouts, "Hei! Străini se apropie!"
She stands at the edge of camp, smiling at you. A moment later, three humans in brightly-colored, though slightly shabby clothing approach: One young man with long, dark, wavy hair and a finely-groomed VanDyke beard; one man of similar appearance with a much more weathered face and hair more gray than black; and a young, very beautiful raven-haired woman in flowing skirts and large hoop earrings.
The older man doffs his hat and bows deeply with a flourish. In heavily-accented Taldane ("Common"), he greets you: "Greetings, strangers, from a stranger! Welcome to our camp. Are you here to trade?"
"Huh? What'd she say?"
whispered, "Careful, they've palmed knives."
Noticing both the halfling woman and the palmed daggers, Merick is non-plussed. In this hostile realm, such caution certainly seemed warranted, and if these gypsies wanted to cause trouble, he was certain his plate armor and sword could match up against the smaller weapons. He smiles thinly at the small group, offering a quiet, "Greetings and well met." He waits for another to offer anything more.
…a Halfling? I wonder whether she seeks for us to see her as a child? She would not be the first of her race to employ such a trick…
…Oh I see you sir - do not think us easy prey…
Seeing the badly hidden knives and sensing an undercurrent of hostility, Petracleus seeks to defuse any situation before it escalates.
With a lilting voice, he bows and replies to the older man, ”Greetings Stranger, a trade you say? Why that would depend upon what you can offer us and furthermore whether we in turn have anything that would interest you… For my part, I can tell of news in the world beyond this valley, sing a song to make you smile or play a sad tune on my violin – as to that which we seek? We have heard tale of your Madame Eva and would seek an audience”
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Aymehn cautiously follows his companions as they head into the encampment. His attention seems elsewhere, mind flitting from a bed of pebbles to a large boulder, the Varisians appear to have selected a geologically intense area for their camp. The mud is particularly pleasing to the old dwarf.
When Damion mentions the concealed knives, Aymehn snaps his eyes to take in the gathered Varisian welcome party.
Hope Petracleus can think of something to ease us into the good graces of these fine folks. Hate to have to bloody up all of this perfectly fine mud.
Countessa approaches with the others, her arms open and palms upward to show that she has nothing to hide. She remains wary, but shows no fear.
Verran's hand reflexively started for his mace when he was informed the Varisians had knives, but he stopped himself and returned his hands to in front of him. Noticing the bard's social slipup, Verran adds with a calming tone.
"What my friend meant to say is that we are here with the intention of making a mutually beneficial arrangement and that we mean no harm to your people."
The older Varisian man frowns at Petracleus' stumbling over his words. But after Verran speaks, the raven-haired woman leans over and whispers something into his ear. At that, he nods, his expression becomes a warm smile, and he bows low. The other three take his lead and also bow.
"Ah, so you wish to see Madame Eva! Well, that can certainly be arranged. She does charge ten pieces of gold for a Harrow reading. I would be happy to arrange that transaction." He gestures to the halfling and the younger man, and they quickly head over to the largest tent in the encampment.
The Varisians invite you to join them by their campfire. Warily, you sit on a fallen log while a trio plays you a song: one plays a mandolin and sings, one a fiddle, and a third some kind of hand drum. The music is lively yet mysterious, and sung in Varisian. You notice that an upturned tricorner hat is set before the trio, and there are several coins in it.
After about fifteen minutes, the halfling woman whom you'd initially mistaken for a human child returns. "Madame Eva will see you now, strangers."
You enter the fading, though once brightly-colored tent. Wool rugs with intricate geometric patterns cover the ground. Several tables and shelves are set along the permiter, cluttered with odd esoteric and arcane items: skulls of humanoids and other creatures, some covered with arcane sigils; odd fetishes of leather and feathers; alchemical equipment; several books. Several candleabras, each holding several lit candles also scatter the tables and shelves, providing illumination in addition to the sunlight filtering through the entrance. In the center of the tent stands a round, heavy-looking table made of dark wood. The surface of the table is covered in green felt. Seven chairs surround the table.
In the chair facing the entrance sits a woman of perhaps sixty years. Her long, dark hair is streaked with gray, and she is dressed in a brightly-colored skirt and flowing white blouse. She wears a scarlet scarf about her head, and several multicolored scarves are draped around her shoulders. She fixes you with bright, slate-gray eyes as she absently shuffles, then expertly fans a deck of cards. She then spreads the cards in an arc on the table.
"Come closer, travelers. I hear you wished to speak with me. Have you come to have your fortunes read? I may have much to tell you. If your gold is the right color, of course. Please, be seated."
Merick sits as they enjoy the music, not trying to appear callous but not overly enjoying the music, either. The sound was too foreign, reminding the man that he was far away from home and potentially trapped here in this dark land. Noting the hat, he tosses over a couple of gold coins as the group finishes, walking their way to Madame Eva's.
The warrior lets others enter before himself, as usual letting the more charismatic of the group take the lead as he melts into the background, managing to not roll his eyes at the woman's talk of fortunes and gold.
Countessa moves forward, very cautiously.
Happily sitting near the campfire losing himself in the rhythms of the music, the strangely familiar Varisian words and the golden flames of the fire, Petracleus is content enough to let the worries of Barovia, the possible ill intent of the musicians and the threat of Strahd behind him for a while.
…it is good, once in a while, to be the audience not the show…
As Merrick stands, Petracleus follows the warrior in tossing a coin or two into the tricorne hat, A fine tune indeed my friends, I thank you”
Entering the tent, Petracleus returns Madame Eva’s gaze as he takes the offered seat, ”Greetings Madam, tales are told within Barovia of your abilities with the Harrow and I, for one, have a desire to see such a unique talent”. Ignoring the shuffling and the showmanship of the fanned cards, Petracleus nonchalantly places ten gold on the table before him, So come, tell me of my fate… of the trials that we may face in the forthcoming days… and of our eventual demise or triumph”
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As Aymehn passes the musicians, he stops, looking from one performer to the next. He smiles broadly, and reaches into his pack. He fumbles around looking for just the right offering.
His hand emerges from his pack with a single, dull, slate rock, measuring about 2 inches and nearly square.
Aymehn smiles and nods at the musicians, beaming with pride and appreciation. He carefully places the slate square into the offering hat. Aymehn winks at the Varisian musicians with a smile.
The squat druid follows Petracleus into the tent.
Damion shows little intrest in the musicians or dancers but looks a little worried when the group enters the tent. He says nothing and stays towards the back of the party trying to look inconspicuous.
Madame Eva beckons all of you to stand around the table. She places her Harrow deck on the table face down, places one hand on it, and sweeps her hand in an arc. The cards spread out in a near-perfect arc.
"The Harrow can tell us many things. I shall start by telling you of your collective futures..."
She moves her hand over the cards, and then pauses. She looks Petracleus in the eye, and says, "No. You, Araneus. Please, pick a card and turn it over. What secrets might it tell us?"
Feeling the blood rush from his face at the name, Petracleus moves his hand over the violet-colored card backs. He pauses, selects one, and turns it over.
...Chaotic
...Good
The Varisian woman's expression turns very serious as the card is revealed. "The Desert represents travel through a hostile environment. You will need aid to succeed-- find it and you shall make it through. Fail to find it, and fall to the depredations of the wastes."
She takes the card and returns it to the deck. She shuffles the cards effortlessly and fans them in one hand.
"Now, you have questions, no? Tell me... what do you seek?"
The warrior takes a step forward eagerly, the mystical nature of this place getting to him. In his soft, bass voice, "We seek the ruler of this land. This monster who would murder his own people and worse. Tell us of him."
Petracleus, momentarily taken aback by Madame Eva’s use of his true name, regains his composure quickly…
…’twas a parlour trick… nothing more than that…
Gazing at the card for a few moments whilst Madame Eva states little more than what has already become brutally obvious to him – Barovia is a harsh environment and, the closer he and his friends move towards Strahd, the ‘hotter’ the ‘desert’ will become. He is about to ask for further information in relation to Strahd, without expressing his intentions to overthrow the despot, when Merick bluntly asks of the ‘monster’…
The bard inwardly curses how easily their hand has been played, …and, if these folk are in the pay of Strahd, what then Merick? What then?
Madame Eva raises an eyebrow and curls her lip into a conspiratorial grin. "Ah! So, you seek to remove Count Strahd from his throne! Over the years, many have tried... and none have lived to tell the tale. He who dwells in Castle Ravenloft is a powerful man whose enemy is light and whose powers are beyond mortality. You will seek him in his castle, and though he might find you many times, you shall find him only once."
...Neutral
...Evil
...and turns over The Mute Hag. Madam Eva's gaze drifts upward, and her eyes have a faraway expression. "The hag may be silent, but the eye she holds in her teeth still gazes into one's soul. The secrets she reveals spreads enmity between erstwhile friends." She lowers her gaze and locks eyes with Merrick. "You will find the master of the castle in the place where officers of an ancient prince once sat, upholding him from below. I see a place of shadow and despair, beneath the main floor of the castle."
...Chaotic
...Evil
...and places it cross-wise over the previous card. "The next card will tell us whether fortune will be with you when you confront him." She turns over The Waxworks. Her expression turns grim. "This is a card of unspeakable horrors that lead to paralysis in body and mind. I am afraid that this is a very bad sign. You cannot hide from your fate when you meet the Master of Ravenloft, but you just might be able to overcome it with the right tools at your disposal."
She regards you with a gaze that seems equally of hope and pity. "I shall continue reading the cards in answer to more of your questions, should you so desire."
Relaxing as Madame Eva continues to read the cards, Petracleus considers the vagueness of her words.
…the woman speaks in riddles – it would be an easy thing to misinterpret her words and doom ourselves…
Grimacing slightly as the meaning of the Waxworks is suggested, Petracleus asks, ”Tools? You speak of having the right tools… What would these be? And where, in Barovia, might we find them?”
"And what of our new allies? Can we trust them?" Countessa asks excitedly, forgetting herself.
Adding with Petracleus and Countessa, his expression grim at her evil tidings, "What of this talisman that the Burgomaster had in his home until recently. And these tales of Strahd trying to kidnap or entice young women into his castle?"
The warrior shook his head...this was getting to be a lot to process. And here they were, taking it all in from a woman who was likely a con artist, raking them across the coals and relieving them of a few gold coins while throwing them scraps that any local in the area might know.
Verran sits quietly and sternly, doing his best not to show any sort of reaction to the Harrowing. He did not need a deck of cards to tell him his fate, the Lady of Graves would see to that just fine. Besides, in the end all shared the same fate, it was just the time and manner of it's coming that were ever in any doubt. If the others chose to believe in this, that was up to them, but Verran had no questions this woman and her parlor tricks could answer.
As you pepper her with questions, the old woman cackles. You hear the sound of a gust of wind outside the tent, and the fabric of the walls ripples. The candles lighting the interior flicker, sending strange shadows across the Varisian fortune-teller's face.
"So, you have many questions, my poppets, do you not?" She looks at each of you, then locks her gaze with Countessa's for a long moment. "You are a countess yourself..." The gypsy then narrows her eyes, "But no, you are not. Yet you do not dissuade those who make that assumption when introduced. You ask about your allies in this town. You must have met the young new Burgomaster, and his sister, and the village priest. I can say that their hearts are all pure... for now. Let us see what the future holds for your alliances."
Madame Eva gathers her cards and shuffles them quickly and efficiently. She then spreads them in a semicircle before her. Her eyes grow distant and she looks toward the ceiling, silently whispering something to herself. Her hand passes over the array of cards, suddenly pausing over one.
...Neutral
...Evil
She turns over the card to reveal The Betrayal. Madame Eva looks at the card, then at you. "I sense that this card is self-explanatory. But what lies at the heart of this?"
Madame Eva again gazes into space as her hand...
...Neutral
...Neutral
She draws the card and places it crossing the first. She turns it over, revealing The Bear. "Ah. The beast that cannot be tamed or controlled. This the the card of force, but not of malice. I sense that one of your new friends is not fully in control of his or her actions, and is unaware of this state of affairs. You would be wise to be cautious."
She then gathers her cards, shuffles, and lays them before her again. "To your other question..."
She gazes intently at Petracleus. "Tools, yes. If you are to have any chance of success on your fool's errand, you will need the proper implements." She then locks eyes with Merrick. "You, child, have some experience with what a creature such as the Lord of Castle Ravenloft likes to do with the living. How old were you when you found them, drained of their blood?" She chortles to herself at the question. Before Merrick can gather the wherewithal to respond, she responds to the first of his questions. "Ah, the Talisman of Barovia. It is powerful tool of holiness, and protects against the forces of darkenss. Yes, that would be one of the tools you shall need, is it not? You are wise to enquire about it. Let us see..."
In the same manner as before, Madame Eva selects a card.
...Chaotic
...Good
She turns over the card, revealing The Joke. "The Lord of Barovia has claimed the talisman for himself. Yet, he cannot use it. As a cruel joke, he has placed it on his own throne in Castle Ravenloft. You must recover it from there before you challenge him."
...Chaotic
...Good
She turns it over, and places The Juggler crosswise over the previous card. "This is a good omen. When you attempt to recover the Talisman, I see that you will be nimble of foot and quick to react. You will need to be both in that place."
She meets Merrick's gaze again. "As for the young women Strahd invites to his castle... Do not all men who rule a land wish to surround themselves with beautiful women? And, for a creature such as the Master of Castle Ravenloft, such beauty need not fade with age."
Damion shifts around uneasily trying to keep other people between himself and the gypsy woman.
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Aymehn looks from the harrower to each of his companions. He is not sure how this woman is able to see into each of their minds as she does, especially since she is entrusting her power through the use of some fragile slips of painted paper. Nevertheless, Aymehn does his best to avert his eyes. He needs no gypsy matriarch prying into his past.
Aymehn stirs visibly when an "untamed beast" is mentioned. Otherwise, he remains silent, hoping Petracleus can guide them through this uncomfortable encounter.
Countessa says nothing at the gypsy woman's proclamation regarding her name, but bristles visibly.
This time, the sequence of cards is unsettling - whilst the first reading could have been seen as an artist painting their own hues and emphasis upon a pre-existing outline - this second reading with it's suggestion of betrayal and the fact that someone may be repressing urges that are not theirs to control is worrisome to say the least. Petracleus sits quietly throughout - holding his words until Madame Eva responds directly to his question, "So... It seems that which we seek has already been claimed by the Lord of Barovia. If I were a pessimist, I'd fret about it being well guarded from hands that would make the talisman their own - but...", a smile breaks across the bard's face, "I have found it better to live my life looking at the positives... So I say that Strahd has simply saved us the bother of having to go elsewhere before we meet"
Standing, Petracleus states his gratitude, "Madame Eva, I have met many who have professed to have powers such as yours... and, of those, not one has convinced me that they are nothing more than a card sharp gifted with flowery language. But you, you have powers to see something beyond mortal vision... I thank you for sharing that gift with us this morning and I pray that your guidance helps us in the challenges ahead"
He looks around at his friends, an eyebrow raised as if to ask whether anyone else has business with Madame Eva...
Merick's expression turns dark at the gypsy's mention of the women in the castle. Why did it always have to be so? Someone gets damned for eternity, and they had to drag others along with themselves instead of learning the errors of their ways.
"Aye, Madame Eva. We shall be fleet of foot. And, more importantly, strong in character. This Count Strahd is a pox upon this land, and an affront to anyone of virtue. His days, unending though he thinks they might be, are numbered."
As Petracleus and Merrick bring this meeting to a close, Madame Eva rises from her cushioned wicker chair. "Well, my poppets, should you have more questions to ask of the Harrow, I shall be here. Pray to all of your gods for whatever help they can provide you-- you shall need all you can get!"
Petracleus smiles as Madame Eva bids them farewell, ”Honour and decency drive us towards Strahd, let us pray that the gods think well of us as we tread within his dark domain”. He stops for a moment as he leaves the tent, ”Keep yourself safe Madame Eva, I doubt Strahd would look kindly upon you helping us”
Stepping into the clear air outside, the bard shakes his head – the claustrophobic tent and Madame Eva’s words having unsettled him – taking a deep breath, he turns to his friends, ”Where next? Have we business in Barovia or is it time to announce ourselves at Strahd’s castle?"
As she turns to leave, a thought strikes Countessa. "Good Madame, can this land be healed? Is there any chance that our quest can succeed?"
Meanwhile, elsewhere...
Five days out of Kavapesta, the Sarenite paladin Theodora and the ranger Celowyn have tracked their quarry into a nondescript valley in the Svalich Peaks: a ridge of snow-capped mountains in the Hungry Mountains of central Ustalav. The boreal forest grow thick and menacing on either side of the road as it grows increasingly foggy. Indeed, after an hour, the mists become so thick it's impossible to see more than a few yards ahead.
Before you looms an iron gate across the meagerly-traveled road. As you approach, the gates swing open, creaking eerily, as if from a strong breeze. Yet, the air is at a dead calm. You find this to be eerie, and Theodora summons the Sight of Sarenrae to look for an evil taint to the gates. She does find a trace stench of evil in the gates, yet it's lower than the background evil she'd experienced while on crusade in the Worldwound. The two women cautiously walk past the gates... which swing shut with a clang behind them!
Deciding that their quarry had continued down the road, they continue following the road southeast into the valley. As they descend, the fog thins out and lifts, revealing a spectacularly beautiful wooded valley ringed with majestic snow-capped peaks. The sun manages to find its way past the many clouds in the sky.
They come to a fork in the road. A weathered sign points northeast, higher into the mountains labeled "Castle Ravenloft." Another sign points south along a ridgeline: "Barovia Village." They decide to head south.
The road crosses an ancient stone bridge that spans a chasm about 200 feet across. Below, a majestic waterfall pours out of the mountains and falls several hundred feet into a pool nearly a thousand feet below.
The road winds down the mountain in a series of switchbacks into another dense forest as you descend. The forest is strangely silent. After about three quarters of an hour, you come to a crossroads. An old wooden gallows creaks in the chill wind blowing down from the high ground the west. A frayed length of rope dances from the beam. The well-worn road splits here and a signpost opposite the gallows points in three directions: "Barovia" to the east, "Tser Pool" to the north, and "Castle Ravenloft" to the west (where you are coming from.) Behind the signpost appears to be an abandoned graveyard.
Theodora's blue eyes also peer around crossroad warily, looking for any of the hidden dangers that have quickly become the hallmark of her travels through Ustalav. At least for now she had a trusted companion who cared more for fighting the forces of evil than any profane quest for personal glory like so many of the so-called crusaders at the Worldwound.
"If you don't see any tracks, that is a fine idea." She replies to Celowyn's suggestion, "Perhaps someone in the village might have some helpful information. If only we could get ahead of this monster instead of witnessing its lethal cruelty."
Sighing at the thought, she tugs absently at one of her long red braids for comfort. Her eyes then linger a little longer at the graveyard before turning her attention to the eastern road. "Let's go, it's safer to reach the village before nightfall."
As you walk past the gallows at the crossroads, please make Perception checks...
"The customs in this land are strange. There may be a purpose to the overgrown graveyard, but it does look a tad disrespectful." Theodora replies with a tsk.
After a moment, she then quietly asks, "How are you holding up?"