4pm (2 hours til sunset)
Ismark turns away and looks at his father's body.
"We thank you, Cerin, Morgan, Wintermoon," he says, and waves a hand to include the others whose names he has not heard. "You are welcome to sleep here tonight." He looks at Jake and adds bitterly. "Of course, if you find our hospitality unsatisfactory, there is plenty of fresh air outside."
"Be patient," Ireena says to him. "She's offering to help and she's an elf. They are not able to feel as humans do."
Ismark scowls at her, but then he nods and turns to Wintermoon. "The church is a short way past the square. Half an hour's walk from here." He turns to Morgan. "The castle is in the mountains above the town. Follow the west road and turn right at the fork past the second bridge."
"Perhaps we had best go see the priest tonight, and arrange for a burial on the morrow? We can escort you there straight away if you like."
"I agree. We should go and speak with the priest this evening, then rest and get our strength back before going to face the monster that hides behind the guise of a Count."
"I'm concerned we might be in over our heads here fellows. Vampires are not trivial unread." As the others pledge to help, however, he sighs and responds. "The Flame would disgrace me for turning my back on this threat with such willing allies. I will help put this evil to rest."
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Jake whispers into Anhur's ear I'm not sure their father was a bad guy, but maybe you're ri...oh, wait you mean the vampire, right, gotcha
Ireena looks at the clock on the mantle and nods.
"We must be back in time to secure the house before dark," she says. "I believe that your presence here is a sign that things are changing, but for good or evil, I cannot say."
4:30pm
The group leaves the house, Ismark carefully locking the door behind them, and heads north up the foggy street. Mad Mary's sobbing has become so familiar by now that it is scarcely noticed, and they reach the square without incident.
In the square, the fog opens up above for just a moment, and the castle is visible, perched on a rocky spire to the west, a thousand feet above the village. The sun is behind it, and all it lacks is the sword to be the precise image of the seal on your letter.
A moment later, the fog closes in again.
The cobblestone street to the north gives way to dirt as it climbs a low hill, and you imagine that the church would overlook the village from its place here, if the fog ever cleared. Ismark and Ireena lead you inside.
The church is a gray, sagging edifice of stone and wood. It has weathered the assaults of evil for centuries on end and is worn and weary. The bell tower hangs to one side, its sweet tone long silenced. Flickering light shines through holes burned through the roof shingles. The rafters strain feebly against their load. The church is 50 feet wide by 120 feet long. Its interior is a shambles, with overturned and broken benches littering the dusty floor. At a claw-scarred altar toward the far end is the priest.
"Thoth save us! Who would assault such a place of piety!"
At a claw-scarred altar toward the far end is the priest.
The priest jerks at the sound of your voice and looks back at you. It seems you woke him. Slowly, stiffly, he rises to his feet, pressing his fists to his eyes and then blinking at you.
"Praise the light," he says, his voice hoarse and raw. "It is still day."
He turns his back to you and lights a candle on the altar, and then using that candle, begins to move around the church, lighting candles. There are hundreds, and the old priest moves slowly, conversing as he goes.
"It is good you are here, Ireena. We feared the worst. You've done well to bring her, Ismark." They greet him respectfully, but warmly, and then he turns to the adventurers.
"I bid you welcome, strangers, though I fear Barovia may be as much a prison for you as it has become for us. I am Petre Donavich."
He speaks to Morgan. "Though I spend my nights at prayer, it seems that the sanctity of this place is no longer sufficient to keep the devil's minions at bay."
"That much seems apparent. How did you survive?"
Wintermoon is familiar with the difficulties in controlling beasts albeit with strength or willpower. Some simply cannot be tamed or reckoned with. He walks through the ruined church measuring fingers against claw patterns.
The priest lowers his head and closes his eyes, sadly.
"It was a week ago. I was with Mary, praying for Gertrude's safe return. I had thought the church would be safe in the daylight. I was mistaken. Since then, I have reconsecrated the altar and the threshold, and I have stayed here. Though sleep sometimes overcomes me during the days, I have stayed awake through the nights."
"You have come with my friends," he says. "Have you names, or will you remain strangers?"
"I am Anhur, a priest and devotee of The Flame, come on the business of the very same in answer to a letter expressing need." Anhur announces proudly.
"My name is Morgan, and I am a holy warrior of Thoth. We have come together to put a stop to the evil that preys upon your people. What can you tell us of the history of the Count that rules these lands?"
"Cerin Etherstrom," he states. "Father, we have urgent business. The Burgomaster must be put to rightful rest. Can we bury him on the morrow? "
My friends call me Jake, but my name is Jocelyn Day. It's nice to meet you, well, as nice as it can be given the circumstances. Thanks
The priest listens carefully to your words, particularly as Morgan and Anhur speak of their gods.
"I agree, Master Cerin, the burgomaster's burial is urgent. The grave is dug. Bring the body when you can. I will be here. Do not be afraid to disturb my rest. It is a relief to wake to find that some help has come in answer to our prayers." With a sigh he looks around and nudges a bench with his foot. Then he resumes lighting candles.
"As for our Count's history, most of it is lost in the past. Barovia has been isolated for many years, and the Count himself may be the only learned man in the land. I have heard the peasants' stories, but they are only tales. I believe that I have divined the truth behind them, but do not place too much weight on what I will tell you. I have guessed at most of it.
"Once, I believe Strahd Von Zarovich was a good man. He was a soldier who fought for the light. He built this church and this village, and, though the centuries of darkness have wrought many changes, underneath it, I see a good place, good people. Something changed him. He became undead, an evil, inhuman creature that feeds on the men and women of the town.
"I know not why he changed. The only books in Barovia are a few religious texts that I keep, and the Burgomaster's Chronicle, which is simply a record of the produce of our farms and vineyards. It is said that there is an extensive library in the castle, but I have never been closer to that cursed place than we are here. If you should find such a library, look for a tome bound in black leather with brass hinges. My predecessor claims that the Count kept a detailed record of his doings in such a volume."
Cerin glances out the window, attempting to gauge the remains of the daylight.
"Father, perhaps you'd best come away with us back to the Burgomaster's house? If the nights are truly as horrible as you say, I would be remiss to allow you to stay here alone. We will return at first light to put this man to rest, then we will be about the rest of our business."
"Indeed, we will all be safer if we remain together."
Wintermoon stands up from his investigation and approaches the others. "Yes, Father Donavich, let's all return to the Burgomaster's house so that we may better prepare his body for tomorrow's service. It has not received any preservation but would do better to feed the ground than foul the air of their home."
"My comrades speak true. You are unsafe here." Morgan says while glancing about the wreckage of the church.
"I thank you for your concern, but my task is to keep this place a safe haven for those who seek refuge. The Morninglord will protect me, if it is his will." Though exhausted, the priest has a steely conviction that will not be shaken.
"Your task is to see that Von Zarovich does not take Ireena," he says. "Do not let her out of your sight. I do not know why, but it is clear that he has chosen her for some evil purpose, and if he achieves his goal, there is no telling what will befall us. Should you go to the castle, I beg of you to bring her with you."
Ireena looks shocked by this, but a moment later she nods.
"My father's house proved to be no sanctuary against the Count. Only you have the strength to oppose him.," she says. "Tomorrow, we will bury father."
5:30 PM, half an hour til sunset.
Ireena and Ismark lead the party back to their house. Ireena checks the windows, as Ismark locks the door and slides heavy furniture against it to barricade it. The stench of decay is as thick and oppressive as ever, but the home's residents strenuously oppose any attempt to open windows or doors.
When the house is secure, they retire to the kitchen where a thin porridge of wheat and withered vegetables is all the food they have. The wine, on the other hand, is excellent.
"Is there no cellar in which to lay the departed? Or at least perhaps some linens and strong herbs to wrap and perfume him?" Anhur asks through the thick stench.
"We have no cellar," Ireena says, indicating the candles whose scent fails to mask the smell of decay. "We have done what we can with what herbs we have. Barovia has not seen perfume in many years. If you have anything that might help, of course it would be welcome."
"Well we certainly can't go opening any windows. Are there any preparations you need to make for the evening?" Cerin asks Ireena.
Her eyes ump around the room, making a checklist of preparations, and then she shakes her head. The windows are boarded up and the only door that isn't nailed shut is closed and barricaded with heavy furniture. On every wall in every room is a symbol of the Morninglord. Her brother has his sword ready, and there is a crossbow on the mantle, loaded and ready to fire.
"This is all we can do," she says, and touches a holy symbol of the Morninglord that she wears on a chain around her neck.
Morgan excuses himsef and goes from room to room, checking to see how defensible each room is from creature attack.
A brief inspection shows that Ismark and Ireena have done about as well as they can with what they have to shore up their defenses.
"This is probably the best that can be done. Let us set a watch and remain vigilant throughout the night."
Anhur surveys the others. "Cerin, I recommend you take first watch, then wake Morgan. Morgan will wake me, and I Jocelyn. Finally, she will wake Wintermoon before finishing her own rest."
"That seems reasonable. My lady, Master Ismark, try and get some rest this night. We will keep you safe."
6pm - sunset
"We thank you," Ismark says, stiffly.
"Whatever is in our power to give is yours for the asking," Ireena says. "So long as our father is laid to rest."
Neither of them go up to bed, but they sit sipping wine by the fire, lost in their thoughts.
Through the gaps between the boards over the windows, you see the dusk growing thicker and turning to night.
Jake will go to sleep in the corner of the room where the brother and sister are drinking wine
"How long until sun-rises in these parts?" Cerin asks. he leans against the wall at the foot of the stairs. His gaze moving between upstairs, the boarded up doors and windows, and glancing at Ireena.
His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, fingers tracing the decorative pommel with intimate familiarity.
"Daylight will come around 6," Ismark says.
8PM
Jake has drifted off to sleep in the corner, and the two Barovians and Anhur are just getting up to put themselves to sleep when there is the sound of scratching at the windows. The boards groan under the pressure, and they jump when something heavy slams against them. Ismark curses and draws his sword, when the boards at another window start to groan. Ireena makes a sign against darkness and stares with wide-eyes at the windows.
The boards splinter over the second window, and a grey, decaying arm reaches through, pulling part of the broken board away. More hands appear, tearing at the boards, and low, unnatural growls sound from beyond the gap. The light from inside spills out, illuminating the hideous faces of a number of zombies.
"To arms! Zombies" Wintermoon jumps up alert as ever and deftly shoves his quarterstaff through the hole in the window.
He then steps back from the window and shouts to the others, "In here!"
Jake wakes up, and stumbles a bit before grabbing her spear, and rushing to Wintermoon's side. If She can, she will stab through the hole with her spear, using both hands
Hoping the spear hinds a Zombie head to pierce!
Despite Wintermoon smashing it in the face hard enough to send its lower jaw spinning off into the night, and Jake ramming her spear into its eye socket and out the back of its head, the zombie in the front of the back simply groans and tears at the boards.
Anhur approaches the second window and strikes out with his staff. "Return to death, you walking corpse!"
,
,
Cerin approaches the windows, but seeing them covered, remains back, watching the other entrances for signs of damage or forced entry.
Morgan will draw his blade, say a prayer to Thoth, and then disappear, reappearing outside. He will then swing on the closest zombie that he can see.
Anhur swings his staff, crushing the skull of the first zombie, finally dropping it. Using the staff to brace himself, he lashes out with a fist, punching a second zombie as it reaches for him.
"We should not be enemies," it says, and standing behind him is a tall, handsome man, richly dressed in clothes that would have been elegant and stylish centuries ago. He smiles and his fangs gleam in the candle light that spills through the gap.
Morgan disappears, and Anhur, standing beside the window, can see him fighting zombies. He doesn't have much time to think about it, as the zombies are attacking him now. He can see there are ten of them, but only three that can reach him, and he is easily able to step back out of reach of their attacks.
The others pull broken boards away from the window, widening the gap.