My friend, my dreams have been strange as of late. Yes, I know, we have spoken of my dreams many times over the years, but these dreams are vivid, so much more vivid than the ones I described to you in the past. I am beginning to believe that when I dream, I am not merely dreaming, but traveling. Often to dark places... I have been journaling for months about these things that I have seen. Much of it will seem like fanciful fiction to you. To many perhaps. Maybe it is these lands so infused with darkness and negative energy from the centuries under the yoke of the Whispering Tyrant that my dreams are often of the dead, the undead. Much of it connected to the past of Ustalav. A past I believe may go farther back than anyone has ever suspected. I believe I will need help, more help than Kendra can provide. I need you my friend to come to me. I… I can say no more in this letter.
Your friend, Doctor Rudolph van Richten
4711 AR, Ravengro, Ustalav
"Take two horses, let's call it, an advanced scouting trip. Once we catch up with you, you can rejoin and we will continue through to Lepidstadt as originally intended".
You ride out together from the shadows of the Gallowspire. Two grim warriors without much to say, don't say much to each other on the ride. A friend is in need and that is good enough for the two of you.
On the fourth uneventful day, on a fog shrouded morning, you finally arrive on the outskirts of Ravengro. You both understand this settlement to be a sleepy self-sufficient farming community with little love for outsiders. An odd place for someone like the Doctor to settle down in considering his research was likely anathema to the people of this small town. Coming into the town from the east you find few actual roads as most of the land is indeed farmland.
Even this early in the morning farmers tend to their crops, those that notice you stare and watch as you pass by. None wave. The town's reputation for distrust, so far, appears justified.
There is only one road that leads north into the town proper. You must pick your way through moorland and around what appears to be a graveyard to arrive within the town itself.
After a night of camping in the outskirts of the town (it seemed a bit late to arrive at his doorstep!) you pack your belongings and make the final leg of the trip.
Ahead of you are two riders, both appear to be grim of demeanor. They are so intent on their destination, they do not even notice you.
Approaching the moorlands a farmer runs up from behind and flags you down, "You three! Were you staying on my land last night? I trust you did not damage or steal my crops or there's hell to pay".
Few ever leave, alive. If your sentence was commuted, I would suggest that what you do next does not run you afoul of the laws of Talingarde Mr. Sergei. We have a few days ride ahead, we could get there quicker but I like to skirt the moors. It's not safe near there. Some sort of monster dwells there and I don't want to fight whatever that thing is and I a, sure you don't either. A few more days won't kill you!"
On the road a few hours away you pass by a caravan or prisoners heading to Brandescar. One prisoner is speaking incessantly. One of the wagon cars rattles and from within it issues the roar of a beast!
The guard shakes his head, "First an Ogre, now whatever that is. Might be time I retire, this job is getting much more dangerous than it was when I first started. Evil is getting ready to cast its hateful shadow in our peaceful land you mark my words Sergei!"
A few uneventful days later, you arrive in the largest town you have ever seen. The guard drops you off to a local Wizard's tower and bids you good luck, it is quite late, past midnight.
The Wizard nods to you, he seems less than friendly and gruff but willing to assist. "The Warden sent me a message. I am to transport you to a town named Ravengro. I have researched it. I am afraid the only area where I can guarantee you safe passage is near the local prison, Harrowstone. Step into the circle and we shall proceed".
Despite being a free man now, you are used to following orders dutifully and so, you do as bid.
The Wizards begins casting his complicated incantation and soon enough you begin to feel queasy. Then in an instant you feel folded in upon yourself and POP! Instead of standing in the library of a cranky Wizard, you find yourself alone on a barren hill.
It is morning here in this place, the sun rises in the east and has just begun brightening the countryside. You see your first sunrise as a free man, no walls, no guards, just you and nature. Harrowstone’s grounds are contained within a crumbling stone wall, the eastern portion of which
has fallen away into a huge sinkhole As the sun rises you look north and see a crumbing prison.
Much as Brandescar was bleak, it had life. This place reeks of death. To the south, you see what you assume to be your destination, Ravengro. A partially overgrown track leads to the northern edge of the town.
You pause for a moment, considering what to say when you finally see the Doctor i person again. To your left, the east, you see a lone traveler walking down a dirt road which leads to Ravengro, by the look of him, he is some sort of monk.
You were ready for the next chapter, the what comes next. Then the letter from the Doctor. Much as you wanted to rest, you knew that based on tone, this was not a letter you could ignore. You had to come and assist in any way you could.
And so, now, finally, here you are. To the south on this long dirt road is the town of Ravengro. Sprawling farmlands surround the place full of superstitious farmers. You understand their caution, living on the edge of the Hells is not comfortable and this country too has had its share of terrors that once ruled its fog shrouded lands.
One foot in front of the other, you are almost there. To your right, to the west, is a barren hill. Sitting atop it appears to be a crumbling ruins, it is not clear what was there. As you continue to head towards the city, curiously, a figure stands near that place. He has just noticed you as you have just noticed him...
The large form of Bastion silently returns the glare of any farmer who frowns in disapproval at him. The Ogre... he is used to stares. Six and a half feet tall, and solid muscle. But that is not why people stare. His skin is pale and his hair pure white. At night he has been mistaken for a ghost. A noisy ghost he admits to himself. Subtly is not the strongpoint of Ogre.
Turning his horse slightly, he gestures to Alain. "No sense in risking the horses on the open moorland. Let's stick to the road. Surely it will lead us to van Richten"
Sterling, Teofila, and Cole:
The skinny human, (presumably), wearing a tattered black traveling cloak with the large hood pulled to a point over his face, sighs faintly. Then the hood turns slowly to face his two companions.
"Hm. I see the welcome is as warm as the weather. Clearly the tourist destination of the region. No wonder the good Doctor moved here."
Of course Teofila will go to see Dr. van Richten if he requests it. But that doesn't mean the timing is good, or the travel is convenient, and therefore her mood is good. She had planned to be on her way back to Ardis, already there by now in fact. The house needs work, shingles replaced at least, before the wet causes more rot to set in. Not that she can afford the repair. Teofila expected she'd probably have to sell off more of the furniture to pay for it.
Mostly Teofila is thinking about the delay, and hoping for a stretch of dry weather until she can wrap up whatever it is Dr. van Richten needs when the farmer calls out to the three of them. When she turns around to look at the farmer, she expression is in between blank and a slight frown, the frown largely due to Sterling's decision to mouth off at the man. Teofila doesn't see the need. They can probably be done with the farmer quickly and move on if he isn't insulted or frightened.
"Hail good fellow, may the Lady of Graves ever watch over you and yours" Teofila answers back to the farmer.
"We cannot say whether we stayed on your land last night. We saw no signs or markings naming an owner. We can say that we did not damage or take from the place where we rested, which was just off the road maybe a quarter mile back. We did not even light a fire."
"If the land there to the right of the road is yours, we beg your pardon for not asking permission. We did not know who or where to ask. We also thank you for allowing three of Pharasma's humble servants to take their rest there due to your hospitality."
Memories of arriving at Branderscar were pretty fragmented, but he knew it had been a long time ago. Most of the the things in the pack were on the newer side. Certainly not more than 50 years. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in Branderscar, but it had been long enough that all the records regarding why he'd been there were lost, and he'd been there longer than all the currently employed guards. At least, that's what Professor Van Richten had told him. For a long time he'd been considered catatonic, locked inside his shattered mind with no concept of his surroundings. He'd been busy. It had been the work of ages to make some kind of sense out of all the voices and memory fragments trapped together inside his skull, and he'd had to do it all alone.
Eventually he'd come out of the fuge, but not in any coherant way. He had no idea how many different spirits dwelled within him. More came all the time. Usually they were just screaming echos of emotion, too overwhelmed to move on to Pharasma's judgement. With them came new memories of pain and love, loss and rage. In his mind he'd lived parts of hundreds of lives, and none of them had ended well. They'd fought constantly, all vying for control of Sergei's body, his hands, his mouth, all trying to scream out their hurt to anyone who would listen.
It was all far beyond the skills of the traveling councilor who visited Branderscar a few times a year. Sergei was incredibly lucky that she'd taken enough of an intrest in his condition to contact Professor Van Richten.
It was the Professor who's taught him how to cooperate with himself. The trick, the incredible solution was simple compassion. All the fragmented souls inside him really wanted was to be heard, and healed. That's all any haunting was. Van Richten had simply gotten them to talk to each other. They all wanted healing, and they could so easily relate to each other's struggles. Once they stopped vying for control, Sergei was able to regain his autonomy. Sometimes he felt like a person. Sometimes he felt like a group. It was still confusing, but at least now he could tell the difference between memories and reality, and between the living and the dead.
He had plenty of memories of towns like Ravengro. It didn't really matter than none of them were actually his. They felt like they were. There was a difference between memories and current experiences though. Details changed. Some were lost, others amplified. He was looking forward to experiencing a town that wasn't colored by bad memories.
He set out on the road, a man alone in the world but never alone in his mind.
There was a bit of a delay in Sergei's returned wave. First he had to realize a real person was waving at him. Then the parlement in his mind had to come to a decision about how to respond. In the end, he just tipped his new tricorn hat in the monk's direction and continued walking.
May the Lady's blessing always be with you".
As you turn around, you see that the two riders have stopped on the road. Should you wish to interact with them before they enter Ravengro, now would seem to be the time.
You are both walking the same way, south into Ranengro. Within three minutes, you will be walking side by side...
** spoiler omitted **
Count Strahd Von Zarvoich
Sterling, Teofila, and Cole:
"And the Lady's blessings be with you, until the judgement." Sterling returns automatically. The cleric's tone is subdued but sincere. His hand hand traces a spiral in the air as he repeats the traditional blessing.
Aside to his companions Sterling notes,..."Curious. I wonder if he always greets strangers in such a cheerful manner? Or if he's had enough troubles with bandits raiding his crops to warrant such a reaction from three travelers? No matter how well armed?"
The cleric shifts his pack on his back to make it more comfortable as he speaks. The small pack fairly bristling with unusual weapons.
'The Raven' tilts his hooded head to the side quizzically as he notes the two figures on horseback not far ahead of them.
"As I noted earlier, this is not the typical tourist destination. I can't help but wonder what brings other travelers this way on such an inglorious morning. Not merchants obviously. Perhaps we should travel with them til we reach the town? In case whomever the farmer was concerned about turns up?"
Teofila gives the farmer a wave, hand high in the air, to acknowledge his well-wishes before turning and walking on.
In reply to Sterling she shrugs.
"Maybe bandits or someone thieving crops. Maybe he's just a crank. Too many possibilities to sort through. Out here in the countryside there's plenty to worry about or be on guard against. Makes it hard for people to be anything other than careful and suspicious of strangers."
"Best to take them as they are without comment. You don't want to piss the wrong person off. That man's a farmer sure, but he might also be the mayor of the nearby hamlet, or deputized into the local watch, or the cousin of the sheriff, or a member of a vigilante group."
"Until you know your way around a place well enough to tell who's who, you do yourself a favor by staying polite and not talking too much."
As she talks, Teofila keeps her eyes on the horsemen. They probably stopped because they heard raised voices and are curious. But, she gives them a careful appraisal just in case.
and/or
”Unless you want to return and ask him, his reasons are his own. I believe we have an appointment to make? Shall we continue?”
Finally paying attention to the two people in front of the group, Cole sneers again.
”What is this? Are they pausing?”
...
Turning his horse slightly, he gestures to Alain. "No sense in risking the horses on the open moorland. Let's stick to the road. Surely it will lead us to van Richten"
Alain grunts an affirmative. The middle-aged man is not one for words. Any farmers they meet get a silent appraisal with eyes the color of a winter sky. The man follows Bastian as he leads them along towards their eventual destination, the only sound the faint jingle of his spurred boots and the rhythmic clap of his holster against his thigh as the horse trots on.
Shifting in the saddle they see one of those grim eyed farmers accosting a few road travelers heading overland. Relatively quickly one of them seems to diffuse the situation and the farmer gives an, almost, friendly wave heading back to his duties for the morning.
The sharp eyed Gunslinger notices that one of the party is wearing a holy symbol of Pharasma, a unique one at that.
The three pause and are looking in the riders direction.
The gunslinger looks over at Bastian and subtly nods his head back at the trio behind them
"Company" he says in a gravelly voice
He makes no sudden moves, but unsnaps his holster in case the company is of the unwelcome sort
Sterling, Teofila, and Cole:
"Hm. Apparently so." Sterling responds to Cole.
The cleric raises the hand not holding onto his staff, (Little more than a glorified walking stick), and traces Pharasma's spiral in the air towards the ones on horseback.
"I wonder. If we had horses,... would I complain about my rump as much as I do my feet?" He asks aloud. Sterling's typical deadpan tone makes it difficult to tell if he is trying to be funny or not.
The cleric begins walking forward at a casual pace.
"Well. They seem to be headed in the same direction. It's a free road. Let us not keep the good Doctor waiting."
Bastian & Alain:
The one wearing the obvious holy symbol of Pharasma raises the hand not holding his staff, (barely more than a glorified walking stick), and traces the Spiral of Pharasma in the direction of the pair on horseback.
After a moment, the presumed cleric begins walking down the road towards them at a casual pace.
"I wonder. If we had horses,... would I complain about my rump as much as I do my feet?" He asks aloud. Sterling's typical deadpan tone makes it difficult to tell if he is trying to be funny or not.
Smirking Cole mumbles just loud enough for Teofila to hear.
”Yeah, Im pretty sure you would.”
"Well, he either wants us dead, or he wants our souls." grunts Ogre.
"So long as the soul can wait a few dozen years, I got no qualms with that. If he wants it sooner, he'll need to work for it.
He turns his horse, watching the other three carefully. The large man, though makes to move to join them, just lifting an empty palm in a sign of greeting.
Under his breath he adds to Alain.
"Of course in these lands, there is strength in numbers as well. Who knows what we'll face between here and the town."
"It does. Hello."
The man in the hat is awkward. His speech is accented and stiff, like he is speaking a language he is not familiar with, and trying to hide his embarassment about not knowing what to say.
His clothes don't fit well, and don't match. His boots and cane are rather nice, but everything else is shabby and large on his tall, slender frame. He wears round glasses with dark lenses and his scarf is pulled up high. Almost none of his features are visible.
He keeps pace with Kenzo once thier paths converge, but clearly has no idea what to say.
Bastian, Alain, Sterling, Teofila, and Cole
The clerics continue their approach up through the field and to the dusty road that leads north into Ravengro. The two riders continue to wait.
Finally, the groups are close enough for conversation...
From a distance it was perhaps not quite so obvious. But as the clerics approach the figure of Bastion seems to loom ever larger. The sword on his back - almost as big as the man himself - is well suited to his size. Still, he makes no move to draw it.
As you get closer still the otherworldliness of the big man becomes also evident. His skin is as pale as moonlight, and his hair as colourness as fresh fallen snow. His eyes, well they match the pale blue of his companion.
"Alain here don't say much." he says.
"I've got a name, but most folk, well, they just be callin me Ogre. Y'all got names?"
It may have been asked as a question, but there is no doubt the man wants an answer. The cold eyes seeming to drill into each of the clerics in turn.
The smallest of the three carries a staff and wears an overstuffed pack. He is presumably human, although it is difficult to be certain as he wears a slightly tattered black traveling cloak with it's large hood pulled down to a point over his face. His traveling clothes under the cloak are standard, (Pants, boots, shirt, vest) other than all being in the darkest shades of brown, red and blue possible without being called black. His slightly-larger-than-normal holy symbol of Pharasma hangs prominently over his doublet in plain view.
The figure nods slowly to the horsemen, and once again traces a small spiral of Pharasma in the air.
"Of course. I am Sterling. But some call me 'Raven'. Mostly superstitious folks, but still."
The man turns to look to his companions. Apparently not wanting to speak for them.
The sneer on his face disappears quickly at the large man’s politeness. He pulls his cloak’s hood down, revealing his features finally. Dark hair, greenish skin, and small tusks protruding from his bottom lip quickly reveal his heritage. His clothes are natural dark colors: mostly shades of brown, with some black and dark red highlights. His nondescript plain grey cloak is obviously his natural camouflage for places that don’t ‘take kindly’ to his kind. And antique sword hilt, rests easily at his waist. His voice nether waivers nor is insistent when he speaks, although he speaks with a Lastwall accent in his common speech.
”You can call me Cole. Greetings ‘ Ogre’ and Alain.”
The human man next to Ogre is tall and rangy. His face is weathered from a life outside. It is hard to gauge his exact age - anywhere from 30-50 years. His hair is a shock of white, his eyes a light light blue almost colorless. He wears heavy-duty riding gear and a solid vest made of boiled leather. A duster-length leather jacket covers his back. A grey broad-brimmed hat perches atop his white hair. A strange weapon sits nestled in a holster on his hip. He nods at the others, his face as still as the tombstones littering the nearby graveyard
“May your fathers never find fault in your honor” He says in a gravely tone. The strange greeting has the flavor of a ritualistic formula spoken by rote.
After this brief greeting, Alain fixes himself a cigarette, rolling the fragrant Taldane tobacco with an experienced hand. He offers his poke and papers to the newcomers
The third of the foot travelers is a woman. She is on the taller side, maybe a little bit taller than the human man she's traveling with. She seems thin, but it's hard to tell due to her unusual outer-garment. It is something between an overcoat and a cloak, perhaps a traveler's robe. The top part buttons from her neck to almost her waist, but otherwise it is billowing and long falling almost to her ankles. The sleeves are wide and loose, ending at her elbows. The garment is blue and well worn. What little that can be seen under it appears to be a standard shirt, trousers, and boots combination.
Otherwise the woman has a scarf looped around her neck, and a wide belt over the outer garment with several pouches and a scabbard holding a long, thin-bladed, curved sword.
Her hair is strait, honey blonde and at least as long as her shoulders, though the scarf covers it from the neck down. A pair of ears poke up through the hair, making it obvious she is half-elven. Her skin is pale, and her eyes are blue. The latter doesn't become apparent until she looks up at the horsemen, something she only does when they accost her and her companions, asking for names and so forth.
The woman looks at the mounted pair with a perfectly neutral expression. Despite her lack of expressiveness, she seems quite young, round faced or maybe chubby-checked. She seems to be neither afraid nor impressed, friendly nor unfriendly, curious nor dismissive when she answers the question.
"Teofila Agarici, Royal Accuser in the service of Prince Aduard Ordranti III."
Her words are a flat recital, as if she could instead be giving information to a clerk in some office.
When the other mounted man offers his tobacco, Teofila turns her head meet his gaze and says "no thank you."
She looks up at the sky to mark the sun's position, and adds "this has been nice. We must be on our way now, business to attend to before the day is done. Safe travels to you both."
With those words, Teofila begins walking onward.
Sterling holds up a hand when offered the tobacco, but nods his head politely.
"Too early for me. Perhaps another time." He intones passively.
Then, almost as an after thought, his cowl bobs again and he adds, "Thank you."
As Teofila makes her good bye and begins walking again, 'The Raven' turns his hooded head towards Cole. He shrugs.
"She is correct. We have business in town. We should be walking if we hope to make good time. Safe travels. Pharasma guide your journey in this life, and the next."
While the comments are all delivered in the same impassive voice, the final words seems to hold sincerity, and almost emotion, in them.
The cleric turns to follow the half-elf.
(Sterling is probably thinking that taller, fleet-footed folk should not be setting the pace for those with less impressive height. Or lesser stamina.)
"...curious. We... *erm* ...I have a similar purpose." the odd man replied. He kept his head low as he walked and spoke, never turning to look at the monk beside him. "Perhaps... not a coincidence."
Without much hesitation Cole takes the proffered tobacco and sets himself a small cigarette. He then lights it with a pinky finger, so as to not frighten anybody with the display. He takes a long draw, destroying a third of the cigarette in the process, then releases a billowing cloud off to the side of his face.
Nodding in appreciation, Cole follows his friends while pulling his hood back up to cover his looks again.
"So long as nobody's accusing me of aught more than eatin my share of the food, I got no issue with an accuser, royal or common born." mutters the big man.
He slowly turns his horse to let it follow the elf-blooded inquisitor toward the distant town.
Alain stows the poke in a belt pouch when Cole returns it. He turns his horse about and walks it along the path, a trail of smoke reeling out behind him
Bastian, Alain, Sterling, Teofila, and Cole
The two parties travel separately but parallel to one another, the riders moving ahead for obvious reasons. Both Parties pass through the graveyard, it is large and well tended.
Soon enough the graveyard is bypassed and the dirt road leads north into Ravengro proper. To the right is a large three story home with a small barn. To the left is another small patch of farmland with a small house and large barn. Straight ahead is a signpost, to it are pinned several parchment pages.
Alain walks his horse up to the signpost to get a look at the pinned papers
Bastian, Alain, Sterling, Teofila, and Cole
Alain trots ahead of the rest of the group and arrives at the signpost. Most of the items list mundane local news of little interest to him. Only two items of any interest stand out to him. The first is a posting by farmer Gibs, he called for a town meeting, last night, to address the presence of strangers staying on local farms in the countryside, uninvited. The second, and more important posting, is from the Doctor!
"My friends, to your right is a small bridge. Cross it. To your immediate left is my home. I look forward to seeing you all soon.
Your friend, Doctor Rudolph van Richten".
The letter is dated two days ago, 4724 AR.
Alain turns and addresses Bastian
“The doc left us a note. Thisaway “
He leads his horse in a slow walk towards the bridge
Sterling slowly makes his way to the post as well. Not getting in the way of Alain, but also trying to read the posted notices.
Alain turns and addresses Bastian“The doc left us a note. Thisaway “
He leads his horse in a slow walk towards the bridge.
The jump of Sterling's hooded head is slow, but obvious.
"Hm,... 'The Doc' left YOU a note? So you are also acquainted with Doctor Richten?"
The hood turns back and forth to look at both of the men on horseback.
"Of course. We three hardly hold sole claim of the good Doctor's time and acquaintance. It seems he invited other friends as well." Sterling observes calmly and quietly.
Alain halts his stallion at the slight priest’s words. He nods slightly
“All things serve the Beam”
he chucks and puts the horse to a walk again
While Teofila does reevaluate the two horsemen somewhat upon the realization they are also have the same destination and therefore probably aren't dangerous, she does slide a side-eye Cole's way when the mounted smoker starts talking about "the Beam". It's her way of raising the question "what the f*!# is he talking about?". She's as certain as she can be that she doesn't serve "the Beam".
Cole finishes the cigarette and pinches it out with his fingers, then flicks the remainder at the post.
"Big surprise. The Dr. knows lots of people. Something must be up for him to call all of us at the same time: Stars aligning...People dying...blah, blah, blah..."
He turns and sighs, heading toward the Dr's House.
Bastion offers a gruff laugh to Alain. "From the looks of it, all things be servin the Dr as well."
He casts a second glance over the other three.
"Well, perhaps van Richten is wantin to have a party?" he suggests hopefully.
He lets the walkers go ahead, and brings up the rear, taking a final glance back toward the fields and the graveyard the group just passed through.
Sterling looks at Cole.
"I hope that was only a guess, and not a sudden debut of some latent oracular-predictive powers."
The hooded figure shrugs at 'Ogre's' words as they continue to move down the road.
"I have noted the Doctors' ability to hold a copious amount of wine when talking about his interests late at night. Otherwise I do not believe he is the 'party' type."
"But people constantly surprise me. Or disappoint me."
Kenzo and Sergei
The pair wander south down the dusty road. Kenzo comfortable with the silence, Sergei uncomfortable in general.
You both arrive at a signpost. Most of the items list mundane local news of little interest. There do end up being two items of interest.
The first is a posting by a farmer Gibs, he called for a town meeting, last night, to address the presence of strangers staying on local farms in the countryside, uninvited.
The second, and more important posting, is from the Doctor!
"My friends, to your left is a large bridge. Cross it. Walk through it, to the right will be my humble abode. I look forward to seeing you all soon.
Your friend, Doctor Rudolph van Richten".
The letter is dated two days ago, 4724 AR.
"I have to say I'm a lot more curious about why the Doctor has asked us here now than I was yesterday."
Kenzo looks at Sergei and says, "It seems my path goes over this bridge. Does coincidence happen to also take you over the bridge?" He waits to see the answer before heading to the Doctor's abode.