Flemming shudders at his glance of their host and that organ. That organ! He is not happy to be here but, after a moment, he girds himself and steps forward into the dining room.
"Good evening," he intrudes into the silence after a respectful time. "We're ah, looking for the Count. We're trying to solve this mist problem you see." He trails off and waits for their host to speak next.
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Borracho steps forward, even in front of Flemming. He does not quite step on Flemming's toes, but it's clear that *someone's* toes were just stepped upon.
"It is I, Borracho, who is here. You probably have heard for me, and my companions. We are the most wonderful troupe, skilled at the arts, loved by everyone," Borracho orates sonorously. "You must tell me who sent the carriage for us, for Borracho must thank them. A true man knows how to appreciate and celebrate others, such as the one that thoughtfully got us here safely."
Borracho puts right fist on his right hip, and his left hand twirls a dark lock of hair. He stands majestically.
Diplomacy
Tural steps beside Flemming and smiles. "Indeed. The carriage was greatly appreciated."
"You have deft fingers, Count. Years of practice?"
The count turns slowly from the organ. ”They’ve told you I’m a monster, yes? Does a monster send a fine carriage for his guests, no. It is comforting to hear your appreciation, it has been some time since kind words have been said to me.” His accent is thick and his demeanor is that of learned nobility. The count rises from the bench, standing to his full, considerable height. ”Please, you must be hungry after your journey, you would honor my table. Unfortunately I cannot dine with you, my diet is severely restricted by a condition from which I suffer. Have no worries, it is not contagious.” He waves his hand dismissing any concerns. ”You are strangers to this land. I’m sure many of our ways seem bizarre to you. The villagers are a superstitious people, but in their hearts they are of good intentions.” He gestures to the seats at the table and the feast before you.
”Well now that is quite a spread, Count, and make no mistake. Very generous considering you don’t know us from turnips. Very generous indeed - and I thank you.” Flemming isn’t sure about all this, but figures they can’t not eat anything without being rubes. Given that, he figures he should be first.
Trusting in his constitution then, Flemming sits himself down and digs in - enjoying a little of everything, or as close to it as he can manage without being rude - or overfull!
(immune to disease)
As he samples, he waits for others to speak - for he knows his limitations in that regard.
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In the center of the room, a long, heavy table stands covered with a fine white satin cloth. The table is laden with delectable foods of every type: roasted beast basted in a savory sauce, roots and herbs of every taste, and sweet fruits and vegetables. Places are set for each of you with fine delicate dishes and silver. At each place there is a crystal goblet filled with an amber liquid.
Borracho glances over at the feast, and then bows to the Count in thanks. As a greater man, he does not feel less-than for honoring another. Celebrating others never hurts one's own standing, 'tis only lesser men who fear that.
"As I have said, I am Borracho. To whom am I, Borracho, speaking? We should know the names of our friends," Borracho asks. "And let me introduce the rest of the troupe! That is fair Mimi, who's nubs are beyond count. And thoughtful Tural, who's holiness is next to godliness, and that is Flemming, a man who seeks perfection."
Diplomacy
Tural hears the words, sees the feast laid out, and considers what they have heard. All they have heard. What about the witches?
"We are agreed that the villagers are of good intentions, as are we. And, yes, we have been told that you are a monster." He pauses, watching the Count. After the moment he continues. "But there seems to be to many missing details for anything that simple. Your words follow others that we were also told. Your, condition? And your severely restricted diet. Sounds more like a curse to me, being trapped in these lands with a limited number of people. And your restricted diet...."
"Could you enlighten us. The Healing Flame teaches temperance and patience, and redemption if at all possible. Just as any may turn to the darkness, the same may turn to the light."
Flemming takes the risk and settles at the table to enjoy the feast. He’s rewarded with a delicious meal and initially has no adverse reactions to the food.
”Well met, kind Borracho, I am Count Strahd von Zarovich. I welcome you and your troupe to my home.” The lord of the castle responds graciously to the diplomatic discourse.
As Tural begins his attempt to obtain more information, the count’s cordial demeanor turns frosty at the line of questioning. He interrupts the priest before he can speak of temperance and patience. ”Do not question my affliction in my own home! This is not the behavior of a guest!” The count seems to grow even taller and drifts, you don’t perceive him taking any steps, closer to Tural as the lights dim slightly in the room. ”I’ve offered you a feast, do you decline my graciousness?”
Mimi takes a beat, debating. He's spoken with us. Answered us, even invited us to his table... We're in danger here, to be sure, but we can make it worse.
The old woman takes a seat on the opposite side of the table from the Count. She surveys the feast, and fills a plate. She sets it in front of herself, and watches Flemming first.
"Nubs like a nursing cat, yes. Thank you, Count Strahd." She adjusts the plate in front of her, though she holds off eating anything. She has more questions, and doesn't want to speak with her mouth full.
"There was a slime, Count. Is that part of the Castle's defense? We'd like to apologize for its destruction. I mean, we'd like to, but it feels hollow, when we had to defend ourselves from its obvious threat."
"Years of practice, indeed. Count, your dexterity is impressive. My eyes don't often deceive me, but are you trying to? I can see a second image of you, and your hands move so subtly, I might be convinced you're not trying to cast a spell..." Mimi's left hand finds its way below the table to the dagger on her hip...
"Hail and well met Count Strahd von Zarovich," Borracho replies and mirrors the Counts graciousness.
Perception
Borracho would not dream of eating before making his respects to the hosts, and so finds the Count's anger unsettling. He does note the same gestures that Mimi asks about, but does not yet say anything.
"I have not yet the chance to partake of the meal, Count. Perhaps you will entertain us as we eat? Tell us about yourself and the castle, and we must give our compliments to the staff that prepared this meal," Borracho offers, waiting for a pause so that he might comfortably go eat.
Diplomacy
Mimi settles at the table and as tensions mount, her level words seem to bring the temperature back down. ”A slime, no, this is not part of the castle defenses. Such a thing would be destructive to all but the stones. It is difficult to maintain the upkeep these days, I apologize if this has raised your suspicions.” The momentary calm turns again when Mimi mentions spell casting, but not in the way you expected. The count stares at The Crow for several long moments, then a thin, hard smile sets on his face. ”And you, madam, it seems you employ magics of your own. I am curious how you shield yourself so well, especially from superior talent.” With your question unanswered, he gestures again to the table. ”Let us not find quarrel when we should be finding alliance. Please we should feast, and then will be the time for discussions and questions, for all of us.” Strahd moves to the head of the table and raises a crystal goblet of the amber liquid. ”To new friends and new solutions to our troubles.”
Mimi raises an eyebrow, then raises a corner of her mouth. "Your words ring true, Count. We are here to find solutions. Ours, Barovia's," the Crow raises a glass, "...perhaps even your own."
”Yes, please do eat. I have prepared this meal with the help of a few servants. Cooking is one of the few joys I have remaining, even if I cannot partake. It is good to see others enjoy it.” He remains standing at the head of the table with his goblet of amber liquid and you all notice a curious thing, his reflection in the mirrors behind him. From what you read in Kolyan’s library a vampire shouldn’t cast any reflection. You exchange knowing glances with one another, years of practice from the stage allowing you to communicate silently with simple looks and eye movement. Unaware, or undisturbed by the exchange, he responds to Borracho’s diplomatic question. ”The castle is very old, even I find surprises after many years here. It was my brother’s before mine, but he passed many years ago and no other family remains. I fear our line is at its final end. Such is the way of lords and kings.” He walks slowly around the table, making the hair stand up on the back of your necks as he passes behind you. ”The fog has made an already chilly castle even more cold and dismal. There are days I wonder if I would stay at all if these lands were free. Nearly all of the servants have gone, and I do not blame their choice. It can be very lonely in this great house. Tell me, did you happen to meet Ireena in the village? How is she?”
Tural stops speaking, but otherwise shows no sign of being intimidated by the Count's approach and voice.
Looking at the table he nods. "An impressive meal sir. And I do not intend insult. As you have stated, we are strangers to this land. And perhaps our ways seem bizarre.... I simply stated concern. But, perhaps we could delay that discussion for now."
He takes a seat and looks at the food available. He chooses a modest meal rather than piling the plate high. "The food looks and smells exceptional. I thank you for the effort you put in preparing it. I personally have no skill in doing so."
He takes a small bite of the food and takes his time chewing and tasting the food. He catches the looks from the others and notices the reflection. Some sort of magic perhaps? Then he hears the question about Ireena. He continues chewing for several more seconds, then swallows. How should they answer? Surely the Count already knows? "Ireena? The lady at the Burgomaster's home afflicted by the attack of the Allip. Yes. We have met with her, and helped her as much as we could for now."
When Tural mentions the allip a dark look crosses the face of Strahd. ”An allip, this is terrible news. I thank you for caring for her, I owe you a debt.” The count turns his head as if listening to something beyond your range of hearing. ”You must excuse me, I have matters that must be attended. Please, make yourselves at home, but do not leave this floor of the castle. Things have not been maintained well and it is dangerous in some parts. For your own sake, heed these words. I will return to you when I can.” He glides to the door and seems to simply vanish through the opening. There are no footfalls in the hallway. After he departs the booming of doors slamming throughout the castle echoes through the hallways.
In the quiet after the count has departed and the echoes of doors closing has subsided, Tural notices the torches in the room are fluttering like a draft is present. You slowly follow the barely perceptible movement of air and it leads back to the massive organ the count was playing when you arrived in the room. Several minutes of careful investigation finds a latch connected to one of the foot pedals. With a soft click the mechanism releases a panel around the pedals of the organ revealing a room behind it.
Flemming listens to the banter uncomfortably, but he's pleased they're not starting with combat. When the count leaves, he can't help himself, "Did'ja see? He had a reflection!"
"Maybe he's not what we thought he was," Flemming further ponders as Tural opens the secret door.
"Whoa, good find! He did say not to leave the floor, and I see no steps... so, shall we?" If the party agrees, he leads the way into the room behind the organ.
He looks around as he enters the room.
Flemming crawls into the secret room and sees that a single arched corridor leads to the south. There are several mirrors in the room. A tall, dark figure in a flowing cape floats in the middle of the room. Old archer’ slits in the north and west walls are bricked up.
The initial concern at the dark figure in the center of the room is eased when Flemming notices that strings hanging from the ceiling support the thing and it’s nothing more than a prop, the type of which you’ve used in dozens of plays. Though why it would be here in a secret room is a mystery.
Tural watches and listens as the Count leaves the room. Then Flemming mentions the reflection. "Good point. The Count obviously isn't a normal type of .... what he is. I believe his 'condition' was caused by the witches, not the normal process. I think we need more information."
He smiles and follows Flemming into the secret room. He examines the figure hanging in the corridor and then the mirrors, casting detect magic. "Could this figure have anything to do with his reflection?"
”Oh, good call. Hang on a second. I’ll go out in the dining hall, and then you move the cape around. Maybe I’ll see the good Count’s ‘reflection’ again.”
Flemming goes back out to the dining hall and watches the mirrors.
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Tural detects for magic and is rewarded with a response from both the floating figure, and strangely, the mirrors and the walls as well. A brief investigation finds that the panels facing the room fold back to reveal the mirrors in the dining hall are magical and function as two way mirrors. It doesn’t take the troupe long to work out the magical mirrors in the hidden room combined with the two way mirrors and the figure can create a sort of optical illusion in the dining room. It’s a neat trick, one you could use in future performances if you could remove the mirrors from the castle. A few trials and errors later, you’re able to create the image of the count in the dining room, complete with reflection in the mirrors for any hapless viewers sitting at the table.
"He wants to cling to his own illusions. Probably good we didn't call him 'vampire' to his face." Mimi doesn't enter the secret room, preferring to keep watch behind the boys as they explore.
"Shall we explore more of the first floor? I wonder how much time we have before the Count checks in on us."
"He wants to cling to his own illusions. Probably good we didn't call him 'vampire' to his face."
"We, as actors, let alone humanoids, cannot fault others for wanting to put their best selves forward. That is true of all of us," Borracho agrees, having a keen understanding the nature of the alive.
"Shall we explore more of the first floor?"
"Excellent idea, Mimi. I was just about to suggest that myself. Much like Borracho, you have a keen mind and good ideas," he agrees.
He is ready to follow Flemming.
Tural wonders about the mirrors and the 'puppet'. "I wonder though. Who did we actually meet? The Count? Or one of his vassals? When he left the room he seemed to glide across the floor rather than walk. And he just disappeared when he went through the door. Vampires usually rest during the day and are active at night. He may be resting and unaware that we are here.... That might also explain the rage when I spoke of his 'condition'."
Tural looks around for something that could be used to apply a mark. A bit of ash perhaps. "Lets put a small mark on the puppet, perhaps a tiny smudge of ash on the jawline, close to the neck. Tiny, barely noticeable unless you know to look for it? Then we will know if it is used again."
Doing as stated, then following Flemming.
Flemming, just to be sure, checks out K12. Assuming it's a largely empty room, he'll then head to K14!
Mimi picks up a turkey leg from the dining table, and casually picks at it while they begin to explore. She's curious to see if its meat is also an illusion, when they leave the room proper.
"So, Ireena. The Count is keen on her. Do you think she knows this already? Do you think the Burgomaster does? The Count has now admitted twice that he's not able to control slimes or undead. Well, at least the ones attempting to end our lives..." The old woman continues to pick things over.
Tural applies ash to the puppet as the troupe planned, a carefully indiscrete mark from years of practice applying makeup for the stage.
Mimi picks at the roast beast and is glad to find that the food is authentic and has been cooked well. The troupe has no pains from the meal, to the contrary it was both filling and delicious. Then you remember the tale of witches that fattened those they were about to eat and your enthusiasm is tempered.
Flemming explores to the south of the hidden room. A high domed ceiling caps the 30 foot diameter room before you. Frescos, faded with age adorn the ceiling, but are impossible to make out. Tall, thin arrow slits look out over the courtyard.
You realize this is where the movement of air was from, which prompts an additional thought and you confirm the arrow slits in the mirror room are indeed bricked over. It’s curious that the slits are exposed in one room and covered in the other and Tural’s question of a vampire being active in the day is brought back to mind. There are no windows in the halls or dining room that would allow sunlight to enter.
From the room with arrow slits, a long, narrow corridor runs east and west. Cobwebs fill the hall and obstruct sight beyond a few feet.
Flemming, having been warned of giant spiders, nevertheless investigates the cobweb hall. "Might as well face 'em now. We might be fleeing through this hall later and we won't want to fight them then if we do."
He moves into K13 ready for combat!
Tural puts a hand on Flemming's shoulder. "Maybe burn the webs?"
He looks for a way to ready a torch. Are there any in the rooms? If not he will cast Sun Metal on his scimitar and move in to the room lighting the webs on fire.
Tural's idea proves wise. The thick webs catch fire and burn in a flash, clearing the hallway except for some acrid smoke that dissipates quickly.
At the end of the hallway you find a spiral staircase of gray, dusty stones. The hidden stairs lead both up and down into the fortress, offering access to the hidden rooms without passing through the main floor.
Borracho follows along, keeping up with the party. He pauses and nods to Tural's good web removal work.
He keeps his Borracho-eyes open.
Perception
Flemming was thinking about stopping Tural, worried that the castle might catch, or the smoke might be overmuch. But while he ponders the difficulties, Tural acts!
He shrugs as the smoke clears, "Nicely done. Controlled burn." He grins and heads the other way, "No stairs for now. We'll abide by our hosts desires I think."
He then returns to the hall.
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Tural moves to the spiral staircase to look up and down. "Just a moment. Nothing was said about looking...."
Unless something important is seen he returns to the group. "For now. I agree."
Tural looks up and down the circular stairwell. You notice the dusty steps show no signs of recent footsteps. You also notice that the thick cobwebs you just burned from the hall are absent from the stairwell.
The troupe heads back to the great entry hall and approaches the large bronze doors to the east. After a brief investigation shows no obvious threats, you open the doors easily.
A long dusty hall leads eastward into the dark heart of Ravenloft. Statues line the hallway on both sides, their eyes seeming to watch you.
Flemming takes a look at the statues - as if he could tell if they’ll come to life and attack!
Satisfied, in his own mind, that none are attacking, yet, he’ll stride down the hall, enjoying the artistry to the far doors. He’ll open said doors only after everyone has had their fun in the tunnel of statues and is in position. He doesn’t trust the count, so he’ll be extra careful.
Borracho follows along, taking his time to admire the castle grounds.
"Have any of you seen anyone else yet? Usually Borracho has attracted many admirers by now," he asks seriously, thinking he should be fawned upon by many beautiful womens. "I know the Count said he had staff, but we have yet to encounter any."
He will examine the statued area.
Perception
Tural follows behind Flemming, casting detect magic and scanning the area for any auras.
"I'm not sure that a living staff would last long here. They'd likely become.... food."
Mimi flinches as the webs are set on fire. "I'm more of a leave-it-alone house guest. I know, I know, this isn't a true social call. Still, the Count is quick to anger..."
The old woman follows closely, impressed at the size of the establishment. "Feels like we should be dropping bread crumbs."
Borracho’s keen eyes admire the work of the sculpter that created the statues, truly a master. For a moment you wonder if the statues are too good and magics were involved, but you find the small nicks and angles that show a chisel completed the works and not the gaze of a basilisk or something similar.
At the end of the hall another set of bronze doors stand before you. Unlike the first set, these creak open with the sound of neglect. Dim, colored light filters through broken and boarded up stain glass windows, illuminating the ancient chapel of Ravenloft. Pews and benches lie about the floor in jumbled disarray, coated with dust. Beyond this debris, lit by a single, piercing shaft of light, an altar stands upon the platform. The light falls directly on a small statue. A figure is draped over the altar. This room seems as though nothing has disturbed it in a century, and that nothing ever could.
The high ceiling of the chapel stretches above you, the once magnificent stain glass windows reaching over 50 feet in height. A small half circle balcony protrudes near the top offering a view over the chapel below.
Flemming moves into the room, a bit. He looks around for hostiles, and shrugs. "If the Count is indeed evil, it makes sense he's not spent much time here. If any."
Tural looks around the chapel, examining it to see if there is any deity recognizable. He also casts detect magic and scans for any residual aura.
"Possibly from before he became what he is today."
The small statue detects as strong magic. Its an intricately carved raven of pure silver, about a foot high and half as wide.
The chapel had once been dedicated to Desna, it takes you several minutes of piecing together the images in the broken stain glass windows to determine it was the goddess of freedom and luck. The figure draped over the altar is the skeletal remains of a priest, but it’s impossible to tell from the remains what role it played in the chapel.
"Well, that's a bird of a feather." Her feet tingle a little with their own plumage, and the Crow wonders if she's become the Raven, this side of the Mists...
"Tell us more, Tural. Is it holy? Is it evil? A shrine to the darkness beneath the wings of a worshipped avian? It's a lovely thing, to say the least, and I'm on the verge of breaking my vows to leave-it-alone..."
"Maybe Borracho can answer that question, friend Mimi," Borracho answers for Tural and casts Detect Undead and begins a slow spinning search of the area, concentrating deeply to identify any undead that might be nearby.
"A Desnan priest, left to rot on the altar. Ugly business and not a point in the Count's favor."
He peers at the raven, "Can you ascertain the magics upon it?" he asks Tural, for he himself has no skill in such matters.
He also watches Borracho, to see if the dead priest pings.
Tural nods at the discussion. "I can't detect evil like a Paladin. And I haven't prepared the spell to do such. But I can try to determine at least the school of magic on the statue."
Borracho detects for the presence of undead and finds two strong auras directly above the troupe on the balcony that overlooks the chapel. You can just discern two shadowy shapes peeking out over the edge of the balcony 50 feet above you.
Tural investigates the silver Raven and after a minute it occurs to him that it may be a magical holy symbol that aligns to its owner. He cautiously brushes his fingers over the surface and the knowledge of the item flows through him like the gift of prayers in the morning from Sarenrae.
Tural is nearly shocked by the find as the knowledge of the item flows into his mind. He grasps it firmly and quietly offers a prayer of thanks. "By the Light of the Everflame, such an artifact doesn't belong in a ruined temple. I will carry this in Your name."