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Mimi checks her skirts for any signs of ick or bleed. Content she's managed to avoid worg slobber or gore, she waits for the others to finishing fussing over the fresh corpses.
"The worgs. Do you think they would have attacked us if our wagon were in motion? Opportunistic. Might have done better to wait until we were campside, snoring away, to rip out our throats." The old woman pats her neck, checking it and smiling when her hand comes away dry.
Mimi produces a sprig of parsley, and begins to chew on it.
"Suppose they can only deceive with their voices. Can't open doors, so they try and get you to investigate. Turns hearts to stone. Closes minds. What kind of living is that, always worrying, always mistrusting." Mimi pats Flemming on the shoulder, looking down the road, and wondering how often they're gonna come to a stop.
They get the carcasses off of the road and load up. "Good point. Let's move on. The town might lock up at dusk!"
The troupe pushes the dead worgs aside without desecrating the bodies and they continue on the road hoping to reach Barovia before nightfall.
As you continue on the road the fog grows heavier. Towering trees, whose tops are lost in heavy gray mist, block out all save a death gray light. The tree trunks almost touch. The thick, damp undergrowth presses in on you, making it impossible even to see one another at all times. The woods have the silence of a forgotten grave, yet exude the feeling of an unsounded scream.
After another two hours of creaking along, the first structures materialize. Jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, high stone buttresses loom up gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework, broken and frozen open, their pointed spikes glisten like the fangs of a giant maw. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two statues of armored guardians silently flank the gate. Their heads, missing from their shoulders, now lie among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
A hundred yards from the rusted gates, tall shapes loom out of the dense fog that surrounds everything. The muddy ground underfoot gives way to slick, wet cobblestones. The tall shapes become recognizable as the dwellings of the village of Barovia. The windows of each house stare out from pools of black nothingness. No sound cuts the silence except for a single ringing hammerfall that echoes through the streets from a distance.
Following the ringing of the hammer, the cobblestones lead to the center of the village. A single shaft of light thrusts into the main square, its brightness like a solid pillar in the heavy fog. Above a doorway a sign hangs askew proclaiming the “Blood of the Vine Tavern”. On a ladder fixing the sign is the source of the hammer ringing. ”Well met travelers!” the young man greets you. ”William told us all about you!” he bangs against the wall of the tavern with his hammer and shouts to those inside, ”They’re here! They made it!” The door bangs open and a small crowd shouts greetings and cheers your arrival. You see the beaming face of William standing at the front of the crowd. ”Step aside, watch, they can enter just fine.” William clears a path for you to enter the tavern through the crowd, though you notice no one extends an invitation to enter.
Borracho dismounts the carriage and opens the doors for others. A strong man like Borracho has no trouble helping others, he has graciousness and the well-being of others ahead of himself.
"Flem, I must say I admire your ability to hit every rock and stone in the road, such skill is much like Borracho's," Borracho notes to Flem, offering a truth. "Such practice is needed for when you need to avoid such things. Your forethought is much like Borracho's."
* * *
Borracho approaches the Tavern and smiles at the welcome.
"Of course you have heard of Borracho, no doubt there are many beautiful womens inside who long to see Borracho," he answers in welcome...and enters without invitation. "This is a fine welcome. You are, no doubt, very pleased to see Borracho."
He looks around for any admirers, or other things of interest.
Perception
Mimi approaches the door to the tavern, her mind whizzing about the many different interactions possible with these people. They're so... enthusiastic. The old woman pauses to study the exterior of the building, and the sign under repair. She uses the time to mentally play about pausing in the doorway, and making it look like she's unable to cross the threshold, just to see the reactions. It brings out her crow's feet, as she steps through, and into the tavern, unhindered.
What forces of nature would prevent an evil thing from entering a household without permission? Such an odd agreement. Ancient pacts, eldritch understandings, and yet, here we are. Contending with them. Why don't they mourn us, having fallen into the same fate...
"We are strangers, at present. We should work on that. Friends are a scarce commodity these dark days. I would like to get to know you all better, understand what makes your hearts sing, and what makes them clench."
Flemming rubs his own sore backside, "Anytime Borracho. I know how you like to bounce up and down." He grins despite himself.
Knowing their issue with doorways, he makes his way without being invited. However, at the threshold, he seems to hesitate a moment, before 'tripping' and rolling into the room in a tumble!
At the end of it he leaps to his feet with a "Tada! It's good to be here folks, we're entertainers from Magnimar and understand you're having some trouble. We're here to help."
A, er very small, part of him feels guilty at taking advantage of their concerns, but he's an entertainer at heart and wants to liven their mood.
vs DC 10 to aid Mimi
Tural follows Flemming in with a smile. "Good to see you again William. I don't do the acrobatics. But it's nice to feel welcome. We would have been sooner, but a tree had fallen on the road. Took a bit of work to clear it." He carefully avoids sounding like it was anything other than just that, and looks around the room.
The troupe exits the carriage and begins entering the tavern as the young man climbs down from the ladder and leads the horses towards the carriage house. ”I’ll take care of them good, don’t you worry, you’re honored guests you are!” The carriage bumps over the cobbles as the horses happily follow him to the shelter.
Borracho strides across the threshold first and hands warmly pat him on the shoulder. The tavern is large and well lit and the crowd inside fills it to capacity. You see dishes upon every table and mugs in the hands of the patrons, it seems the village has turned out for your arrival. A fire crackles in the stone fireplace and a small stage in the corner is cleared. Nearly everyone is standing to get a glimpse of the expected troupe.
"Of course you have heard of Borracho, no doubt there are many beautiful womens inside who long to see Borracho. This is a fine welcome. You are, no doubt, very pleased to see Borracho.”
Borracho’s keen eyes do spot many people that are happy to see him and the troupe. The looks of hope on their faces is unmistakable, especially on a small group that remains at a table in the corner.
Mimi crosses the threshold next.
"We are strangers, at present. We should work on that. Friends are a scarce commodity these dark days. I would like to get to know you all better, understand what makes your hearts sing, and what makes them clench.”
The crowd quickly clears a table near the fire and an older gentleman offers his arm to lead Mimi to a seat. ”We are honored by your visit, ask all that you will and we will answer true of heart.” the man states proudly. ”Let me bring you a glass of wine, shall you have dinner with it?” Mimi senses that these people will divulge whatever she asks, but it’s a girl that catches her attention. She has more awareness than the adults twice her age and a clever look about her that reminds The Crow of herself as a child.
Flemming walks to the threshold next and feigns an invisible barrier. The faces in the room turn to horror and shock, but only for a moment as he tumbles into the room dramatically and they break out in laughter and relief.
"Tada! It's good to be here folks, we're entertainers from Magnimar and understand you're having some trouble. We're here to help.”
It’s hope that holds this small village together and Flemming’s words spark that emotion. ”Get that man a pint!” someone hollers and instantly three are thrust towards him. ”Can you heal our wounded, like you did William?” another voice cries out.
Tural crosses the threshold last and he is sure that these people are beyond happy to see the troupe. Every face gazes fondly at the newcomers and for the moment their worries have vanished. He also notices the small group still seated at the table in the corner and their looks mirror that of William when he first saw him an evening ago, the same desperate hopefulness, and he knows they are the wounded the other patron mentioned. Tural also notices a few other curious decorations. Strings of garlic bulbs tied with colorful ribbons hang by every shuttered window and over the door. Carved wooden holy symbols of every good deity adorn the walls. Small mirrors hang throughout the room reflecting the numerous lanterns and the firelight.
"Good to see you again William. I don't do the acrobatics. But it's nice to feel welcome. We would have been sooner, but a tree had fallen on the road. Took a bit of work to clear it.”
William beams at Tural as he shuts the door behind him. ”Aye, I passed it myself as I rode into town. Glad you cleared it, it’s tough work maintaining things these days. Thank you again for saving my leg, I owe you greatly.” As William thanks Tural and the cleric shows a kind face on the crowd, a woman steps forward and announces, ”Praise the healer! Finally a light has arrived in this darkness!” A hearty cheer rises from the crowd and people gather around Tural to touch the cleric and proclaim it a blessing.
You’re all led to the table with Mimi and drinks and food are served without asking. The crowd offers toasts and and praises to your arrival. The contrast of the happiness inside the tavern to the quiet, cold town you arrived in minutes ago can’t be mistaken, these people have waited for a savior and now they have four of them. The banter is light and joyful as cups are emptied and filled, but one topic keeps rising to the forefront, healing, and glances turn to the little table in the corner.
Flemming takes an offered pint, but he sips it carefully. The meal he dives into however as he’s always a bit ravenous. When it comes to healing, he adds, ”Nothing I can do there mate, but maybe Tural has a little something for you.” He smiles helpfully - though he is I fact unhelpful at the moment.
He waits to see what Tural might do and stands by ready to help.
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Tural nods and smiles as he walks through the room, his smile fades to a look of concern as he approaches the table with wounded. "Tell me. What can I do to help? I offer the blessings of the Dawnflower."
At the table sits a young man, an old woman, and a middle aged man. The middle aged man has his arm in a sling and the old woman holds her jaw, but both look to the young man. The middle age man gestures towards the youngster, ”Gregor turned his ankle bad, probably broken, and if it doesn’t set right he’ll have a limp for life. If you have any healing in you, he deserves it more than us.” The old woman nods in agreement, though she’s clearly in pain as well. The young man drags his leg from under the table and at first glance you would guess the diagnosis was accurate. The ankle is terribly swollen and the foot protrudes at an awkward angle.
Borracho will make the rounds in the tavern, used to being admired for he is Borracho. He will eventually make his way to the small group in the corner.
”Yes, it is I, Borracho,” Borracho pauses to stand dramatically with his fists on his hips. ”Borracho is an idol to some, a hero to many, and an experienced lover of many womens to others,” he continues his own introduction in case the people had not heard of him.
”Would you like to hear a tale from Borracho? How can Borracho ease your hurts or satisfy any longings you might have?” Borracho’s left hand moves to twirl one of his dark locks as waits and listens.
Tural checks the ankle, unpacking his healing equipment and getting ready to adjust the position of the foot/ankle. "Moving it will hurt, but it has to be set straight before I apply any healing magic. Otherwise you are right and it might heal crooked." He glances at the others. "The magic can do it's work on more than one. Please explain you ailments? Madam, you are clearly in pain. And sir, is your arm broken as well? All that are hurt deserve the healing light of Sarenrae!"
[b]"You should probably bite down on something while I adjust your ankle. That will hurt, but then I will call on My Lady for healing power.
Flemming holds the poor boy firmly, both so he feels stable and also so he doesn't flinch as Tural works.
vs DC 10 to aid another.
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Tural retrieves his medical kit and prepares to set the young man’s leg straight before calling on the gifts of Sarenrae.
"The magic can do it's work on more than one.”Tural addresses the crowd and is surprised to see shock and dismay on their faces, then he realizes he's gesturing with the bone saw he just unpacked and quickly puts it away. Fortunately, Borracho distracts the crowd with his dramatic pose and offer of a tale.
”Would you like to hear a tale from Borracho?”
Many heads nod at the offer. ”Yes, please, sir”, the young man pipes up as he tries to look away from his leg and the impending resetting.
As Borracho distracts the crowd, Tural takes the opportunity to ask the others about their maladies.
"Please explain you ailments? Madam, you are clearly in pain. And sir, is your arm broken as well?”
The man has two broken fingers, they’ve been splinted and the hand is swollen, but nothing nearly as bad as the broken ankle. The old woman is a different case. A sharp bit of walnut shell that snuck into a loaf cut deeply into her gums and the roof of her mouth. The wound is more threatening than the broken foot with infection spreading close to her brain. Tural doesn’t let the concern show on his face and silently prays that Sarenrae’s gifts will cure it.
Flemming holds the young man and offers support as Tural quickly cracks the foot back into place. A howl of pain escapes and tears stream down his face, but the effort proves successful and the foot aligns with the leg again. The crowd gathers around as Tural begins praying, eager to see the divine healing.
Tural encounters the same strange resistance on reaching out to Sarenrae, but he’s prepared for it and continues forcing against the barrier. This time it’s stronger than before, perhaps from the effort of channeling for so many, but his dedication again breaks it and healing energy flows throughout the room. Gasps of awe and cries of happiness interrupt Borracho’s tale. Not only is the young man’s leg healed, but the old woman smiles widely and the middle aged man wiggles his fingers. In the crowd, people unwrap minor cuts and blisters and marvel at the fresh skin. Whispers spread through the crowd, ”Praise be to Sarenrae!”
Borracho takes advantage of the moment to shift his tale to include the Dawnflower, the Healing Flame and the Everlight to her followers, and the crowd gives him full attention. Contentment and happiness are plain to see on their faces and hope flows as plentiful as the wine.
"You're amazing Tural. Well done sir!" Flemming is pleased at the results - mostly for the healing, though a friendly crowd is of course preferable to the alternative.
He settles in for another Borracho tale, moving around the back of the crowd and observing them to get a sense of their feelings. He assumes they'll be much like those at the public house they passed. But he wants to be sure.
How are folks doing?
With the healing complete Tural packs his equipment back up. He shrugs and smiles at his error with the bone saw. He hadn't had a reason to use the tool, but didn't want to discard it. There were valid uses for it, even with divine healing. He wasn't powerful enough to heal all wounds....
He hears the crowd praising Sarenrae and smiles gratefully. "Sarenrae teaches that compassion and peace are her greatest virtues. I am but a humble channel of Her divine will."
Looking around for any apparent leaders he directs his attention there. "We are new to these lands. Could you tell us about your history, as well as recent events. I understand the mists are a recent change?"
"Yes, that is the tale of how Sarenrae loves Borracho with all her fiery, sunny heart. Some might call that hubris, but no, Borracho is better, different, and loved equally by Sarenrae and Sinashakti," Borracho concludes his tale about Sarenrae that includes more than a few references to himself.
He waits to listen to how others respond to Tural's thoughtful queries, that Borracho himself might have asked if he was going to ask.
Flemming observes the crowd as Borracho wraps up his tale. Camaraderie is apparent in the room; arms drape over the shoulders of neighbors, mugs and glasses clink together, and not a frown can be seen.
When Borracho finishes, Tural looks around for any apparent leaders and he directs his attention there.
”We are new to these lands. Could you tell us about your history, as well as recent events. I understand the mists are a recent change?”
To your surprise, many of the heads turn to a younger woman in the crowd and you sense she is a leader among them despite her lack of years. ”I was an acolyte at the church before it’s failing. I taught the children and maintained our small library there. Now I stay in a room here at the tavern by the grace of Arik.” She nods at the bartender. ”And I still preserve our history and teach the children while their parents work during the day.” Many in the crowd nod their heads and lift a glass towards the woman. ”Our past was one of good times. The soil was rich in the valley and farms thrived. Food and wine was plentiful and the people lived in abundance. The story of our curse started with a terrible storm over a century ago…” Her story is interrupted as suddenly the tavern door swings open.
Framed by the lamp-lit fog, a form strides into the room. His heavy booted footfalls and the jingle of coins shatter the peace. His brightly colored clothes are draped in loose folds about him and his hat hangs askew, hiding his eyes in shadow. Without hesitation he walks directly up to your table and stands proudly in a wide stance with folded arms. His accented voice speaks, ”I have been sent to you to deliver this message! If you be creatures of honor, you will come to master’s aid at first light, for it is not advisable to travel at night.” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to all of you in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table. ”The Burgomaster’s estate is not far, there you will find him.”
He strides to the bar and says to the wary barkeep, ”Fill the glasses one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” He drops a purse heavy with coins on the bar. With that, he leaves. The letter lying before you is dated yesterday, the ink is fresh and the parchment is crisp. The seal is of a crest you don’t recognize.
Hail to thee of might and valor,
I, a lowly servant of the township of Barovia, send honor to thee. We plead for thy so desperately needed assistance within our community.
The love of my life, Ireena Kolyana, has been afflicted by an evil so deadly that even the good people of our town cannot protect her. She languishes from her wound and I would have her saved from this menace.
There is much wealth in this community. I offer all that might be had to thee and thy fellows if thou shalt but answer my desperate plea.
Come quickly for her time is at hand! All that I have shall be thine!
Kolyan Indrirovich
Burgomaster
After the man leaves the uncomfortable silence is broken by a wrinkled old woman who plunks her glass down on the bar next to the bag of coins. ”That’s the only useful thing old lazy bones has done in ages, may as well fill my cup.” Laughter fills the room and others follow suit and soon glasses are full and the previous cheer has returned to the crowd. The young woman waits for people to get settled, then resumes her tale.
”The storm was different. The clouds darker than any alive had seen and lightning flashed constantly. It lasted through the entire night without pause and finally lessened in the morning. When people went outside a heavy fog sat on the village, all wrong for the season. As days passed the fog remained and no travelers arrived on the roads, that was the beginning of our isolation.” As she continues the story matches what you learned at the inn the night before, with a few new details. The church burned a year ago and with its demise the fog grew thicker. Some in the crowd claim to have heard strange noises coming from within the ruin during the day. Several years ago a band of travelers in colorful wagons arrived. Finding themselves trapped in the mists, they set up camp outside of town and remain there to this day, despite offers from the villages to occupy the empty homes. Among them is an old fortune teller and one drunken man swears to all the gods that she foretold the arrival of the troupe.
The afternoon has grown late, and the barkeep rings a bell, ”Gather your lanterns and groups, it’s nearing sundown.” People bid the troupe farewell with hugs and handshakes and express their hope for the future. Soon the tavern has only a handful of souls remaining, all people who stay in the rooms above, including the young woman that spoke earlier.
Flemming picks up the letter, but doesn’t open it until the young leader’s story is done. As people file out, he’ll read the letter and pass it around the party so everyone can see it.
He turns to the young woman, ”You’ve done a remarkable job keeping these people together and relatively sane. It seems this has been a long time without help.”
”I don’t know what we four can do, and really Borracho is the one for making speeches, so I’ll just leave it at - we’ll do what we can. Yeah?”
”What can you tell us about your Burgomaster, Kolyan Indrirovich?” He suggests showing her the letter, if the party agrees.
"We are honored by your visit, ask all that you will and we will answer true of heart. Let me bring you a glass of wine, shall you have dinner with it?”
Mimi's hand slips silkily along the old man's hand, before resting it on his forearm. The untrained might see flirtatious innuendo in touching the backside of a hand outside the gesture of a handshake, while a fledgling guild member might see subconscious reconnaissance, as the old woman's hand checks for loose rings and bracelets fit comfortably enough. Mimi doesn't herself think on it, as muscle memory does its thing.
"I would be foolish to decline your generous offer of drink and plate. Thank you very much." Her last sentence is spoken to the older man, while her eyes speak to the young thing returning her gaze.
While her bum finds a seat, Mimi's left hand produces a coin, no less than gold in value. The coin takes a look around the room, before sauntering in and out of each wrinkled finger. It returns to nestle between thumb and forefinger, then wiggles in the direction of the young girl. Should the girl look past the coin, she sees a set of kind amber brown eyes beckoning her to approach.
...
While both Borracho and Tural ingratiate themselves to the townsfolk, Mimi uses the time to finish her meal well ahead of the others, so while others sup and drink, she can try to read the room while warming herself by the fire. She works on her hunches, on what might become premonitions. She looks about the tavern for changing signs which might be commandeered for omenspeak.
...
"I have been sent to you to deliver this message! If you be creatures of honor, you will come to master’s aid at first light, for it is not advisable to travel at night.”
When the man turns to depart, Mimi refrains from baiting him. Where are you going? You about to travel at night? A small frown crosses the Crow's face, unused to this kind of constant attention.
Mimi turns to the young woman. "Shall we call you Grace, then?" The old woman beckons for the letter, expecting it, ready to study it for handwriting and quality, given that it comes directly from a burgomaster.
"Down to nips. The letter is signed 'Indrirovich', but the love of his life is named 'Kolyana'. Not his wife, then? And he mentions wealth. How's he managed to hold onto it when times have grown so desperate for you all?" Mimi focuses on Grace.
Borracho looks at the letter, his lips moving as he reads.
"Of course they wish to see us, much like Borracho, you all are wonderful entertainers," Borracho notes, and begins to listen to the discussion while twirling one of his black locks of hair.
Tural listens. The story is more of what they had heard, and still very disturbing. "A century ago? And the mists remain? And trapping you all in with no travelers. It speaks of evil, but to what end?"
He smiles to all of the people before they ready to depart. "You have all done amazingly well. We will do what we can, find more information and if possible, break this curse."
Hearing of another troupe in a colorful wagon he decides they should check on them as well. If they've stayed away from the people of the village they might know something that the locals don't.
After reading the letter his face shows that he is disturbed. "The Burgomaster has requested that we come to his aid, and quickly. However, it is getting late. Can we reach his manor before dark? I don't think we should travel into the night."
When The Crow beckons, the young girl approaches Mimi without hesitation. With the innocence of youth she asks direct questions, but with the savvy of an adult to keep her voice low so others don’t hear. ”Your joints don’t creak and your hands are stronger than a woodcutters, why do you try to appear old? How do you make the coin dance like that?”
As the afternoon wanes and the groups start departing, Mimi notices a curious behavior. The villagers touch a holy symbol, but only one of the many on the walls, before leaving. It is a symbol of Erastil, yet you don’t recall many large churches built to the god of family, farming, and hunting. More curious, the former acolyte wears no symbol at all.
"Shall we call you Grace, then?”
”Darya would be preferable.” She smiles warmly.
”You’ve done a remarkable job keeping these people together and relatively sane. It seems this has been a long time without help.”
”It has been a difficult time. Many people struggled with faith even before the church was destroyed. Abadar served them well enough when the community was thriving, but once the curse befell us many felt the church took advantage of the difficult times. I myself no longer follow the ways after it fell.” She looks at Tural with a serious expression. ”Please, teach me of Sarenrae and your arts. I would bring faith and healing back to this community, if I could! We can rebuild the church to honor her, you can have the wealth it held if it remains.”
"Down to nips. The letter is signed 'Indrirovich', but the love of his life is named 'Kolyana'. Not his wife, then? And he mentions wealth. How's he managed to hold onto it when times have grown so desperate for you all?”
”Everyone has traditional wealth here, if it’s gold you value. After the fog isolated us there was no trade with the outside, so no wealth left the community. As people perished their wealth remained. Many of the abandoned homes were scavenged early in the curse, but now people don’t bother and think of the buildings as ill omens. The church especially was a source of wealth. I tried to recover what I could after the fire, but something was wrong about the building, it smelled of decaying bodies, not burnt ones, and it sounded like something was in the lower floor. I dared not investigate further and no one ventures there now. As for the burgomaster, Ireena was orphaned as a youngster, one of the many, and the burgomaster, a widower himself, fell in love with her as she matured into a woman. Many in the village frowned upon the relationship, but I’ve never known the burgomaster to be cruel or lecherous, and I genuinely believe that Ireena cares for him. It was his library that provided much of material I use for teaching the children and he offered all that I needed freely. The village blames him for not doing more about the curse, though I don’t know what he could have done.”
"The Burgomaster has requested that we come to his aid, and quickly. However, it is getting late. Can we reach his manor before dark? I don't think we should travel into the night.”
”It would be best to travel in the morning. You could reach it before dark, but not return to the tavern. Besides, you have much to teach me about Sarenrae!” She smiles and pats your hand. ”Let me grab my books and parchment, I’ll be right back.” She quickly climbs upstairs leaving the troupe to their own for a few moments. Only a few other patrons remain in the tavern. The barkeep and the young man that attended your carriage clean up the used dishes and mugs.
"”It would be best to travel in the morning. You could reach it before dark, but not return to the tavern”
Hearing this, Borracho prepares for a good taverning for the night. He's used to being 'on', and guess that these people could use some good Borrachoing.
"Borracho requires ale, and ale would like to be in Borracho," Borracho says, looking to get a drink before beginning to offer some thoughtful entertainment for the night.
He will Borracho it up until it's time for bed, and then be ready in the morning to depart after he's finished reading his fun book.
"Your joints don’t creak and your hands are stronger than a woodcutter's, why do you try to appear old? How do you make the coin dance like that?”
Mimi raises her less bushy eyebrow as she hears the girl's astute observations. "Same reason young girls want to appear older- so others might be made more respectful."
As the Crow's thumb and forefinger rub the coin upon arrival, both she and the girl can now see two coins rubbing each other, with their very own fingers providing the push. Mimi places them on the table, places the forefinger and the middle finger upon them, then pushes them to the edge closest to the girl.
It was quick, but the two coins flicked from the table, and landed within a fold or pocket of the girl's clothing.
When she lifts her fingers, the coins are gone.
Mimi smiles not only at the girl, but also to herself. Still got it.
...
When the tavern has grown quieter, Mimi raises her voice to the barkeep. "The symbol on the wall, is that Erastil? He seems to be quite popular among your guests. Does He answer your prayers better than the others?"
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Tural practically glows with joy when asked about teaching Darya about Sarenrae. "Nothing would make me happier than to teach a new acolyte about the Dawnflower. We wouldn't need to rebuild Abadar's church though. Most of Sarenrae's clergy travel from place to place helping where they can. If there is a temple built, possibly shared with other Deities such as Desna or Shelyn, it would be open to the air and sunshine! And Abadar's wealth should remain with the community. I would not accept it for any reason."
When she leaves to get writing materials he pulls out the one small book that he has. It includes some histories as well as some songs from the Windsong Testaments. He had added his own notes to much of it as a labor of love. It would be a good start, but would certainly take more than the hours left in this day....
Once she returns he begins. "I was born to the service of Sarenrae, seemingly marked as one of hers." He shows her the mark on his hand, Sarenrae's holy symbol. "But of course it is a labor of love, as She is such a good and generous Deity. It is said that She was one of the first Deities, and that She was the one to actually cast the beast, Rovagug, into the Pit. She wields a scimitar, as most of her clergy do. She seeks to redeem any that will, but holds the martial power as needed for those few that are irredeemable...."
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The child is unaware of the coins landing in her pocket. No doubt she’ll find them that evening and realize the trick.
The tavern empties save for the few people that live in rooms there. Tables and chairs are pulled near the fire and Borracho entertains with a tale of brighter days. Mugs and glasses remain filled and the barkeep and his helper join the group when their work is finished.
"The symbol on the wall, is that Erastil? He seems to be quite popular among your guests. Does He answer your prayers better than the others?”
Yes, Erastil was always a favorite of the locals, many still have shrines to him in their homes. I wouldn't say any prayers were being answered until tonight, but they were still being made.”
As Tural begins his teaching, he finds the pupil to be fully engaged. Even after Borracho has finished his tale and lounges comfortably with an ale, she is still asking questions and making notes. Finally the time for singing replaces the lectures, and even then she records the words of the hymn. The evening draws to a close and the barkeep shows you to comfortable rooms upstairs. As you drift off to sleep you can hear Darya faintly singing the hymns she learned just hours earlier.
You wake in the morning to a light rain falling and the sounds of children downstairs. Darya is teaching the youngsters the hymn from the night before and the troupe is greeted with their best attempt at the first verse when they descend to the common room. Biscuits, jam, and tea wait on a table beside the already crackling fire.
Curiosity is one of the children singing, yet she catches Mimi’s eye and does her best to make the coin dance between her little fingers.
When the coin clatters to the floor she quickly scoops it up and flashes a quick look at Mimi judging her reaction.
As with the previous morning, the impact of hope on these people has changed their mood entirely. Smiles break out easily and laughter comes freely. The troupe enjoys their simple breakfast and decides upon their next step…
Flemming muses, much to himself, ”The church, the folks out of town, and the Burgomaster.”
He perks up, and stops mumbling, ”I say we start with the Burgomaster. Whether their love is true or not is none of our concern. Someone lies ill, and it seems we, and by we I mean Tural, might be able to do something about it. I say we start with him and his sick girlfriend, then check out the church. I’m betting there’s undead down there - from the fire.” He shudders a bit, not particularly liking that part of the plan.
Mimi's reaction is quiet crows' feet, hoping the girl will find her own voice in such dire times...
...
"I say we start with the Burgomaster..."
"Feels like the most urgent of all things at our feet, yes. The travelers' camp also interests me, as I wonder if we'll find our Madam waiting for us, with further suggestions this side of the Mists..."
Upon departure, Mimi takes a moment to touch the holy symbol herself, marking it with significance in her mind, as she tries her best to understand the people of this land.
”I say we start with the Burgomaster. Whether their love is true or not is none of our concern. Someone lies ill, and it seems we, and by we I mean Tural, might be able to do something about it. I say we start with him and his sick girlfriend, then check out the church. ”
Borracho looks at Flemming and nods.
"Much like Borracho, you are wise and cunning, a brilliant planner. As I, Borracho, was about to offer the same plan, it must clearly be the best option," Borracho says in agreement.
"When everyone is ready, let us go then. Today we will bring joy to the lives of others, as that is way of Borracho."
"How far is the Burgomaster's? I'd rather not deal with the horses if we don't have to..."
Flemming suggests walking. Besides, it'll be good to get a feel for the land.
Tural enjoys hearing the song he had taught being sung with such gusto. He very much hopes that the troupe can resolve the issues here.
He nods to Flemming's assessment. "The Burgomaster did indicate to come quickly. We'll see what we can do for him. I just hope that she's not afflicted with a wasting sickness or such that would only be cured by powerful magic." His face grows grim with that. Obviously he knows that there are such things that are currently beyond his capability. "And then, yes, the church. If there are, things there, it would be important to determine what they are. It could be undead. But the noises were supposedly heard during the dead. Something hiding from the daylight? If so, we'll see how they handle the light of The Healing Flame!"
He touches the holy symbol on his hand to his forehead with a short prayer of praise. "Let's be off then and see to the needs of the Burgomaster."
The tavern keeper, Arik, gives you directions to the burgomaster’s estate. It lies just out of the village along the southern route from the square, no more than a fifteen minute walk along the cobbled road.
After the short walk the mists part to reveal a weary looking mansion squatting behind a rusting iron fence. The iron gates are twisted and torn. The right gate lies cast aside while the left swings in the wind. The stuttering squeal and clang of the gate repeats with mindless precision. Weeds choke the grounds and press with menace upon the house itself. Yet, against the walls, the growth has been trodden under to form a path all about the domain. Heavy claw markings have stripped the once beautiful finish of the walls. Great black blottings tell of the fires that have assailed the walls. Not a pane or shard of glass stands in any window. All the windows are barred with heavy planking, each plank marked with stains of evil omen. No one greets your arrival.
Flemming enjoys the short walk, and tries to orient himself with the town. It may not seem like much, but things look different from on foot than they do wrestling with a coach.
When they get to the house though, he's less comfortable.
"Frankly, it doesn't look like much of a goin' concern." He considers a bit of armor, but decides the local unease is getting to him. Might be the townspeople did this in a fit of anger - and he can't really blame them. Generations of suffering and no one to blame!
When everyone is ready, Flemming walks up to whatever the door seems to be, and pounds on it. He wants to hit it hard enough to echo, and let the residents know they mean business.
If there's no immediate response, he'll walk around the back, looking for the servants entrance.
As you start to walk around the building, you hear a trembling voice shout from a plank covered upstairs window, ”Who goes there?”
As they see the damage to the mansion Tural automatically draws his scimitar. He wasn't sure what was old or recent. The rust indicates poor maintenance. But the torn apart gates and the claw marks? This looks like the structure has faced a very deliberate attack.
When Flemming 'knocked' he listens for an answer. Almost surprisingly, a clear but trembling voice answers. "We are the visiting troupe from town. I am Tural Wode, Divine Paragon of Sarenrae. We seek Burgomaster Kolyan Indrirovich, and Ireena Kolyana. Are you the Burgomaster?"
”Thank the gods! Surely they’ve sent you! Hold a moment.” It seems like a long moment, then you hear banging and clattering at the front doors before one of them slowly creaks open. A thin man with graying hair holds a fine longsword with both hands, an odd contrast to his velvet smoking jacket and slippers. ”Quick, thy proof is in the crossing, show your worth.”
As the first member of the troupe crosses the threshold he relaxes considerably letting the tip of the sword sag to the floor. When all of you are inside he quickly closes the door and bars it again with a heavy plank. ”Thank you for coming. I am Kolyan, I trust you received my letter. This way, please, and see for thy selves what evil has wrought upon my house. It was born of my own foolishness, for I should have never agreed to meet that devil.”
He leads you to a grand staircase and takes the steps two at a time. The interior of the house is well furnished, although the fixtures show sign of considerable wear. Obvious oddities are the boarded up windows and the overuse of holy symbols in every room.
The top of the stairs is a curious arrangement of furniture like a barricade and a step past it reveals several loaded crossbows. Kolyan hurries down the hall and throws open a door. ”Please, she suffers by the hour. May your god break this affliction!” Inside the well appointed bedroom a beautiful woman lays upon the bed. Her breathing is ragged and sweat stains the pillow. The smell of garlic permeates the room and wolfsbane hangs in bunches from the walls. Kolyan looks at you in desperation.
Tural follows the man as he rushes back up the stairs. His words were strange. The outside of the house had looked like it was under siege. But what 'foolishness' did he mean?
He forgets about the words for the moment when he sees the woman. Ignoring the garlic and wolfsbane for now he moves to her side to examine her. As he does he starts a quiet chant to Sarenrae to guide his actions.
Borracho struts along with Flem, because having a good, proud walk is what great men have. Much like Borracho, Flem likes to know where he is, and also where others might be, especially if they might want to admire Borracho.
”Thank the gods! Surely they’ve sent you! Hold a moment.” ”Please, she suffers by the hour. May your god break this affliction!”
"Yes, of course you have sent for Borracho. You have a keen mind, much like Borracho, for what is the best course of action," Borracho says, making himself welcome inside.
He will let Tural take the lead, but will also offer help if he can. Great men like Borracho always have strength to help others.
aid to Heal
aid to Heal
Flemming enters with the others, but keeps back from the sick bed. Too many cooks and all that.
Instead he looks around the room and stays out of the way. Is there anything of interest in here - other than the odd barricading?
Mimi watches as Kolyan bounds up the grand staircase, and respects the man's agility. She has no interest in taking to the stairs herself, choosing instead to wander the first floor, unattended. She's interested in ways in and ways out of the house, preferring to see such things in the cold light of day. She marks footsteps, and items about each room that look touched upon frequently.
And should something present itself, she's content to know that the master of the house is busy elsewhere...
Tural and Borracho tend to the ailing woman. The bite wound on her neck is impossible to miss. The puncture marks are black with thin lines stretching away like a growing pestilence and the flesh around it red and angry. But the rest of her seems undamaged and despite the sweat stained pillow she neither has a fever or feels hot, rather she’s chill to the touch. Her limbs show no signs of malnutrition or wasting and when she twists beneath their inspection it’s with a greater strength than you would expect. From Kolyan’s words you had expected to find someone gripped by disease, but this seems more like a madness. During the inspection, Tural’s holy symbol comes near her flesh and she recoils harshly, but Borracho draws a different interaction. When he touches her she pushes toward him and exhales sharply as her jaw flexes. Tural can only conclude that the affliction is no normal disease or sickness and something unholy has befallen the young woman.
As Tural and Borracho perform their work, Flemming takes the time to look around the upstairs hallway and rooms. The strange barricade is designed to defend from threats within the house, although you don’t see any signs of actual assault agains the structure. The room directly across from the bedroom is a well appointed library. You recall what Darya mentioned about the burgomaster offering all that she needed and it was a generous offer, there is a small fortune in books and tomes within the room. More interesting though, the room has used dishes and opened bottles of wine stacked upon the available surfaces. Where the rest of the house has been relatively clean, the library has an air of slovenly behavior.
Downstairs Mimi is left on her own as the men take to the upper floor. The house is cool and quiet and a thin layer of dust covers every surface. As she explores the rooms there are ample opportunities to pocket wealth; silver candlesticks, fine vases, crystal decanters, and skilled carvings are among the many trappings of the estate. The kitchen shows some signs of use, but the dining room looks untouched in weeks. In a music room towards the back of the home, the shards of glass from a broken window still litter the floor and dark stains run down the wall from the planked over window. Above the hearth of a grand fireplace in the reading room you see the outline on the wall where a sword has been recently removed. A door leading to a cellar is completely boarded shut, as is the rear door of the home.
Flemming can smell the fear in these rooms. Long nights huddled with a crossbow against a menace in the dark. The fear is overwhelming. After his short stroll, he'll head back to the sick room to see how Tural and Borracho are faring.
"So, can we help her?" He asks, trying to be casual, and not looking the Burgomaster. Poor man.
The lady's odd reaction, both to Tural's holy symbol as well as to Borracho's touch, is concerning to Tural. Considering the bite wound on her neck he gathers some of the garlic and approaches with that. He pauses and hands the garlic cluster to Borracho. "Borracho. Try holding this close to her mouth and nose. Be careful though. She may react violently."
When Flemming enters he quietly responds to his query. "I'm concerned. There are signs that point to a very powerful undead monster. Ifr confirmed we can only assess how far along the 'ailment' is."
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When he touches her she pushes toward him and exhales sharply as her jaw flexes.
Borracho does not flinch from this reaction from the woman. He is well used to their appreciation of Borracho, because he is Borracho, and the womens love him with all their hearts...and their mouths, apparently.
Know (religion) to aid
"Borracho. Try holding this close to her mouth and nose. Be careful though. She may react violently."
Borracho takes the offered garlic and notes that this is not usually the thing he waves in front of a woman's mouth and nose. He shrugs and does what is asked, as Tural is a thoughtful man, much like Borracho, and so it must be a good idea.
Tural hands the garlic to Borracho and both note that the woman is not restrained. Without fear, mostly, Borracho waves the garlic in her face and the reaction is instant; she recoils away and slaps at his hand.
You have no doubt this affliction is the work of a vampire. It’s strange, because vampires aren’t known to create competition for a resource that can be difficult to acquire like blood. For one to do so in Barovia, a village cut off from the outside world and fresh sources of blood, is even more puzzling. When you confirm your findings with Kolyan he cries in anguish. ”I feared this to be so! Thee must slay the Count Strahd von Zarovich if my Ireena is to live! It is he who caused this evil, I am certain of it!” He rushes into the other room and comes back with a stack of tomes and histories sprouting numerous bookmarks and ribbons. ”I’ve searched all my library for how to defeat this evil, here is all that I’ve discovered.”
”Each night his minions come, for they must be his, and assail the walls of my home! I shall resist with all my strength, but I can not hold out forever. End this evil, I beg of thee!”
Mimi listens from the bottom of the stairs, while her eyes mark the distant music room with broken glass, and the cellar with boarded door.
Vampires. The stakes grow higher.
The Crow cocks her head, listening for sounds of approaching performers done with their investigation. If they continue their conversation on the second floor, the old woman begrudgingly takes to the stairs, and joins in.
"Did I hear that right? We have leeches roaming the land? Not sure we're prepared to purge such evil things. At least, not at present." Mimi watches the others, expecting them to shoulder this responsibility, and wondering where they'll find the means to slay a vampire.
Flemming spends some time reviewing the materials, thanking the man for his research. ”You’re a smart man. This is very helpful. So why do you think the Count is a vampire? I mean, I get it. He shows up and all these strange things seem to start happening. But surely you have more evidence than that.”
Is there anything in there about reversing vampirism? Can the man’s wife be saved? Or is it best to stake her now and be done with it. Flemming isn’t callous, but she likely occupies a blind spot in this man’s world. She might just take him while he’s looking the other way, and then they’ll have another one.
Later, he looks at his fists. He knows some magical protections can be overcome, but they’re not silver. ”You guys think I should get some silver rings?”
"Did I hear that right? We have leeches roaming the land? Not sure we're prepared to purge such evil things. At least, not at present." Mimi watches the others, expecting them to shoulder this responsibility, and wondering where they'll find the means to slay a vampire.
"Not leeches Mimi. Vampires. You know, bats."