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Merick's expression turns dark at the gypsy's mention of the women in the castle. Why did it always have to be so? Someone gets damned for eternity, and they had to drag others along with themselves instead of learning the errors of their ways. "Aye, Madame Eva. We shall be fleet of foot. And, more importantly, strong in character. This Count Strahd is a pox upon this land, and an affront to anyone of virtue. His days, unending though he thinks they might be, are numbered."
Adding with Petracleus and Countessa, his expression grim at her evil tidings, "What of this talisman that the Burgomaster had in his home until recently. And these tales of Strahd trying to kidnap or entice young women into his castle?" The warrior shook his head...this was getting to be a lot to process. And here they were, taking it all in from a woman who was likely a con artist, raking them across the coals and relieving them of a few gold coins while throwing them scraps that any local in the area might know.
The warrior takes a step forward eagerly, the mystical nature of this place getting to him. In his soft, bass voice, "We seek the ruler of this land. This monster who would murder his own people and worse. Tell us of him."
Merick sits as they enjoy the music, not trying to appear callous but not overly enjoying the music, either. The sound was too foreign, reminding the man that he was far away from home and potentially trapped here in this dark land. Noting the hat, he tosses over a couple of gold coins as the group finishes, walking their way to Madame Eva's. The warrior lets others enter before himself, as usual letting the more charismatic of the group take the lead as he melts into the background, managing to not roll his eyes at the woman's talk of fortunes and gold.
Noticing both the halfling woman and the palmed daggers, Merick is non-plussed. In this hostile realm, such caution certainly seemed warranted, and if these gypsies wanted to cause trouble, he was certain his plate armor and sword could match up against the smaller weapons. He smiles thinly at the small group, offering a quiet, "Greetings and well met." He waits for another to offer anything more.
Merick's dark eyes flitted over the encampment, wary. Not one to normally keep prejudices, he has been told numerous times that Varisians were a sneaky lot, who would seductively dance you to inattentiveness, then rob you blind. He offers a shallow smile to those who look their way, remaining silent in order to let more practiced voices be heard.
Merick listens solemnly as the priest endeavors to answer all their questions. If the man was correct, then these people were ruled over a being who was more monster than man. He shook his head slowly, reaching up to grasp the bridge of his nose to ease some of the tension in his head. "It has been most helpful talking to you, sir. We shall seek some more answers, then we hope to regroup and discuss our next steps."
Merick's lips purse grimly at hearing the priest's words. He thinks for a moment, then asks, "We hear the burgomaster had an item that kept him safe, but it was stolen from him. Do you know what it was? Also, it seems as though the burgomaster and his son have thought these creatures are after the daughter...could this Strahd be looking for her to be his next 'servant'?"
Merick's brow furrows at the priest's words. "Undying? You have proof of this? We know of the man's depravities against his subjects. We spent a night with the new burgomaster and fended off a horde of fell beasts of the night. What manner of monster do you say this Strahd is?"
Medici shrugs at the priest's words. He certainly couldn't blame the fellow for being a bit eccentric in light of the recent revelations about this strange land. He patiently waits while the priest performs whatever rites he requires, then calmly follows the man inside when invited.
Merick remains silent, nodding to Countessa to show he absorbed her words. He lets those with more social graces talk to the priest, keeping his eyes about for danger. Just because it was daylight did not necessarily mean they were safe...
Merick shrugs. Supposedly neither party was very far away, so they wouldn't be losing much time in sticking together. It would afford more safety, as well, so that was a bonus. He follows Petracleus as the group makes its way to see the defiant priest of the town, his armor jangling at every step.
Merick shrugs. The more places they tackled concurrently, the faster they would be able to gather information and regroup. And the locals seemed to think that the day time was relatively safe, at least. He nods to Petracleus, offering Verran a shallow smile. "Let us see this brave priest, so we may know more of what might lie ahead. Let the others hear the words of a mystic."
Merick rises, stretching out his stiff muscles as he got woke up. He went through the meticulous process of restrapping his armor on, then threw the rest of his gear into its appropriate place. He smells the wonderful repast, sitting down with a smile and nod of thanks to Ismark before digging in. As he eats, he starts talking, "What about this Madame Eva? Do you think she'd be worth a talking to, Ismark?"
Merick nods his agreement with the others. "Yes, great work everyone! Let's get some rest, then figure out what we're to do when the sun has risen." Merick glances at Countessa, then nods. She would need to prepares her spells and get plenty of uninterrupted rest. "I will take second watch with someone else."
Merick bends down and wipes his blade on the dead wolf's coat, cleaning the blood off before sheathing the weapon. It is then that he notices the multiple bite wounds and looks to Verran with a worried expression.
Merick blanches when he sees the huge wolf, but finds the inner reserve of courage that has seen him through so many battles. He sets his shield between himself and the wolf's jaws, then starts trying to take it down!
Merick swings his blade in a wide arc beside himself and Verran, trying to clear out as many of the bats as he can. He could barely see due to the wretched creatures!
If it appears as though the bat swarm can be targeted with an attack, Merick does so. If not, he trusts in his companions and instead readies an attack for when something comes through the front door, ready to cut it down. "Here they come! Get ready, everyone!"
Merick laughs, clapping Damion on the shoulder. "A fine strategy, and as useful as these boards on the windows, likely. How about myself, Ismark, Damion, and Petracleus up front, with Countessa, Aymehn, Ireena, and Verran in reserve near the back of the house. Since those four have weapons or spells that can reach the front, they can support the front ranks, if needed."
Merick shrugs. "It's your house, my lady. If the doors must remain closed, I propose we have a force here by the front door, and a force near the back of the house, to contain any breached defenses. That way they don't face our full strength at once and perhaps underestimate us."
Merick wanders around the first floor, shaking his head in dismay. "Indeed, you all must be very capable, or very lucky to have held this place under the onslaught. There are two entrances, front and rear, and eight windows to defend on this floor alone. Too many possible entry points, even with the boards." He stops in the middle of the room, thinking. He didn't much like to think hard...he was more a man of action, but his companions and their hosts might survive or die this night because of his opinions and recommendations. He turns to the others, looking grim. "I don't see any scenario where they don't breach the house. My suggestion is we open the front door and let them funnel in through our preferred portal, concentrating our efforts there in the hopes they will commit to the already-made hole instead of trying to create new ones."
Merick listens to the others ask their questions, looking to Ismark and Ireena, awaiting their response. Time grew short before the next batch of attackers would be upon them, and knowing the layout of the place would be most helpful in determining their tactics.
Merick puzzles over the words of the woman, a piece of it tickling his brain. He can't figure out what it is, his brow furrowing in consternation. As Verran goes through his benediction, the warrior realizes what is troubling him as he sifts through the woman's words again. "What do you mean, news can't get out through the mists?"
Sounds good!
Merick listens intently as the man talks, learning all he can of this monster who called itself ruler of this land. As the woman opens the door, the warrior's breath catches at her beauty. He hardly listens to the exchange between the siblings, merely giving the dark beauty a small bow of respect before entering the home turned fortress. As he enters the room, many candles glowing, he notices the shadows clinging to the walls, ebbing and flowing in rhythm with the flickering light of the candles. The darkness seemed alive, somehow, as though it were merely waiting for the light to retreat before pouncing upon everyone in the home. Seeing the body of Ismark's father resting in state, Merick draws a spiral with his right forefinger near his breast, silently praying for the Lady of Graves to speed the man's soul to his earned afterlife.
"What Hell has befallen this place that creatures of darkness would assault a manor house in a town?" Merick eyes the place grimly, looking at Ismark. "You must be brave indeed, to have withstood whatever happened here." Sword and shield in hand, he approaches the house with the others.
Figuring that between Daimon, Verran, and the vomiting burgomaster they can handle the remaining zombie on this end, Merick charges up the street to attempt to help with the walking dead attacking the inspiring bard. "Need some help over here?" His tone is light, his sword singing in his hands as he doesn't have to think much, knowing these abominations for the evil products they are. These are the times he feels most fulfilled.
Grunting with the effort, Merick follows through with his swing, turning his blade to slice into the wounded zombie directly in front of the burgomaster. "Step back, man!"
If he hits and drops the corpse, he takes a step north and east to back up Petracleus. "Do you see any more coming?" While not particularly worried, if they kept coming they could possibly be overwhelmed...
Encumbered as he is with his heavy plate, Merick moves up next to Ismark, drawing his weapon as he moves forward. Using both hands, since he didn't have his shield out, he brings the weapon straight down at the corpse's skull.
Thanks for the update, sad as it might be.
"Many a foul creature has met its end through our steel and sorcery, sir. If you can be helped, we're the folks to make it happen. It's funny, though...with all that's going on here, I have never even heard of your lord." Merick gives the man a puzzled look. He had heard of the ice witches of Irrisen, of the devil house of Thrune in Cheliax, but not once of this dread 'vampyr' practically in his own backyard.
Merick nods his agreement with Petracleus, looking to the burgomaster with anticipation of his answer to Countessa's question.
Merick's brow furrows in concern. "And this is the ruler of these lands!? Perhaps...perhaps there is a misunderstanding. Maybe an audience with him would clear things up?" As the man mentions bites and refusals to enter, Merick's head cocks to the side, "Why would there be bite marks on your sister's neck, sir?"
Merick mimics Countessa, giving Petracleus an affirming nod as the young man tells his short story.
If the burgomaster happens to look his way, Merick nods gravely to confirm Petracleus' story. Otherwise, he stays silent, letting those more skilled at wordplay take the lead.
Merick frowns. "Kolyavich? Why does that sound familiar? Wasn't the burgomaster that wrote us named Kolyah?"
Merick shrugs, counting out three gold coins. "I suppose I'll take the last one, since I doubt Countessa wants to share." He chuckles, turning to Damion. "Unless you fancy sleeping on the floor in here, you're welcome to bunk with me, mate."
"I suppose I'd rather live in ignorance and enjoy my meal." Merick smirks, pouring himself a measure of the pitcher of ale and taking a gulp while they wait for their stuff.
Merick looks over the Bill of Fare for a couple of minutes. "Good sir, I believe I'll have a loaf of bread, a bowl of stew, and a roast fowl. Let me get a flagon of mead, as well." He hands the man two ducats, waving away any change.
As the man wanders away to fill their orders, he turns his attention to his companions. "So, how about sleeping arrangements?"
Good luck to you, either way!
Merick nods minutely to Verran to let him know he understands the gesture, not looking in the direction the cleric indicates. He just sits calmly, nursing his drink when it is forthcoming, trying not to let the dark mood infect him.
Merick strides in, sitting at one of the many empty tables. "Hello to you, good sir. A drink and a bite to eat would be much appreciated."
"Oh please! You all lighten up...it's just some painted words on a sign. The day I shrink in fear from graffiti is the day I hang up my adventuring boots." The warrior enters the tavern with the others, looking for a place to sit.
Merick chuckles grimly as he reads the sign for the tavern. He shouldn't be surprised, but he is a bit relieved to find that he still has a sense of humor, even if it is a bit dark. He dismounts, leading his horse to a beam to tie it to outside of the tavern. He waits for everyone to get dismounted and settled, then proceeds inside, wondering what the inhabitants of such a place might be like.
Thinking that any Inns would likely be on the main thoroughfare, Merick continues down Main Street, his eyes open for the telltale lights and smoke from an Inn. His guard relaxes slightly as they canter slowly through the streets, being in civilized lands once again.
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