The Castle, Barovia, Karrnath 21 Sar, Zarantyr, 998 YK
High on the parapets, eyes looked north at the shadow of Lysaga Hill in the distance. Even at this distance, the sickly green light could be seen. To see anything more would require eyes beyond the ken of men... or magic.
The watcher had both.
From behind, a rhythmic pulse could be felt more than heard, but that did not distract the watcher. On the Hill, a battle was fought. A battle between those that struggled under the Curse of the land and those that were new to it. The former thought to overturn to the Curse, to replace it with their own rule. But the Curse was strong. Already it had its tendrils in the newcomers, whether they saw it or not.
The watcher smiled, the outcome of the battle plain. A success. Another piece won.
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
It was late night by the time the group returned to Barovia. Wisps of the fog danced through the streets like ghosts. It was quiet, with only the group's thoughts echoing in their heads.
Things were more lively, though not necessarily better, at the camp in the town square. Fresh wounded, all caravan guards, were being tended by the healers who were selflessly going without sleep again. Elsewhere on the ground was a covered cloth, the shapes of bodies underneath. A few faces looked at the group wearily as they returned, and a scribe with a arm splint went into the Vine as the horses pulled up.
As the group dismounted, the oily Karrn leading the expedition exited the inn. Unlike most in the area, he was unwounded. Mateusz's thin lips tightened when he saw the others. "It appears the rumors of witches were true after all. We've had our own adventure while you were gone, once again." He gives the halfork a dirty look. "It is unfortunate that the people we pay to guard us fail to do so." He returns his gaze to the others, looking askance at the dead bodies. "Well? Anything to report?"
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
Janis looks down her nose at the expedition leader before dismounting. The mist made the witch's pale, fine hair hang limp in the torchlight, and the cast shadows of torches danced across her face dangerously.
"Perhaps you'd rather wait until we break our fast tomorrow for word and rumor, when each of us is in a better humor and the dead are seen to by their loved ones."
Do not pretend yourself a Captain, when you are only a Captain of Coin, Mateush, Janis thought, echoing the Cyran proverb.
"You will leave the mercenary be," Janis states flatly, "And see to our mounts. If one of the priests wishes to converse with you, so be it: I, for one, would rather stab a rat than sing for it now."
Janis dismisses the caravan master with a cold shoulder and brushes past him without further comment on her way into the Vine.
Curses and cowards, Janis thought. Exactly what stew I needed to break my mood for the day.
Jarrith jumps down from the horse and thumbs his thumb at the body strapped to the horse's hind quarters. "While you all were taking care of the witches ready to swoop in and control the town, we took care of the ones up in the mountains that were summoning a nature demon called The Verdant Lord. Stopped them from summoning him too."
He moves over to Edi and opens up the bag that Janis presmably put the creature's decaptitated head in and pulls it out. "Just one of the things we were up against up there. Miss Stormhand thought you might like to see what exactly some of your townfolk had gotten themselves into."
He turns his head back to Ashlyn and shouts to her. "M'Lady... you want to show off the green hag that was running this little summoning shindig?"
Janis stops her walk toward the Inn and silently counts backwards, gritting her teeth and biting her tongue to keep from lashing at the probably well-meaning but furiously annoying men in her life that seemed to demand demonstrations rather than good sense.
"As I said, I'd rather we had performed any circus on the morrow, Jarrith. But if you insist...
Janis stalks over the corpses and decapitated heads.
"These are villagers. Note the Daelkyr-deformities as evidence that these individuals were dealing with chaotic and malign powers," Janis recites as if delivering a morning lecture to unruly students.
"Worshiping their dark god," Janis flips the decapitated head onto the ground in the middle of the group, "Under the influence of this hag..." Janis holds the hag's corpse up, arching one thin finger under the creature's nose almost accusingly.
"...The villagers, witches, summoned the aforementioned 'god' upon Lysaga Hill. Dead now, upon my responsibility, and upon that responsibility we have brought the dead back to here for proper burial and so that the living may make their peace."
"If any believe I have made some great and inappropriate disrespect for their loved ones, they may speak with me. Tomorrow...."
The storm-witch continues.
"I have not yet disrobed myself of the silver-fear from this morning. While I, in my finite patience and compassion, have found it within me to defeat the beast-seed placed upon my breast so far, I am none so pleasant and sure-souled that I am certain that I would resist it twice. All the day we have been hip-deep in blood, and while we are all sorely taxed I assure any that I am very tired and very much not in the mood for further talk."
"A bath, a song, sleep. Tomorrow. A new day and I will be no doubt be my normally cheerful self, but to beg a pardon, right now I am not in the mood."
Men!
I should have let the wolf take hold of me and eaten them.
As Janis launched into her tirade, Tessa moved a few quick steps to take a station between the druid and Mateusz. Her move was perhaps a bit too slow to be reflexive or enthusiastic- and it was tough to say whether she was warding the expedition leader from Janis, or the druidess from Mateusz. "Tomorrow we'll break the curse. Now indeed, we must rest, for all our tempers are frayed from trials we've faced, and our resources are all but spent." Her voice was quiet and weary, but as firm as she could manage. Despite that assertion, when Janis turned for the Vine, Tessa turned outwards, ready to assist the caravans healers and the townsfolk. She knew that she would get little sleep tonight no matter how exhausted she might be, and while her magics were spent, she was as well-trained a mundane healer as any Jorascan-taught halfling.
Upon seeing the wounded as they arrive in town, Ashlyn simply dismounts and ignoring the verbal altercations between Janis and the others, she immediately begins to see to the wounded. Moving to the center of those wounded she calls upon the healing deep within herself and once again it surges forth. Perhaps due to her tiredness or something else, the healing energies are sharp and hard, almost raw as they surge through the wounded, healing wounds quickly, but without the warm gentleness that normally accompanies it. As she moves through the townsfolk and the caravan people, she positions herself to best effect so as to heal and many as she is able as she releases the healing energies again and again.
Finally, her inner healing depleted, Ashlyn resorts to more mundane skills as she joins the other healers working through the night by bandaging any who are still in need of further ministrations.
Then, once she has done what she can, Ashlyn moves back towards her bed at the inn, checking in on Urik before heading off to her own bed and the sweet oblivion of a couple of hours of sleep.
[Use all remaining turn undead attempts -> sacred healing (if necessary)]
[Heal checks: 1d20+10 (1d20+12 with healing kit) ... use healing kit only if necessary for the more seriously wounded, if any]
[Assess Urik - Heal check: 1d20+10]
[Ring of sustenance -> only need 2hrs sleep]
"As I said, I'd rather we had performed any circus on the morrow, Jarrith. But if you insist..."
Jarrith rolls his eyes at Janis once more. If Jarrith himself wasn't exhausted and cranky he probably would just keep his mouth shut after her crack just to keep the peace... he'd learned that lesson a while ago... but his own foul mood can't help but let old bad habits come out and he's quick to retort.
"Did you or did you not just say 'If one of the priests wishes to converse with you, so be it.'? Hello! What is it you think I'm doing? I'm one of said priests... and I'm conversing with Mateusz. You don't have to if you don't want to... you can continuing marching back into the Vine and we'll take care of it if it's that much of a problem for you."
Jarrith is about to continue speaking to the caravan leader when Janis comes storming back anyway and goes into her long shpeil. He throws up his hands in surrender as apparently even though she's not in the mood to talk... she just can't help herself when she gets on a roll. Or more likely, she wouldn't be able to stand to have anyone else potificate on the situation while she was upstairs abed.
When the storm-witch finishes her performance and ends it all with her "not in the mood" flourish, Jarrith's just about to respond with a quick joke at her expense... but this time he forces himself to remain silent. One slip can be attributed to exhaustion taking hold... two slips and he's just being a jerk. He instead turns to continue speaking with Master Ochem, figuring that while Tessa and Ashlyn do their 'tending the wounded' thing and Janis goes upstairs to clean up and rest, he'll further the discussion with the caravan leader as needed since he's one of the few who actually doesn't mind talking to him.
The few villagers still up this late, mostly wound tenders to assist the Jorasco healers, gasp at the reveal of the dead witches. There are a few whispers, and at least one heads into town, but most are just stunned. More so when they see the hag and fiend.
The archivist's thin lips tighten more if possible at the Stormhand's tirade. As she storms inside once again, the archivist only says, "I am sure your beast will be attended with all the respect it deserves, Miss Sandal." Dismissing her mentally as the door slams shut, the archivist instead turns his attention on the hag and fiend head. He looks at them intensely. "Indeed. So I was correct. The Verdant Lord, obviously. This will surely make the Reports on Planar Studies. Best that was taken care of." The archivist briefly notes the grafts on the witches, nodding.
Mateusz turns to Jarrith when his examination is done. "Any other signs of incursion? I assume the ritual was interrupted before its secondary stage? No manifestation of Thelanis traits?"
~~~
Tessa and Ashlyn quickly ascertain that the wounded are all members of the caravan except for a young boy---one of the Inn's tenders. The wounds are horrid claws and bites, not the abilities the witches possessed. One of the halflings mentions, "It was that Deneith scion---the wolf has him. If it wasn't for that mad one, I don't think even the other mercs could've stopped it."
All of the dead are Deneith mercenaries. The number of living guards was rapidly dwindling.
~~~
Janis finds the inside of the Inn in disarray. The tables pushed to the side to make way for Urik's litter have been rended by something of great strength, and broken crockery is everywhere. Arik the innkeeper absently cleans, as if in shock.
Urik, still looking weak, sits in the corner with a now wobbly table, his companion balancing carefully on the boards. His silver blade is propped up beside him. "Ah, Lady Stormhand. Good to see those with fight in them are still breathing."
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
"Any other signs of incursion? I assume the ritual was interrupted before its secondary stage? No manifestation of Thelanis traits?"
Jarrith nods at his questions. "No, I think we took care of things before they got out of hand. I made it a point to start the attack just as soon as all the witches were in position and their ritual just about to begin. The hag got all of maybe four words out before we broke it up."
When Ochem mentions 'Thelanis', Jarrith looks at him quizzically for moment... until Ochem explains that 'Thelanis' is the Faerie Court. Then Jarrith's face lights up in understanding. "Ah! I get it. Uh, no... I do not believe so. Not from what happened up on the hill anyway. Janis did have to fight against the curse of the werewolves on the way down, but she was able to control herself. No other strange manifestations have as yet occured." He glances around at the destruction and death in the area and not having heard the halfling's comment to Ashlyn and Tessa, inquires on his own. "On that note... what happened to Victor down in the basement of the Vine? Did the curse overtake him?"
"On that note... what happened to Victor down in the basement of the Vine? Did the curse overtake him?"
The archivist considers Jarrith's statement about Janis before answering, waving absently. "Oh, that. Vincent is dead. Or near that anyway. That so-called knight dealt with it when the guards couldn't handle it. They cleaned it up; you'd have to ask them. I was in the process of accessing the damage to the expedition when you all arrived."
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
Janis finds the inside of the Inn in disarray. The tables pushed to the side to make way for Urik's litter have been rended by something of great strength, and broken crockery is everywhere. Arik the innkeeper absently cleans, as if in shock.
Urik, still looking weak, sits in the corner with a now wobbly table, his companion balancing carefully on the boards. His silver blade is propped up beside him. "Ah, Lady Stormhand. Good to see those with fight in them are still breathing."
Janis waves off the knight's comments as barely registering, her eyes blazing with barely controlled rage. She walks in in a tightly controlled fashion to what passes for a bar in the Inn, closing her eyes to gather confidence in her voice before she continues. Spitting the blood from where she has bitten her lip onto the floor, she slaps her hand at whip-like speed on the worn wood and turns her baleful gaze upon the innkeeper.
"I'd have something strong enough to wash away hate, Arik. If you would please." The words slither from her lips as a whisper.
When Jarrith hears that Victor is near death because of the curse... he hangs his head and breathes out slowly. He knows he could have possibly cured him of the curse before he had left, but he saved his blessing from the Flame for use another time. He looks back at Ochem, nods once, then turns and goes to where Khensu and Marot are standing.
"What was it you said, Marot? 'All we find is death'? Aye. I think you hit that nail right on its head."
His eyes are drawn to the castle, then he turns back to them. "Let us get some rest. Tomorrow morning, we will make the journey up to the castle. We have waited long enough, eh?" He clasps his hand on Khensu's broad shoulder. "You will feel the Light again, my friend. The Flame is still within you, we just need to feed its fire."
He then turns to the inn to go in and sleep this long night away.
Arik numbly puts down the broom, and ducks behind the counter. After a moment, he produces a thick, clear liquid that, should Janis drink it, burns quite satisfactorily. Soon after, Jarrith and Khensu pass through towards their room with a passing nod to the wounded Urik. The knight says nothing at Janis' foul mood, seemingly content to rest in his chair, feeding his raven.
OOC: I'll move on to the next day on Monday, so if there is anything anyone else wishes to do tonight (Janis can request a bath still, etc., though that'll be off camera), let me know.
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
Janis swiftly downs the foul substance, and after a moment's consideration gestures for another, and another afterwards.
"You know Arik, I never set out to be who I am. It was all about people like that bastard Mateusz pulling my family into every damned thing - making every moment at my home a little part of the war. Oh, he thinks he's being clever but he's stepped into the cleaver." Janis finishes with her second drink.
"I tell you: For every dead child, for every dark curse, Barovia is a bright place compared to the nightmare of my homeland... That dog out there, Mateusz, his people court the dead like lovers; you mustn't trust him, you see? I've been trying to pretend that he's only interested in stealing away few useless trinkets and then he'd be gone, but once he's through with you all? Barovia will be on her back for the soldiers of him and his kind, whether she likes it or not. And those soldiers will be harvested from the graves like every other soldier in the service of his people, and every woman and child they cut down will rise as another blade to hold at your people's throats. Janis says as she finishes her third drink, slamming the container upside down with a thud against the bar.
"My country...a thousand valleys just like this one, are no more, destroyed by the politics of each other, by the moaning dead of Mateusz's people. Even sunlight has turned into a horror there, a blight for ten thousand years...I should slip the knife in, to protect you all..."
Wiping her face, her knuckles still white with rage, Janis shuffles off to the pantry to sleep, slamming a fist into the sill separating the two rooms as she passes uselessly.
"Some wounds never leave you... must be constantly tended to prevent the heart from stopping...
Collapsed into the corner like a rag doll, Janis clutches her bloody fist like a child held close to her heart.
As the tide of wounded began to ebb, Tessa felt the weariness of the day pulling at her. She spared a nod and a few quiet words for Ashlyn, and for the other healers, then made her way inside. While she needed little sleep, she sought the solace of prayer, and the comforting power of the divine. Once her rest was complete, she busied herself in little tasks- washing the days blood from herself and her clothing, checking her armor and other gear for signs of damage, the simple tasks of an adventurers trade.
Once the sun began to rise, she found a quiet place to perform her daily rituals, rededicating herself to the service of the Sovereign Host.
OOC: No real changes- but if we make it through the night Tessa will change her memorized spell selection a bit.
Arik is a fine bartender... for serving drinks. The man just listens to Janis, saying nothing. But, it is perhaps appropriate he says nothing. For what can a simple man like him say to sooth the ills of the mighty?
Tessa and Ashlyn finish tending the wounded, their efforts are rewarded. The Deneith mercenaries' bodies will recover. Their minds...? Vincent was well respected amongst them. To fall so low is a deep blow to moral. At least he still lives, if the words of one of the guards can be trusted, wounded and knocked senseless by the old knight with the bird.
Eventually, the party finds their sleep.
22 Sul, Zarantyr, 998 YK [Spells, ability damage, etc. refreshed as appropriate. Please update sheets accordingly.]
The morning is hardly different from the night, with dark clouds laden with rain curtailing the sun. A cold breakfast of porridge is made ready, a local matron doing the duty. Urik remains in the common room, looking more rested, though dark circles remain around his eyes. The party gathers in silence, planning their day ahead. Provisions? Other preparations? Or finally to the shadow that lingers ever present in the valley---the Castle Ravenloft?
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
The next morning Jarrith arises and prays to the Flame for strength and mercy... then makes his way back downstairs into the tavern proper. He goes over to the Raven Knight and checks to see what the remaining ills of Sir Urik are, and if he can heal them. If doable, the Stalker ignores any protestations he might receive from him and he casts a prayer to reinvigorate the knight. (Cast Lesser Restoration if Urik is down any ability points)
When Janis returns to the main tavern room, Jarrith moves over to her and speaks quietly. "I can attempt to remove the were-taint within you again. Shall we give it a go?"
Marot arose to the sounds of voices in his head -- not the normal kind, which he had grown accustomed to, but a more sinister, dark voice.
"GET OUT!" He shouts to the unseen source. He grabs his head and begins to shake his head left to right, murmuring,"No...no....no..."
He gathers himself and kneels before his bed and prays to the Flame for help and guidance.
After a half hour of losing himself in prayer to his divine source of reclamation, he dresses and heads downstairs to rejoin the others, as well as getting a bite to eat, as he hadn't eaten since breaking camp in the forest yesterday morn.
He sees the forlorn shifter staring blankly at a bowl of porridge, and sits down next to him.
"Khensu - it is good to see you once again. At last we will see who exactly is the master of the keep that we guarded for countless nights. Hopefully we can find some semblance of piety in this godforsaken land..."
He grabs a small plate of breakfasts meats and pastries from Arik and rejoins Khensu, setting ravenously into the food.
Rising early, satisfied and rested from a mere two hours of sleep, Ashlyn quietly walks downstairs and looks in on her patients before heading back to the inn for breakfast.
Walking through the door, Ashlyn takes some porridge and a small hunk of bread and sits down with Urik for breakfast. She offers Hurrn a piece of her bread as she eats. Though she eats silently, she seems much more relaxed this morning. After finishing her food, she looks over at Urik and speaks, "Good morning"
Ashlyn then pauses a moment before asking "We are considering a trip to the castle today and I was wondering whether you might be able to describe the layout of the castle a little, particulary the location of the chapel. You should know that I intend to sit Vigil and would welcome any advice as to what I might expect."
![stonegod's Expedition to Castle Ravenloft: Ch. II [IC]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/iconimages/playing-game/stonegods-expedition-castle-ravenloft-ch-ii-ic_ltr.gif)
Linear Mode
And yet another word from our sponsors
