Lost in a Tabletop Game [5E/SI]

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Seven - The Ruins of Berez

Savid had awkwardly pointed in the direction of the ruined village of Berez, and looked quite glumly towards what little of the ruins one could perceive beyond the fog. The trail hugged the river for several miles. The dirt and grass soon turned to marsh as the trail dissolved into spongy earth pockmarked with stands of tall reeds and pools of stagnant water.

A thick shroud of fog covered all. Scattered throughout the marsh were old peasant cottages, their walls covered with black mildew, their roofs mostly caved in. These decrepit dwellings seemed to hunker down in the mire, as though they had long since given up on escaping the thick mud. Everywhere I looked , black clouds of flies darted about, hungry for blood.

"At night this place didn't look that bad," I muttered, seeing the decrepit mansion in which I had briefly rested in the distance amidst the haze.

"The hag that lives in the village's ruins is a dangerous one," Savid muttered in a whisper. "She might have kidnapped the girl."

The raven on my shoulder cawed, and then flew off, clearly understanding that we were about to do something extremely dangerous, and not at all liking it.

"Then we will bring her to an early demise," I said, "Any bit of information on the hag may be of use, so-"

"Fool of a paladin!" a voice hissed from behind a rotten cottage. I blinked at the voice, and sharply turned to gaze at the dirty and gaunt form of Muriel, having appeared and hurrying with quite the careful steps towards us. My eyebrows both rose as she came to a halt by the cart's side, not at all caring about the undead horses pulling it. "Why did you come back?"

"A child is missing, and the hag might have taken it," I answered. "That is why, we will deal with the hag and free the child."

Ezmeralda glanced at Muriel, "Hags are shapeshifters by nature," she pointed out, hands to the hilts of her weapons. "This woman could very well be our quarry."

Sir Godfrey, at those words, unsheathed his blade and jumped off the cart.

"You do not appear frightened by our appearance," he pondered, "Why is that?" his blue eyes narrowed. Even Savid had slowly moved his hands to grab his bow.

"Listen," she hesitated, "I've been following you. I mean, a Paladin of a foreign god appearing out of a river sounds like the start of a bad joke around these parts, but then I saw how you acted." Her eyes stared straight into mine, "Please, help us save this land."

"That was my intention from the very start," I answered calmly. "Also, your lantern aided us greatly," I added, quietly grabbing the lantern in question and gently handing it over. The woman refused it with a shake of her head.

"Keep it," she said. "You'll have more need of it than I," she swallowed. "About the hag, if you seek information, I have it. I've been...I've not been entirely honest about why I stand watch over this village."

I gave her a small nod of encouragement. "The scarecrows that surround the hag's hut move and attack on her orders," she said with a grimace, "She can command the insects; once I saw her turn a swarm away from her goats with but a gesture." She nodded at that information, trying to vividly recall as much as she could.

I turned thoughtful once all the information was in place, and then carefully pondered as my eyes went from the border of the village to the decrepit mansion of burgomaster. "If the goats are disturbed, the skulls howl and she goes looking for the source of the problem," I spoke. "She goes there flying on a giant skull," I continued, "Thus, she's faster than the scarecrows."

"Divide greater forces into manageable forces," Ezmeralda said, catching on, "Numbers mean nothing if you can't use them."

I turned to look at Savid, who had been trembling like a leaf. I exhaled. "Savid, you will stay back. While we fight the hag, and her enemies, you will take the chance to step inside her hut and look for the child." I glanced at Muriel next, "You should stay somewhere safe," I added, "we'll be dealing with the threat, but I cannot guarantee your safety."

The woman, dressed in rags and covered in dirt, clasped at a dagger in her other hand. "I've lost some good friends to the hag. Least I can do is help you recover a kid."

I nodded, "Then, Savid, Muriel, be careful." I took a deeper breath, and extended my right hand forward. The eye etched upon the gauntlet shone of a soft, orange glow as it briefly opened. "Truly, the faithful that aids those in need does his duty, but he who aids while lacking faith is greater still. For it is not the faith that makes the guardian, but the guardian that makes the faith."

Small white strips of cloth left the eye of the gauntlet, gingerly rolling and tying across the wrists of Savid, Muriel and Ezmeralda. "Keep them, and what they can, they will shield you from."

I then glanced at Godfrey, and unsheathed the bastard sword with the symbol of Helm etched upon it. I passed it towards him from the hilt, and he took it with a look of chagrin. "I am not worthy of holding such a blade," he muttered.

"You are willing to fight by my side," I answered in turn, "That makes you worthy in my eyes, and in those of my god."

Then, I clicked my tongue as the undead horse under my command readied. "Sir Godfrey and I will head for the goats' pen and wreck havoc. Ezmeralda, I leave you my horse as an aid, don't let the enemy overwhelm you."

"This isn't my first battle, Shade," Ezmeralda grimaced only slightly before climbing atop the horse. "I'll find a good point to hide and wait for the start of it all." She kicked its bony flanks and trotted off. Savid and Muriel both moved towards the cottages, and squatted down in wait.

Godfrey did not climb upon his horse, but merely nodded towards it. It took off at a lazy trot, and as we both marched carefully around the outskirts of the village, I could feel my heart start to beat harder.

We ended up nearing the goats' pen from the overgrown garden, carefully making our way through the thick vegetation. Once near it, I glanced ever so briefly at the goats lazily munching on the grass. Some of them shared the same fur color of the one that had kicked me down from the mountain. I grasped hold of the Sunsword, and then turned to look at Godfrey. We shared an unspoken set of questions and answers, and then he carefully moved away, disappearing within the mansion's rotten remains.

The Sunsword thrummed in my hand and warmed up, my eyes staring at the seemingly inanimate skulls. The moment I lifted the blade, bright sunlight shattered the mists around us, the swing slicing through the skulls and the fence and scaring the goats into sharply shrieking at the top of their lungs. The skulls began to howl, even as I mercilessly kept cutting them.

The beasts saw their chance at escaping, and took it within mere seconds.

The howling did not stop when a figure began to appear from the fogs. A large skull floated high in the air, a green and black figure standing atop it. It stared down at the likes of me, but the real hatred in her eyes was for the sword I was wielding.

I began to run the next second, heading for the garden and the thick vegetation it held. With a scream, and cackling words that might have been curses, a deadly cloud of yellow-green seeped down from the air, devouring greedily the top of the trees by making the leafs rot and fall, killing the plants on its path down towards me.

"You will not harm my baby!" the hag shrieked, twirling her quarterstaff high in the air as the ground beneath my feet began to shift, and deep dark tentacles emerged to try to grasp the life out of my body. I sliced through one of them, growling as I avoided another's strike.

In the moment the fog neared and the tentacles surrounded me, a guttural blasphemy ripped through the very fabric of my soul, shattering my will to move into miniature fragments. It was not that I breathed, as much as I could not help but feel the poisonous gases seep into my skin. My body was weak, my breathing hurt, my armor creaked under the strain of the tentacles attempting to shatter my every bone.

Yet the warmth within my chest poured outwardly, the poison perhaps deadly, but not that deadly. The cloud became but a sting, continuous perhaps, but not like the acid bath it had felt like in the seconds prior. My eyes half-narrowed as I watched the hag's form keep her distance, cackling madly. "Another threat dealt, another enemy defeated, my baby, my Strahd, my beautiful son alive and well," she giggled and passed her filthy hands across her face.

She found herself suddenly flung off her skull by a falling warrior, whose blade gleamed as it struck straight through the hag's hardened skin and pushed her off the giant skull. With a startled cry, the hag fell down on the ground, and in that instant my muscles began to burn as I fought back, the pieces of my tattered soul stitching themselves back together through sheer force of will.

The blade's light increased as I broke free and rushed forward, the tentacles snapping in an attempt to hold me back. With but a word, the hag pointed her hand in my direction and lightning blossomed from the tip of her fingers. It sailed in the air, striking through me like the javelin of an angry God, the pain lacerating every fiber of my flesh as my shield did not improve the situation at all.

There was laughter from the evil creature, cruel and vicious. It grew in tone as I slumped down on my knees, my shield arm limp and my grip faltering.

The ugliest woman I had ever seen rose from the ground clutching on to her quarterstaff, a fetid smile on her wrinkled, ancient face. The Giant Skull floated away, Sir Godfrey chipping at it with the sword I had gifted him.

The cloud of poison still stung at my skin, taking my breath away.

My vision swam.

"What delicious treat I'll have tonight," the hag softly crooned, "Tender meat, cooked with goats' blood," she laughed, her laughter starting to grate upon my nerves something fierce.

Even so, I still soldiered on. The pungent smell of blood filled my throat and nostrils, the effects of the poison perhaps, and soon a loud buzzing filled my ears too. Large angry blood-sucking flies emerged from the hag's mouth, forming a swarm of blood-sucking monstrosities that sought naught but my immediate end. My eyes were bloodshot as I did not charge through them, but rather plunged deeper into the poisonous cloud. The insects buzzed, but halted and swarmed around it.

The hag snickered while clapping her hands, she could see the light of the sword. She could see the light of the sword, but she could not see me.

And suddenly I knew what to do. The tendrils of light within me were no longer just a simple warmth. They were a heat; they were a forge. The heat increased as sunlight poured out of the tips of my finger, and as a sphere materialized in front of me, I quietly slipped away. Helm taught us that battles were to be fought.

He also taught us that battles had to be fought wisely.

There was laughter in the Sunsword's handle, and while such emotion did not soothe the pain my body was feeling, it was enough to power me to the side of the hag's form. She was muttering something, a flaming sphere appearing in her hands. She launched it with cruel glee into the cloud of poison, and as the explosion made the fog disperse, her eyes widened at the sight of the flawless sphere of sunlight that took my place.

I pounced on her reigniting my blade, and witnessed her turn to bring her quarterstaff up. She actually parried my blow, twisting her staff with unnatural, infernal grace that no old woman should ever possess. She slammed the bottom of her quarterstaff against my head, making it ring as my helmet sailed off.

Then my blade sunk into the woman's chest, burning her as the poisonous burns on my skin slowly began to heal. The blood slowly trickled back into the open wounds, sealing them shut behind its passage. The forge burned, the wind turning the flames into scorching heat; the sizzling of the hag's burning flesh was met with raucous laughter, the creature disappearing into the mists.

I spun quickly around, meeting head-on a second bolt of lightning which I barely dodged by twisting my entire body to the side. I could hear the sound of armored reinforcements, but it was only once a hand gingerly touched my back and I felt the reinvigorating sensation of my body's weariness dissipating that all traces of fear left my body.

"I've warmed her up," I said with a quick breath.

"Apologies for being late," Sir Godfrey remarked. "The skull was hard to put down."

Baring her yellow teeth in a threatening hiss, more poison left her mouth. Into that cloud, Sir Godfrey charged without fault nor worry while I rushed to the side. His blade graciously sang in the air as he jumped and thrust mid-jump, forcing the witch to bat the attack away. I rushed in from the sides, aiming to slice at her sides, only for her to swat again the attack away with her quarterstaff.

She was no witch. She had to be a monk of sorts.

Even so, Sir Godfrey's next swing bit into her shoulder, and as he wrenched the blade free crimson blood began to seep from the wound. The hag made a popping sound, her body wrenching around at it transformed in mid-air into a bat.

The hag began to fly away towards her hut, even as Sir Godfrey and I gave pursuit.

The ruins of Berez were littered with broken scarecrows, and Ezmeralda was on a horse hoarding the few survivors around while swinging her blade into those she could, before retreating and then returning to strike at another. Swarms of ravens were also striking at the scarecrows, perhaps in some kind of schadenfreudian revenge against their oppressors.

"The bat!" I yelled, pointing at the transformed creature, "Attack the bat!"

As if called down by a superior will of god, the swarm of ravens stopped harassing the scarecrows, and rushed for the creature. They slammed into the furry creature, pecking and clawing at it until it transformed back into the hag, screaming sharply in disgust.

"We have her!" I exclaimed triumphantly, Sunsword singing in my head, sharing her emotions of triumph.

And in that moment, the hag slammed her staff down on the ground and the ground was no more.

Large, massive roots ripped from the ground as the entirety of the hut rose upon them, animating in its entirety as fell magic coursed through it.

Atop one of the branches, Baba Lysaga now stood triumphant, pointing her quarterstaff in my direction.

"Destroy him, my precious!" she crooned as the roots began to quickly move forward towards Godfrey and mine's position.

I took a deep breath.

Then, I planted my feet firmly on the ground, lifting my left hand up towards the construct. The forge within me began to ignite.

"I have faith," I said calmly.

Sir Godfrey briefly glanced in my direction, and the ghost of a smile stretched on his face. "I have it too." His left hand rose towards the massive construct.

A brief pulse of silvery light left his open, outstretched palm. A similar one, glowing like steel, left mine. The two pulse intertwined mid-air, striking at the massive construct and cutting neatly the fabric of magic holding it up.

The massive roots fell down, crashing on the ground with a thunderous noise.

"It won't last long," Sir Godfrey warned, starting to rush forward towards the hag's figure at the top of the hut.

I smiled.

"Then we'll make it count," I answered rushing by his side, glancing with the corner of the eye at Ezmeralda's figure turning invisible while atop the skeletal horse, the monster hunter headed for our very same direction.

The dreadful hag of Berez didn't know it yet...

...but she was about to have the worst day of her entire unholy, evil life.

 

[dermenscha]

I guess, just seems like that Risks Acecerak or some other big bad taking the place over and using it for unspeakable evil or something along those lines.

Click to shrink...

Ace, Vecna, and the other Big Scary Guys don't usually go for "hard" targets like Barovia though, mostly because it's too flashy.

But after some centuries have gone by and everyone has forgotten about it? Then yeah, they might move in.

 

[Radmelon]

So is this story following the path of the Curse of Strahd adventure then? I've never played it, but from the comments that's the impression I'm getting.

 

[Doc Sithicus]

Will Shade visit domain that shares my name? I heard that Nedragaard Keep is lovely this time of the year.
Shade and Sir Godfrey could have a nice chat with the Keep's Lord and gain another party memeber?

 

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Eight - The Ruins of Berez

Tendrils of darkness spread on the ground, slamming into Sir Godfrey's chest and halting his advance as they held him tight. I rushed forward, jumping out of the tentacles' area and eyeing the crude wooden staircase up. A flaming fireball departed the tip of the hag's fingers, a sharp scream leaving Godfrey's throat as the flames began to burn at his undead flesh.

I turned towards the revenant, and rushed back to grab hold of one of his arms, pulling with all of my strength to break him free of the magic's grasp. A lightning bolt sailed in the air, but struck by our side as the hag screamed hoarsely, a large humanoid raven having slammed into the creature's back and made it fall on the ground. Dark claws and an equally large beak dug open wounds into the figure, but I wasn't going to look into a wereraven's beak. A gift of an extra ally was always welcomed, regardless of whom they were.

With a twist of her quarterstaff, the Hag pushed the wereraven away from her, her eyes shimmering with colors as cruel words left her lips. Before a swarm of flies could leave her bulging throat, my shield slammed into her face, the noise it made echoing as my blade dug once more into the monster's flesh. From the side, Sir Godfrey buried his longsword to the hilt into the woman's flank, and then pushed upwards with a bellowing cry of effort.

The skin had the consistency of stone, and as the hag seemingly stopped screaming and fighting, her whole weight making her corpse crumble on the ground, I exhaled in relief and removed my blade from her innards. The smell of charred flesh was second only to the smell coming from the hag herself.

With a quick breath, I poured what little remained of the lantern's oil atop the corpse, and ignited it. The hag predictably began to scream not a second later, her form twitching and trembling as she tried to get back on her feet. "Mercy! Mercy!" she cried, pitifully lifting her arms up in surrender.

"The gift of mercy, I reserve to those with a soul," I said with a soft voice, driving my blade through her throat and past it. The Sunsword sang in joyous triumph, the hag's head rolling on the ground as her body slumped, twisting and writhing as flies began to leave it, forming a swarm of hungry insects that a few passages of the Sunsword easily burned away.

As I turned from the corpse to glance at the wereraven, I widened my eyes. The hag's form stood behind her, quarterstaff clutching the humanoid raven by the throat and a maniacal smile on her face. "You thought you could best me! I am the great Baba Lysaga! Chosen of mother night! Fools! I am Strahd's mother! You are nothing while in my presence!" she glanced at the hut, still slumbering, yet starting to twitch and tremble. "And soon, you will all die! For Strahd! For my baby!"

The wereraven's talon-like hands were gripping at the quarterstaff of the hag, but it was clear that the seemingly ancient crone held a deep reservoir of might that only the unholy powers of evil could ever grant.

The sound of a hatchet burying into a tree was eerily familiar to that of a hatchet burying into a neck, and as Ezmeralda's form appeared from behind the hag, so too did the monster's grip on the wereraven come less, the weapon dug deeply into the grimy flesh. The Sunsword slammed once more home into the hag's breast, this time sizzling as flames pulsed through it, the forge within me bellowing from righteous anger. Sir Godwyn's blade shone too, pulsing with a silvery light as it dug parallel to mine into the woman's flesh.

The roots of the hut twitched as they rose once more. We ended up moving away as a massive one slammed down on the corpse of the once great Baba Lysaga. It smashed her to a pulp, but the last order it had received still remained.

"It's not stopping!" Sir Godfrey growled, "Vile fell magic!"

With a caw, the wereraven fluttered her wings and rose high in the air, "Whatever's animating it must be inside," Ezmeralda pointed out, even as I grabbed hold of my undead horse's bridles, the beast having come to the rescue. I extended my left hand to pull up Ezmeralda on the saddle and began to rush towards the hut's stairs. I could feel Ezmeralda get on her feet on the back of the horse.

"Steady!" Ezmeralda cried, holding on to my shoulders. I glanced at one of the massive roots, its trajectory coming for us.

I hoped Ezmeralda had a plan. Her plan, as it turned out, involved jumping off my back and slamming her handaxe into the wooden bark of the tree stump that held the house aloft, before starting to climb aboard. Meanwhile, Sir Godfrey neared at a gallop on his own skeletal horse.

"Let us circle the construct!" I yelled over the sound of the roots crashing down near us, "Distract it!"

"That I will," Sir Godfrey answered in turn, quickly turning his horse around and starting to circle in the opposite direction.

The massive roots crushed the cottages as if they were made of clay. Its tendrils grabbed hold of a broken piece of rubble and, lifting it up in the air, slammed it with incredible strength in my direction. I heard the rock sail with a whistling sound, and witnessed it arrive. My shield arm came up automatically, the thrumming sensation of heat within my body suffusing my limb as the impact would have shattered any normal human's arm into pulverized bits. Glistening energy ran across the throbbing arm, the sensation of the blow so great it temporarily took my breath away.

My horse trotted forth even then, my eyes watery from the impromptu strike, my breathing hitched ever so slightly. With will, the bone snapped in place, the sore flesh returned to its healthy condition, and the pain dulled and throbbed until it was utterly gone. I exhaled a breath I did not know I was ever capable of holding, and hoped that the hut would stop soon.

It did abruptly did so, my eyes narrowing to the sight of Ezmeralda appearing from the top of the hut, clutching a pulsing green gemstone the size of a pinecone in her hand, her other arm instead limp by her side.

The hut collapsed on itself, settling down without further issue.

"Thank you, Helm," I muttered with my eyes half-closed and my head slightly bowed. "For today more than ever, your eyes were on me."

I dismounted from the horse to gather my bearings, and neared slowly the hut's stairs. The last of the scarecrows had instead lost their lives to the ravens' swarms, which were now pecking their remains with some kind of vindictive glee.

I climbed the rickety hut's bark to reach the top, coming to a halt near the doorway. "How badly are you wounded?" I asked, warily glancing at Ezmeralda's limp arm. It looked as if something had attempted to chew it right off, only to fail miserably near the end.

"Nothing some rest and a potion won't fix," Ezmeralda answered with a sigh, "Got the gem out of the floorboard," she grimaced, "No traces of Savid."

"The elf ran as soon as he could!" Muriel's voice came from inside the hut, her expression bitter. "But there wasn't a child in the hut, foolish paladin."

I stepped inside, taking a good look around. The hut was fifteen feet on a side and packed with old furniture, including a wooden cot, a wicker cabinet, a slender wardrobe, a wooden table, a stool, a barrel-topped wooden chest reinforced with brass bands, and an iron tub stained with blood. In the middle of the room was a hole between the rotting floorboards, clear signs of being hacked at with a handaxe visible from the borders of it.

My eyes returned to the chest.

This card tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient will I help you better understand your enemy. I see a dead village, drowned by a river, ruled by one who has brought great evil into the world.

I neared it, kneeling by its side and passing my fingers across it. "Can someone open this?"

"Let me check," Ezmeralda said. She knelt in front of the chest while I stood up in turn, waiting patiently as the monster hunter began to pass her fingers carefully across the surface of the chest, and between its bands. She used small and thin metal wires, cautiously working her way until with a final look of satisfaction, a click echoed in the room.

She smiled as she opened the chest, pointing with one of her slender fingers at a glyph of sort, now marred in some spots and its magic fading quite quickly.

A second later, rotten hands emerged only to be swiftly cut down and impaled by both Godfrey and mine's swings. One of the hands ended up axed on the ground with little fuss from Ezmeralda herself.

"Nasty bit of a trap," Ezmeralda remarked, before her eyes began to gleam, "And hello to quite the treasure," she continued, staring at the glittering gems. Muriel, on her side, was literally salivating, her eyes wide as saucers at the sight of the gems within.

Five large gems rested amidst a treasure trove of golden coins, two scrolls latched firmly by the edges and one vial standing amidst them two of a bizarre oil. A pouch and a set of pipes rested in another corner of the chest, but the real prize came from a massive tome beneath a pristine looking green agate. My fingers moved, touching the gem first and lifting it up from the cover before, with trembling fingers, prying out of the chest the tome itself.

The thick leather cover was bound in steel hinges and fastenings, which gave way as my fingers pried open the tome. Most of the paragraphs were ancient and illegible, the calligraphy itself hard to parse. Age and wear had made most of it incomprehensible, but what little could be read, chilled the soul.

I am The Ancient, I am The Land. My beginnings are lost in the darkness of the past. I was the warrior, I was good and just. I thundered across the land like the wrath of a just god, but the war years and the killing years wore down my soul as the wind wears stone into sand. All goodness slipped from my life; I found my youth and strength gone and all I had left was death. My army settled in the valley of Barovia and took power over the people in the name of a just god, but with none of a god's grace or justice...

I could hear Ezmeralda cough, and I stopped reading, turning to look at her face, clearly hinting that she wanted a read too. "This is the baron's diary," I said, handing it over. "What little can be read will explain much of whom he was, and whom he has become and why."

Muriel, meanwhile, looked at the gems with a thin dribble of saliva. I knelt and grabbed two, handing them over. Her eyes widened like saucers. "T-Two!?" she exclaimed.

"Savid ran, and you did his share," I answered calmly. "Though I do not blame the elf for doing something that put his own mission at risk, you proved your courage more than ever. Why should you not be rewarded accordingly?"

Muriel hastily hid one of the two gems within the folds of her clothes, chuckling like a maniac before walking on the tip of her feet out of there, where the crows had meanwhile gathered by the hut's entrance. She showed the glimmering gem to them, more than one raven cawing in surprise in turn.

I shook my head. Well, if the woman was friendly with the ravens, then it explained that perhaps she was friendly with a wereraven too. If she shared the gem with her friend, then it would all be even in the end.

Sir Godfrey extended the pommel of the blade back towards me, and I blinked at the act. "The battle is over now," Sir Godfrey said. "I cannot in good conscience-"

"Until you are at peace," I said gently, pushing the pommel away, "I already have a blade; I do not need another for the time being. Keep it well maintained, that is all I ask."

The undead gave one simple nod, and then sheathed the blade by his belt.

Ezmeralda palmed the agate stone, glancing through it, "Looks like it's bound to bring luck, a stone like this one."

"Keep it then, every bit of luck that goes our way is well received," I hummed in reply. "Speaking of green stones, what about-"

"R-Right!" Muriel seemed to shake herself out of the reverie for the unexpected gifts, and rushed back inside, hand extended. "The stone-that magic one, I know whom it belongs to! Can I have it?"

Ezmeralda glanced warily at the filthy hand of the woman. "It's a magical stone," she said in the end, "How do I know I can trust you with it?"

"I'm not going to use it for something evil," Muriel remarked, "It's just-wait, it would be better if you brought it back," her eyes turned towards me. "There's a winery to the West. If we take the road north and then turn west, we're bound to reach it. We can cut through the woods to make the travel faster. They use those stones to make wine for Barovia-without it, there will be no more wine."

"We are on a mission," Sir Godfrey grumbled. "Bringing back wine to the Barovians can wait until we are done."

Muriel's eyes remained fixed steadily on mine. "Please, I know it doesn't look like much, not like helping a dead guy, but-but it's really important for us." She fumbled with her clothes, pulling out the two gems I had gifted her, "I-I can give these back if you-"

"No," I said in the end, glancing from Muriel to Sir Godfrey. "I will not accept payment for something that is righteous." I quietly slipped my shield off my arm, and sighed as I turned to stare at the effigy etched upon it. "Ever-Vigilant, I beseech you. Show me the path I must tread."

With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and, holding the shield aloft, gave it a single spin.

Abruptly, it stopped as if an invisible hand had wrenched it stuck.

The rain. The drizzle. The young holding one another in the cold mud. Needing aid. Needing protection. Needing justice.

"We march for the winery," I said, my eyes opening to stare into the burning eye of Helm's gauntlet for the briefest of instants. "There are innocents in need of aid," I exhaled, before turning to look at Sir Godfrey's icy eyes, which stared right back at me.

"Then let us hasten," Sir Godfrey said. "I will not put myself before the sake of the innocents."

"T-Thank you!" Muriel exclaimed, her exclamation half cawing and half joyous, if followed by a fit of coughing as the ravens began to caw and hop right and left on the edges of the hut. "You go! All of you, just...just go!" she shooed the ravens away, who flew off with what I felt was mirth in their continuous caws.

We had to hurry, and since there were now but four of us, we had no longer a need for the cart.

Sir Godfrey and Ezmeralda stood on one horse, the dead warrior lighter than I, while I was surprised to see Muriel wait patiently for my hand to help her climb.

"You're coming with?" I asked, "It's a dangerous path, this one."

"Only till the winery," Muriel answered. "I-I have friends there."

I nodded, and helped her aboard.

The positive thing of having undead horses became apparent eight hours of gallop later.

They did not tire, they did not tire at all.

 

[RichardWhereat]

So, Muriel killed Savid, and is yet another evil character?

 

[Madou Sutegobana]

"Thank you, Helm," I muttered with my eyes half-closed and my head slightly bowed. "For today more than ever, your eyes were on me.

Click to shrink...

Is it bad, that I am now imagining Helm-chan saying to herself, "I'm just making sure you complete your quest. It's not like I like watching you all the time, baka!"?

 

[Selias]

Crap. Shade is the Baron, isn't he?

 

[Charlezany]

Crap. Shade is the Baron, isn't he?

Click to shrink...

Oh.
Oh yeah, that works.

 

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Nine - The Wizard of Wines

The sun was standing at its zenith on the horizon as we came across a crossroad. There was a weatherworn signpost next to the road. The three arms of the sign pointed along the three branches of the road. The arm pointing north read KREZK, and through the woods I could see an arching stone bridge spanning a river. The arm pointing east read VALLAKI, and the road sloped up gradually in that direction. The arm pointing southwest read THE WIZARD OF WINES. The road sloped gently downward in that direction.

We proceeded southwest, the undead horse silent and without showing the barest hint of effort.

After a half mile, the road became a muddy trail that meandered through the woods, descending gradually until the trees parted, revealing a mist-shrouded meadow. The trail split. One branch headed west into the valley, and the other lead south into dark woods. A wooden signpost at the intersection pointed west and read, "Vineyard."

I slowed down my horse, taking in the sights as we proceeded west. A light drizzle began to fall. Unpainted fences blindly followed the trail, which skirted north of a sprawling vineyard before bending south towards a stately building. The fog took on ghostly forms as it swirled between the neatly tended rows of grapevines. Here and there, I saw rope-handled half-barrels used for hauling grapes. North of the trail was a large stand of trees. A man wearing a dark cloak and cowl stood at the edge of the trees, beckoning in our direction.

"That's one of my friends!" Muriel spoke, "I wonder why he's not in the fields?" she muttered next, her voice clearly betraying her worry.

"Let's find out," I answered, heading for the line of trees and halting as more human figures emerged from the treeline. Muriel didn't need a hand in hopping down from the horse, and as I dismounted next I neared with Godfrey once more flanking me on one side, Ezmeralda doing the same on the other.

"Be careful strangers," the old man muttered, "The winery has been taken by evil, and is safe no longer."

"Well, it's going to be safe soon enough then," Muriel answered with what looked like a pleased expression, shifting her weight on her feet back and forth as if barely containing her excitement. She then turned towards me, "Go on, show him!"

I raised an eyebrow, and then turned towards Ezmeralda. The monster hunter pulled out from one of her many pouches the pinecone-sized green gem, and at its sight, the small band of humans had pretty much the same reaction. Their eyes widened, their mouths opened ever so briefly, and more than a few broke into bright smiles as if they had heard the very first good news of their entire life.

"Y-You recovered one of the magical seeds," the old man muttered, hesitantly nearing, "They're-They're really important, you have no idea of what great service you've done us," Ezmeralda handed the pinecone over, and the old man continued, "Where are my manners? Old age will make a fool out of anyone. I'm Davian-Davian Martikov, this is my son," he began to do presentations, moving through every human and ending with the children too, whose small heads popped shyly out from behind the trees, nervously waving in our direction. "And this is the little one, Yolanda," and with that said, he pointed at a small girl held in the arms of a tired-looking woman.

"I am Sir Shade of Shallowbrook, paladin of the Ever-Vigilant," I answered patting my chest and the symbol of Helm emblazoned upon it. "This is Sir Godfrey, knight of the Silver Order," I gestured at the man, who gave a stiff half-nod of its head, "And this is Ezmeralda," I gestured at the woman, "Incredible monster hunter."

"You'll make me blush," Ezmeralda snickered, shaking her curly head in disbelief, "But that's not that far from the truth," she placed a hand on her hip. "So, what's the problem? What kind of evil took the winery over?"

"The druids," Adrian, the old man's son, spoke. "The druids from Yester Hill, they're madmen, the lot of them; they serve the devil," he spat to the side in disgust, "They've come with their monsters made of wood, and there's no telling what they're planning to do in the winery."

"As if the hag of Berez wasn't enough of a worry," Stefania, the old man's daughter, added. "I'm sure she's gloating thinking about all the evil she's caused us."

"She can't laugh anymore," Muriel said with a pleased expression. "And she won't harm anyone again!"

The old man, Davian, cracked a smile at that. "I was wondering what seed had been recovered-there were three in origin. One was taken by the druids, one by the hag and the third," his face turned sorrowful, "The third was lost when that stupid son of mine fell asleep during his watch." He huffed, and shook his head as if to cast the bad thoughts away. "I won't bother you with family issues, but please, the winery's important to the people of Barovia, not just to us-"

"We'll take it back from the forces of evil," Sir Godfrey promised. "Some wooden monsters and madmen won't stop us."

I gave a solemn nod, "Stay here until we're done," I glanced sideways at Muriel, "Do keep them safe, you and that wereraven friend of yours."

Muriel's body half-froze, if temporarily, and then she gave a nervous bout of laughter. "S-Sure!" she smiled, awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to the other, "You know me, courageous fighter!"

With a last nod, I turned and hopped back on the undead horse, Sir Godfrey doing the same for his. Ezmeralda, instead, shook her head at Sir Godfrey's offered hand. "I'll go by foot," she added. "You make too much noise for my tastes; they'll see you coming a mile afar, and I know there's no point in asking you to hide."

I gave her a wry smile, and then turned towards Sir Godfrey, "Then, my brother in arms, shall we?"

Sir Godfrey unsheathed his blade, "Allow me to open us a path!" and with a bellowing cry, the undead horse galloped forward, myself hot on its tail.

Situated in the midst of the vineyard, the winery was an old, two-story stone building with multiple entrances, thick ivy covering every wall, and iron fencing along its roofline. The trail ended at an open loading dock on the ground floor. A wooden stable of more recent construction was attached to the east side of the winery, next to the loading dock. West of the winery was a crumbling well and a wooden outhouse.

Yet no foe came to meet us from outside the winery. All was silent. The silence, unfortunately, didn't last long.

The rustle of dead vines rose all around us. Inhuman shapes emerged from the vineyard, their limbs cracking as they trudged forth through the mist and rain.

For a brief moment, I wondered if the whole vineyard had risen up to attack us, but as the first group emerged, I saw them for what they were. Needle blights, trudging on their misshapen limbs towards the winery itself, their arms extended and grasping at the air.

They did not attack immediately, and neither did we. We waited, patiently, for them to clear most of the vineyard with their slow gait.

And then we charged.

We were outnumbered, but we had faith.

It made the fight even.

 

[RichardWhereat]

The Druids won't even turn out to be evil, it'll just be that Adrian's a prejudiced prick who opposed to the idea that mortal-made necromantic rituals are causing climate change.

 

[Davian_Veq]

Bleh, always feels weird when the name I've taken pops up somewhere else...

 

[shadenight123]

Bleh, always feels weird when the name I've taken pops up somewhere else...

Click to shrink...

Fun fact. The name is 'Davian' because it's a play on words. It's 'D'Avian' (where 'Avian' stands for bird) and that's because *spoilers* he's a Wereraven, the origin of the line! They're all wereravens! The Wizards of the Coasts choice-pick of names is spot-on as always!

 

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Ten - The Wizard of Wines

The Blights crumpled. The horses, albeit skeletal, crushed beneath their hooves much of the enemy's forces as they trampled past. The Sunsword eagerly burned through the roots, my shield trembled in my arm as sharp bullets made of thorns shattered against it. Sir Godfrey sliced through his own share of the enemies with practiced ease. The trick to mounted combat was to never allow the enemy to overwhelm you; once that was practiced, it was a matter of keeping as much of the body shielded as possible, and swing the blade at the right time.

Sharp, cruel cries echoed from the winery's docking station, a maddening form of pelts and crude vines held a crooked-looking wand-like implement in one of its hands.

The ground beneath our horses' hooves ruptured, large vines growing to entangle our mounts in place. They briefly rose to match my height, and then crumpled back down, as if the magic holding them up had been abruptly cut down.

Ezmeralda's handaxe glimmered with the blood of the dead druid, the cleaving blow to the neck leaving the maddened cultist dead. She ran away soon after, a bundle of small, humanoid-shaped twigs emerging after the druid. Their numbers grew by the second, pouring out like a vicious swarm. They rushed on their tiny legs, claws raised like miniature dolls seeking to be carried, but with malice lurking within their eyes.

They broke, they broke with terrifying ease beneath the hooves of our skeletal horses. I jumped off the horse, swinging my blade in overarching arcs in front of me to cleanse more of the vicious creatures.

From the winery's main door, another mad druid appeared. A necklace of teeth around its neck, purplish foam pouring out from his mouth. He pointed at me, and two humanoid-shaped plants made of twisting vines poured out from the door, rushing towards me as their long limbs twisted in the air, trying to wrap around me.

They did not go far. The Sunsword's blade sliced through the vines with ease as I stepped to the side, swatting the offending tendrils away with my shield and cutting them, greenish and noxious sap pouring on the ground. With a kick, I smashed a Twig Blight under my armored boot.

A crossbow bolt took the air out of the druid, Ezmeralda's shape briefly visible from the outskirts of the vineyard, like a hunting panther on the prowl. The mad druid fell on his knees, clutching the dart lodged in his throat. The humanoid vine bushes slammed their tendrils into the ground as I neared them, roots bursting free from the ground trying, and failing, to hold me back.

I advanced, as slowly and as surely as the inevitable end of evil when presented with a chosen paladin of good.

There was a sharp bang, a noise of broken wood, and a third druid emerged from the loading station. This one had flames glowing in his hands, which he threw with hateful glee in my direction. The flames struck my shield and bathed it in sparks, but Godfrey jumped from his horse and struck the druid with the edge of his blade, impaling him on the ground with the telltale sound of broken bones accompanying the madmen's last breath.

There was poetry in a well-oiled group of adventurers fighting ever-increasing odds with meticulous precision.

The blights growled and screamed, but those were the laments of the dying. A few swarms of crows, attracted by the noise, or seeking to make nests, emerged from the top of the winery's rafters to claw and beak at the small twiglings, crushing them in a matter of seconds.

As our surroundings grew quieter, Ezmeralda took one look at the main entrance, and then quietly crept inside. I glanced back at Godfrey, who instead wielded his blade as he stepped through into the docking station.

I followed the knight of the Silver Dragon; my armor wasn't made for stealth, and if I attempted to follow Ezmeralda, I'd just make her a more visible target in the tight confines of the house.

Parked in the loading dock was a wagon with three barrels set in braces on the bed. A raised wooden walkway ran along the west, south, and east walls. Through a hole in the ceiling I could see the wooden arm of a loading crane with ropes and hooks dangling from it. The door at the end was ajar, and the hinges bent. A great force had caved it; and it didn't look like it would close anytime soon.

The floorboards above us creaked. I glanced at Godfrey, who returned my silent stare with a nod. He pointed at the top of the crane, indicating the room above us.

I could see a spiraling wooden ramp at the end of the hallway, leading up and down the winery's floors. He gave me a silent nod, and I rushed the ramp with him quickly behind me. My grip on the Sunsword tight, I reached the top. The room had a wooden floor with a ten-foot-square hole cut into the middle of it. Looming over the hole was a wooden winch. Perched atop it was a man with wild hair, rotted teeth, and skin painted red with blood. He waved a gnarled staff made from a black branch and babbled in an incomprehensible tongue.

Nature bows to my whims! I have the vampire's staff!

The babbling madman attempted to jump down, but his feet froze in place, a brilliantly golden light departing my wrist and ensnaring his very soul into a conflict branded by the God Helm as my witness.

He adjusted the trajectory of his jump, landing on the wooden floor. "I am duty-bound to fight him alone," I spoke to Godfrey, the first actual words spoken since the start of the fight. "Check the rest of the winery for others like him."

Godfrey moved, his steps growing dimmer as he did just that, implicitly trusting me to deal with the druid alone.

"You will fall. You will fail," the druid blabbed on excitedly, madness creeping through his bloodshot eyes. "The Baron will stop you! We will stop you!"

I neared, sighing as the druid's entire frame seemed to still.

It was not rage that moved my arm to deflect the swing of the staff aiming at my head. It was not anger that had my shield ring true as it struck the center of the staff. It was not fury that had my Sunsword dig deep into the druid's stomach, the smell of sizzling flesh filling my nostrils briefly.

"W-Why," the druid gurgled mouthfuls of blood, even as I brought the blade upwards, swinging through his chest, and the staff he held. The rotten branch shattered with a mournful scream, "Why are you looking at me...like that."

"Because I pity you all," I muttered back, watching the druid's form slump and fall on the ground, a puddle of blood drenching the wood around him. "Puppets of a cruel puppet show, held by strings you did not seek, but forced to dance a most macabre dance," I sighed and turned, walking away from the corpse as I rejoined the others.

The Wizard of Wines was cleared.

The curse that straddled and choked Barovia was not.

Not yet, anyway.

 

[Madou Sutegobana]

"Why are you looking at me...like that."

Click to shrink...

Anybody else feel like that line would be funny with '..Sempai?' tacked onto the end?

Either way, it is a question.

Great chapter as always, Shade!

 

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Eleven - The Wizard of Wines

The recovery of the winery had the people elated. The planting of the pinecone-sized green gem at one of the sides of the wine plantation had a far more resounding effect. The fogs of Barovia shifted away, the very land which had looked dull and grey gained color anew, and for the briefest of moments the sun seemed to shine down on the luscious grapes still to be collected.

It was a beautiful sight for sore eyes.

"The wine's nearly all ruined," the gruff voice of the elder Martikov came with a sad tone, holding on to a walking cane he recovered from the winery. "We'll have to dump most of it."

I furrowed my brows as I looked at the old man. A twinge of guilt passed through my chest. The red wine would be lost, we should have been quicker.

I shook my head a second later. We couldn't be quicker; it wasn't our fault.

"I am sorry I cannot help you with that," I answered in turn, "Will you be safe with us leaving in the morrow?" I asked, glancing at the overcast sky and at the dying sun. We had fought enough battles for the day, and as much as my heart drummed in my chest with the worry of the Baron coming down on us, I could not help but steel my resolve. If he came, he would find us waiting for him. If he did not come, then what was the point in worrying for him?

"That we will," Davian grumbled, "But-well," he glanced right and left, the tinkling silver objects that seemed to protrude from his cloak making a small racket. "The druids might come back," he added. "If you could go up to Yester Hill and put the fear of your God into them, I'd be thankful."

I glanced from the worried old man to the dirt road that lost itself in the depths of the forest. I glanced up, at the sky turning darker.

My breathing was even. The Sunsword's emotions were in turmoil. How longer would she have to wait before plunging into Strahd's chest, and destroy the vampire utterly?

My eyes then moved to where the children were playing, now looking definitely better, washed and clothed with dry, clean clothes. The Sunsword's turmoil abated.

"Godfrey, Ezmeralda," I said to the two, both hanging around the pinecone's planting area. "We'll move in the morrow, but-"

A twinge of understanding crossed Ezmeralda's face. "Well, the baron's not going anywhere anytime soon, and these people could use some help with their druid infestation."

Sir Godfrey remained silent, if briefly. He then glanced at the dirt path, "We will be bringing the fight to Strahd's believers," he said in the end. "We will teach them the folly of venerating a devil."

I smiled, a weight off my chest. "Thank you," I said in the end.

That night we dined as if it were a feast. The bread was hard, but soaked in a soup of onions and carrots it became edible. A few boiled eggs were added to the mixture, and wine was shared amidst everyone. Mine was watered down. Sir Godfrey didn't eat, standing brooding guard near the winery's main door, if with a couple of crows cawing up to him with mirthful looks in their beady eyes.

He didn't shoo them away.

Thunder pealed across the air. Lightning struck nearby. A sudden downpour descended. My senses tingled. The candles and the firepit of the dining room dimmed.

Godfrey stepped back from the door, a hand to the hilt of his blade. I stood up from the table, quietly moving by his side. Beneath the pitch-black darkness of a starless sky with no moon, a lone rider trotted forward. He stopped a short distance away, in the courtyard and the mud. Behind him, humanoid figures lurched in the yard, drawing closer with soft-spoken curses uttered from their foul mouths.

"I am but a weary traveler," the voice spoke in a rich, baritone tone. It felt friendly, and warm. "May I come in, for the night is dark, and cold, and filled with dangers?" Thunder echoed. A flash of light briefly illuminated the figure's eyes. Dark, evil points of light.

"I am afraid a guest such as you is unwanted," I answered back, clutching on tightly to the Sunsword, feeling her wrath, her anger, her determination in moving and striking at the monster in front of us. His horse began to glow, casting light as ethereal, infernal flames illuminated the figure standing atop it.

Baron Strahd Von Zarovich stood in all of its noble glory upon the horse. Wearing crimson velvet clothes and a dark, large mantle, he clutched the reins of his magical horse and showed a brief smile. "You would refuse me entrance? You are not the master of the house," he spoke. "Bring him to me, so that he may speak with his mouth."

I extended a hand towards the inside, an open palm and then a quick move of the index to signal that no, he was not to move from within.

"If he will not show himself, then I will be back! Night after night, to lull his children to sleep, to drink and be merry with something sweeter than wine," the Baron hissed, his eyes starting to glow in anger. Above my head, beyond the door's threshold, I heard the wood creak. Were there vampire spawns walking upon it, ready to descend upon us the moment we left the safety of the house?

"I don't think you will, Strahd," I answered as I took a step outside, my shield fastened. The Sunsword ignited in my hand. Above my head, sharp screams echoed as the vampire's spawns jumped away, singed and burned, screaming and crying from the pain they felt. The Baron's eyes widened as the sun burned through the heavy downpour, turning the raindrops into a spectacle of glittering diamonds.

I stepped forward, the encroaching sunlight nearing ever the more the Baron, revealing the figures of Ghouls behind him, more than half a dozen.

"You may be the ancient, and you may be the land," I snarled, "But I am a Paladin of Helm, and as long as I draw breath, you will be the hunted, and I will be the hunter."

The golden shackles of a promised duel rushed forth, but with a swatting hand they shattered against the vampire's open palm. He snarled, all traces of nobility leaving his face. "Then so be it," he growled. "Come find me, then. I will crush you, I will destroy you. Like all those that came before you, I will break you."

I raised my shield in front of me, and heard the telltale sound of Godfrey's armor tinkling as he took a stance by my side. The magical horse neighed loudly, slamming his hooves on the ground as fire and flames left the point of impact, before sailing off in the night.

"Kill the paladin! All of you! Kill him, or die trying!" The vampire spawns of Strahd screamed at the cruel orders, raising their hands and then rushing forward. Their skin began to burn, their frames charred, but yet they advanced. The Ghouls snarled, rushing like maddened animals.

"Move aside!" Ezmeralda yelled, her voice taking a turn for the mystical, arcane words leaving her lips as lightning coalesced in the palm of her open hand. Godfrey and I moved, and the bolt of lightning rushed forth, burning to ashes and cinders three unlucky ghouls. Strahd's spawns were upon me, their bodies heavily singed, and their agony second only to the madness of their enforced loyalty.

A shield bash shattered the canine of the first, my blade dug into the second's stomach, incinerating him on the spot. The third jumped on my back, but his grip came less as he turned to ashes, the first spawn following the same fate swiftly with an overhead swing.

The ghouls broke, their bones brittle and their undead bodies crumbling before they could set foot inside the winery.

The rain kept falling.

"The Baron is not a patient monster," Sir Godfrey said as he turned to stare at me. "He will come for us if we won't go to him."

"Then we'll let him come," I answered. "In the morning, we'll head for Yester Hill. Then we'll depart." I said as I stepped back inside, where the gathered Martikov family stood wary. The children were huddled in a corner, their parents hovering protectively over them. "Keep the windows locked, and make sure no one looks into the eyes of visitors or guests," I said to Davian, "Tomorrow morning we'll deal with the druids, and then we'll head for the baron."

"You should stop by the city of Krezk before going," Adrian, Davian's eldest son, spoke. "There's holy water in their well, and the Abbot's-"

"We may be tarrying too long," Ezmeralda said. "If we take further detours, the Baron might come for you all."

Adrian glanced around, the old man bitterly chewing on the end of a pipe. "Then let him come, we'll fight him," he slammed his walking cane on the ground. "We'll send calls for help from our friends in Vallaki. They'll be glad to come and defend the wine."

"I understand," I said. "Holy water would not be remiss in our fight," I continued. "And perhaps the Abbot may be of aid, if he's a holy man-"

"No," Ezmeralda bluntly said. "There is nothing of holy in the Abbot."

I blinked, and then glanced at the monster hunter, who looked mighty uncomfortable. "Is there something I should know?" I asked, gently.

Ezmeralda grimaced, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and then placed her back against the wall of the dining hall. "There is," she said in the end. She glanced at the rest of the Martikov family, and hesitated at the sight of the children. She didn't need to speak for the mother to understand and bring them off to bed. Once they left, she continued. "The Abbot is mad. Eternally young and mad," she said. "He has monsters under his service, and has them dig up corpses," she continued. "He thinks that if he can show Strahd a beautiful wife, then the Baron's love will break the curse and free everyone."

I took a small breath. "I-I don't think that's going to work, but why does he dig up the corpses?"

"To make the perfect bride," Ezmeralda said. This time, I connected the dots.

"That is sacrilegious," Sir Godfrey growled. "Mad and blasphemous, the dead should be laid to rest, all of them," he grimaced as he tightened the grip of his gauntlet on the amulet around his neck, glinting of silver, depicting the dragon symbol of his order.

"The burgomaster is a honest man," Davian said, "If he knew-"

"There are a lot of monsters in the Abbey," Ezmeralda answered, "And not enough guards, and the Abbot himself, there's something eerie about him. Even if he knew, and even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to do anything."

I took a deep breath. "First Yester Hill," I said. "Then we aim for Krezk."

The Baron would have to wait.

I would not lose sight of those around me in the pursuit of a singular goal.

That way lay darkness.

I would save them all.

With faith in my chest, and my God's name on my lips.

 

[divoratore1]

Damn right! Golden Ending all the way!

 

[TimeLordLucario]

What happened to the celestial hound that shade had, before the fight with the hobgoblins, and the glory hound dude? They were never mentioned after they went off somewhere.

 

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Twelve - Yester Hill

The trail through the thick woods led to a hill covered with dead grass and cairns of black rock. Dark, ominous clouds gathered high above, and a single bolt of lightning struck the hilltop. West of the hill, the land, the woods, and the sky vanished behind a towering wall of fog. The weather was chilly, an unsettling humidity clinging to my skin and chilling my very bones. It threatened rain, but yet it did not rain. It was the calm before the tempest, the silence prior to the hurricane, and the air was filled with the tension of an inevitable battle.

We climbed in silence, our eyes strained for anything out of the ordinary and our ears perked for the barest of signs. Our horses had been left at the beginning of the trail, but they'd come with but a thought to our aid if the need arose.

Dirt trails ran along two concentric rings of cairns that encircled the hillside. Each cairn was a ten-foot-high mound of slimy black rocks.

It was as we moved past them that I heard a whisper, a deep voice carried on the wind.

"Long have I waited," the voice said, "for one who is worthy. My spear hungers for blood. Retrieve it, and rule these mountains in my stead, just like the mighty warriors from the early days of the Whispering Wall."

I stopped, my companions stopping in turn. I could feel a sensation prickling across my mind, trying to gently tug me towards a cairn that seemed untouched, moss growing across it and vines stretching upon the rocks. I tensed, and then shook my head. "Manifest yourself, ghost of the past," I said, "Or leave me be. I have no intention to rule these blighted lands, and no desire to satisfy your spear's hunger for blood."

Sir Godfrey tensed, his blue eyes glancing around with his blade at the ready.

Ezmeralda glanced around, furrowing her brows in search of the ghost in question.

"Then you are weak," the voice hissed, a lightning bolt striking a cairn nearby. The stone shattered, the entrance buried. "Begone then!" it gurgled out. "Another, worthier, will come in your stead!"

I clenched my blade tightly, "You misunderstand me," I growled. "I will not allow evil to withstand my passage. Manifest yourself, show me whom you are! Or is cowardice all that remains of you?"

"Is it wise to anger the ghost?" Sir Godfrey asked from my side.

"If we leave him here, he might aid one of Strahd's allies," I replied, "Better to deal with him now than later."

"Yeah, well, I haven't heard a word he's saying," Ezmeralda said, warily. "And if he's a ghost, no chance I'm going to see him coming."

"That will be all right," Sir Godfrey spoke, "Stay close by, and we will protect you, Lady Ezmeralda."

Ezmeralda snorted. "I don't really need protection, this lady protects herself pretty well."

The wind grew in intensity, another lightning bolt struck a cairn nearby, shattering it. "Then so be it!" the spirit's voice rose, a grimy hand rising from the shattered burial mound with a spear clutched in it. "I will not be called a coward, not I!" though the flesh was putrefied by time, though the bones showed, the undead creature that emerged from the mound was massive yet.

In life, perhaps, it had been a proud warrior of the barbarian tribes. It stood tall, eyes aglow with crimson hatred for the living, and the spear he clutched in his hand dripped with fresh blood, as if it had been bathed just recently.

It pointed a finger in my direction, anger billowing through his voice. "I will have the name of the one who disturbed my slumber with his accusations of my cowardice!" he snarled. "And I will find satisfaction, in bathing my spear in your blood!"

I took a step forward, Sunsword alight in my right hand. "I am Sir Shade of Shallowbrook, Paladin of the Ever-Vigilant. I will not allow for the evil that is Strahd to be strengthened, and I will not allow for that which is evil to stand upon this lands," I prepped my shield. "Now, give me your name!"

The undead slammed the bottom of his spear on the ground, lightning crisscrossing across the clouds overhead.

"I am Kavan!" he spoke with the bellowing voice of thunder, "Chieftain of the Whispering Wall's tribe! Undefeated in battle, drinker of foe blood, night terror of my enemies!"

He twirled his spear above his head, and then glared at my companions. "Will you fight me to prove your worth, or will you seek your allies' aid?" he bared his rotten teeth, yellow and crooked.

"I will fight you alone, to prove the conviction of my words," I answered, "And if I win, then I demand you to never ally with Strahd, or his allies!"

"You dare make demands of me!? But very well! If you win, I will do so," Kavan laughed cruelly, "In my victory, your life will be forfeited anyway! Now enough blabbering, let us fight!" he rushed forward, a torrent of rotten muscles and hardened bones.

His spear had the advantage of the increased reach, and it became clear pretty soon that the undead was not a boisterous person for nothing; he knew how to press his advantage. The spear thrusts were second only to the speed with which he retracted it, managing the advantage on the wet muddy ground. I could hear the metal of my armor dent under some blows which pierced past my shield. The plate armor held, though dented, but it was no luck.

The enemy in front of me was skilled, and he rushed when he felt he could, avoided what feints he could see, and waited for the inevitable tiring that would soon befall me.

Thus, I could not allow this to continue.

I knelt, bringing my shield up to cover most of my body behind it. I heard the whistling sound of the spear's tip coming for my neck, the wicked jagged edges bleeding profusely, and as it did, I lunged forward. My legs burned under the strain of the effort, but I closed the distance fast enough that the undead had no choice but to switch the hold on his spear to swat away my thrust.

He did not expect my body to tackle against him, my armored knee digging a deep wound into his rotten stomach. My shoulder pressed against his hold, his strength like that of a wall of hard masonry, refusing to budge even though I kept him from swinging.

"You came in close," the undead snarled, "You don't lack guts, but you do lack strength!" he laughed gleefully, a bellowing roar leaving his throat as his muscles began to bulge, unholy energies mockingly mimicking the rage of the living barbarian he had once been. His strength increased. It was like facing an avalanche, an unflinching avalanche from which there could be no escape.

"Though the mountain may crumble," I whispered, "And our time come to pass, we will die holding back the tide, for that is the oath we swore!"

My blade pulsed warmly with energy, searing blue flames igniting as I thrust the blade forward only to see Kavan jump aside and swat my blade away. I took that as the cue to lunge, slamming my shield forward and leaving myself open to what I knew would be a hard thrust. Pain lanced through my body as the barbarian took the opening, piercing straight through my breastplate and shattering the chainmail beneath.

I could feel blood pooling across my chest as he ripped the tip aside, laughing maniacally.

Or he would have, had I not swung my arm to clutch on the spear itself, holding it tightly in place.

Then, I swung down my blade with a bellowing cry.

There was a pulse, a cry, and a fountain of blood washed out from the spear itself. The wood cracked and splintered, a deluge of crimson liquid draining into the muddy terrain, leaving the barbarian chieftain with but a broken spear in his hands.

The wound on my chest stopped bleeding, the energies within me burning to sear the wound to a close, replenishing my strength, restoring my breath and granting me the chance to lunge for a strike into the enemy's chest. The once proud barbarian chieftain stared with a look akin to murder in his eyes as the searing blue flames of my blade began to lash out at his body, sizzling his rotten flesh and opening up a hole that would have killed any living being.

His hands both stretched towards my throat; his fingers dug into the metal of my armor, denting it further.

I began to push my blade upwards, the flames burning louder still. The barbarian's eyes ignited with fury as his strength began to dim. Though I could not breath, I would not break nor bend.

"This is the way of the mountain," Kavak spoke at last, his strength leaving him as his fingers stopped trying to break my neck. "You do not take what is offered, but you claim it with your strength of arm," he did not smile, but he seemed to understand. "And so I pass from this world with my weapon broken. If another comes, then he will need to find his own strength." His arms fell limp by his side. "Truly," he said as his body began to crumple into bits and pieces of blood-soaked mud. "What a fine warrior you would have made under my command."

I swung the blade further up, slicing him in half as he finished collapsing into a pile of mud and rotten bones.

"May your spirit be at peace now," I said, trying to catch my breath. "These lands have seen enough blood spilled to last for generations."

I returned to my companions, the feeling of fire still burning within my chest where the wound had dug deep, and had yet been sealed shut. I grimaced and bowed my head ever so slightly at them both. "Apologies for the delay."

Ezmeralda shrugged, "It's all right. One less monster, one less threat," she said.

"Let us hope there are no more like him," Sir Godfrey said instead, "Or if there are, then the next shall be mine to defeat. You could use a moment of respite, Sir Shade," he added.

"It's all right, Godfrey," I answered. "We must not tarry."

And tarry we did not.

Atop the hill was a wide ring of black boulders and smaller rocks that collectively formed a makeshift wall enclosing a field of dead grass. Lightning struck the edge of the ring from time to time, illuminating a ghastly, fifty-foot-tall statue made of tightly woven twigs and packed with black earth. The statue resembled a towering, cloaked man with fangs.

We came to a stop near it, Ezmeralda's hand gesturing at us to halt. We stopped and allowed her to creep quietly forward, her body tense and ready. Her fingers touched the ground, her gaze flicked across the entire field. While she did so, my gaze wandered west into the large curtain of fog that was the ever-present border of Barovia, where I saw a white fortress on a hill above a great city. The city appeared quite distant, maybe a mile away. The fog obscured all detail, but I could hear what sounded like the echo of a church bell.

It was a dull echo. It was a dull echo that made my heart throb with unwarranted pain, or perhaps it was just the spear wound.

It was probably just the spear wound.

"The ground is freshly dug in certain spots," Ezmeralda whispered. "There are roots twitching at the base of the statue, and they don't look normal."

"This place reeks of foul magic," Sir Godfrey muttered, "I can feel it in my bones. The Druids must be hidden nearby."

He stood up, and wielded his blade firmly. "Now, it is my turn," he said with a knowing look. "Allow me to play my part," and with those words, he walked determinedly towards the center of the field of dead grass.

"I am Sir Godfrey Gwilym! Knight of the Silver Dragon order! Show yourselves, allies of Strahd! Show yourselves, for your time has come!" as soon as he spoke, the freshly dug ground shifted, and hands emerged from within it. Though these hands were living, and belonged to druids and warriors alike. They rose with mud drenching their clothes, hissing and snarling in a foreign language that hurt the ears to hear.

Sir Godfrey did not waste time, lounging for the first druid on his path and cleaving him in half with a mighty swing of my old bastard sword. The druid barely had the time to realize death was upon him, before a warrior wielding a greataxe lunged and slammed the weapon against the knight's back. Or at least, it attempted to do. Sir Godfrey moved, grabbing his blade with both hands to deflect and throw away the incoming swing, before shifting his grip to thrust into the exposed stomach of the human, who copiously bled as he fell on the ground.

More hands were emerging from the circle though. I could count at least a good dozen. I glanced at Ezmeralda, who returned my unspoken signal. She moved, deftly skirting the sides of the field and striking from the back the druids that emerged further away. I trudged at a slight distance from her, my blaze sizzling through the flesh of those that still seemed to linger in the realm of the living, or striking at those who would attempt to stop her path of carnage.

By the time the last of the enemies fell, Sir Godfrey stood bathed in the blood of a few of them, and looked pleasantly around to meet our gaze. "They fell like wheat to the farmer's scythe."

"It is a credit to the skill of the warrior then," I pointed out. "Any signs of the gemstone?"

"Not that I can see," Ezmeralda said, "But if it holds true to where I found the last one, and what purpose it served," she eyed the wooden statue, a flask of lantern oil now dangling from two of her fingers. "I feel like this kind of weather could use some fire to warm and dry us up."

Strahd's statue burned pleasantly upon Yester Hill, one final insult hurled the way of the Baron.

My chest lifted, my spirit rose. And in the end, we left Yester Hill with a pine cone-sized green gem.

Yet I could not fully be content with the situation.

The village of Krezk, and its abbey, awaited us still...

...and the greater threat of the Baron now was ever-present in my thoughts.

 

[Zanji117]

Oh boy that abbey, did I ever mention how our wizard pissed that thing off so bad that it wiped the village off the face of the map

 

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Thirteen - Krezk

The second magical pinecone made the vineyard blossom even more, rich and lush grapes gleaming happily across most of the fields, if not for a dark corner that still yielded to the fog. Yet it was enough, I reckoned, to give further peace of mind to the Martikov family.

Our path to Krezk clear for I had words to exchange with the Abbott, and none would be pleasant, Davian set about his sons to buy our path into the city with wine. Thus we were to be an escort to the carriage itself, and Davian's two family members, Adrian and Elvir. On our way there, ravens took to perching on the carriage, though a couple decided to find safe refuge on my armor's shoulders.

I hoped the village had a blacksmith, because my armor was in dire need of repairs.

"Shade," Sir Godfrey spoke, nearing his horse to mine, "A moment of your time."

"All the time I can spare is at your disposal, Godfrey," I answered back.

The man's face was a frown, his lips though rotten still looked thin. "When you spoke of the Baron's redemption," he said, "Could it be applied to the likes of the order of the Silver Dragon too?"

"I...I do not know," I said softly. "What I do know is that redemption comes from within," I added. "And when it cannot, then it is because the mind is locked away behind the fog of strong emotions." I glanced up, at the nebulous sun hidden by the fog. "We are taught that certain creatures of undeath are brought back by their emotions. Their hatred for the living focuses their souls, makes them claw back, willing to accept any and all punishment and sin, for a chance at having revenge." I sighed. "But once they achieve their revenge, they simply seek the death of all of the living, claiming their current misery on those who did nothing to help them."

Godfrey turned thoughtful. "Why then, am I different from my fellow knights?"

"I think it's because no one is born the same," I answered easily enough, "Though two paladins of Helm will most certainly pray to the Ever-Vigilant, they won't necessarily agree on how to uphold his tenets. You, perhaps, possess something that made you look past the haze of hatred, some greater calling, some stronger source of will," I stared at the road ahead of us.

"If only I knew what it was," Godfrey murmured.

"I have a question too," Ezmeralda asked from the wine wagon, her arms crossed by the edge of the carriage.

I glanced at her, and gave her a silent nod with my head.

"I'm all for killing the baron, and I'll fight by your side till the end, but-" she hesitated, "but the Baron has a whole land at his disposal, and there's only three of us."

"That may be true," I answered, "But I have faith-"

"Yeah, and faith works for you like some kind of indestructibility, I've seen the stuff you pulled," Ezmeralda muttered, shaking her head. "Lesser men would have died. I would have died."

"It is merely the strength of my faith and conviction in my God that strengthens me," I answered. "But I suspect you are referring to yourself. You are not a faithful person?"

Ezmeralda sighed, scoffed, and then looked away. "I'm not particularly religious, no. And I'm not saying I wouldn't go. I'd go. It's just, like my teacher used to say, there's a difference between going with a plan, and just knocking at someone's door loud enough for them to come out and face you."

I chuckled. "Well, that was not my intention."

Ezmeralda smiled at that, "So, you do have a plan."

"Of course I do not," I answered, chuckling at the sight of Ezmeralda's widening eyes before she indignantly spluttered a few choice words in a tongue I couldn't parse. Perhaps it was a dialect of sorts. "Thus, I will do what wisdom dictates I should do. Ezmeralda, since you are the monster hunter par excellence among us, could you come up with a plan?"

Ezmeralda turned thoughtful. "If I knew where my teacher went, he might help us too."

"You never mentioned him before," I pointed out. "Is he in Barovia too?"

Ezmeralda nodded, "Yes, he came to these lands to defeat Strahd. He's the world's most renowned monster hunter, Doctor Rudolph Van Richten."

I sighed, and then chuckled. "I am afraid I have never heard of him, but then, if the pupil is such a great hunter, then the teacher must be a sight to behold."

Ezmeralda smiled, visibly pleased at the praise of her teacher. "He is," she said. "And that you haven't heard of him is probably because your ears were too stuffed with religious chants. How can you not know of the man that hails from Darkon and has defeated more werewolves and vampires than any can count?"

"Perhaps because Darkon sounds foreign to my ears," I pointed out. Something nudged at the back of my mind. Something cold, dreadful and silent. It slithered into my head like a thought that refused to back down, a memory dredged back up from some remote confines, a sad, sorrowful one that seemed to take my breath away. I shuddered as I closed my eyes shut ever so briefly, shaking my head to clear it of the thoughts within.

"Is something the matter?" Ezmeralda asked, suddenly alert.

"I-" I choked on my words, on my throat, as the memory rushed further in. "I know the games you are playing," I hissed to the fog, to the cursed and wretched beings that ruled these lands with their silent acts, "And you will not find me unprepared for them." I steeled myself, and took a deep breath. "I know," I said in the end. "I know of him and what he has done," I glanced at her with a bitter smile, "My memory merely needed a bit of a nudge."

"Is that so...there's something sad in what you heard about him, is there?" Ezmeralda asked, and I nodded once, before returning my eyes to the road ahead of us. "The man kept secrets, lots of them," she added when she realized I would not be forthcoming with what I remembered-no, with what I was made to remember. "It annoyed me to no end."

"I have no secrets that are mine," I answered gently, "And those I have do not belong to me," I finished.

Silence stretched for the reminder of the journey, until we finally arrived near our destination.

The road branched north and climbed a rocky escarpment, ending at a gatehouse built into a twenty-foot-high wall of stone reinforced with buttresses every fifty feet or so. The wall enclosed a settlement on the side of a snow-dusted mountain spur. Beyond the wall I saw the tops of snow-covered pines and thin, white wisps of smoke. The somber toll of a bell came from a stone abbey that clung to the mountainside high above the settlement.

The steady chime was inviting-a welcome change from the deathly silence and oppressive fog to which I had grown accustomed. It was hard to tell at this distance, but there seemed to be a switchback road clinging to the cliffs that led up from the walled settlement to the abbey.

The air grew colder as we approached the walled settlement. Two square towers with peaked roofs flanked a stone archway into which were set a pair of twelve-foot-tall, iron bound wooden doors. Carved into the arch above the doors was a name: Krezk. The walls that extended from the gatehouse were twenty feet high. Atop the parapet I saw four figures wearing fur hats and clutching spears. They watched us nervously.

I could not fault them. Here was a wagon filled with wine escorted by two knights upon skeletal horses and safeguarded by two flocks of ravens that flew in the air. If I had been in charge of manning the gates, I would have sprinkled holy water before allowing them as much as a chance to explain themselves.

Yet it was not the time to doubt.

"Good evening!" I yelled, raising an arm to wave at them, "We come bringing wine from the Wizard of Wines, and would like entrance into your village!"

One of the guards from atop the wall disappeared beyond it, the others standing alert and tense.

"They look nervous," Godfrey said.

"I'd be nervous too, living under Strahd's rule," Ezmeralda quipped from the carriage.

After a few minutes, a man appeared from the top of the wall, dressed in garbs that revealed a hint of past nobility, and that had seen tear and wear with the passage of time.

"I am Lord Dmitri Krezkov!" he bellowed from the top of the wall, "I do not know whom you are, travelers! Though I recognize the sons of Davian and welcome them with gratitude," he added. "If you are their escort, I thank you and offer you hospitality within the city's walls. Do not break the laws of our city, share the sweat of your brow with us, and we will share the warmth of our hearths with thee."

"We thank you for your words of hospitality, Lord Krezkov," I answered back, "I am Sir Shade of Shallowbrook, Paladin of the Ever-Vigilant, I will not bring harm to those who are good or those who are innocent. Yet I will warn you here and now that I will not tolerate evil, nor allow it to grow. I guarantee thus for those of my entourage, for each crime they shall commit, I will gladly pay thrice the penance such is the certainty I have of their moral fiber and willingness to abide to your laws!"

Ezmeralda muttered something barely audible by the likes of me, which meant that Lord Krezkov couldn't have, thankfully, heard it. "Because if he was evil, then he'd tell you to your face and then gallantly open the gates to allow us a fair fight."

Of course he wouldn't, Ezmeralda. He also wouldn't leave us outside, because when you leave a paladin outside a city it speaks volumes to your moral fiber.

The gates opened with nary a fuss, and as we trudged inside we witnessed what the walls had kept hidden from our sight.

The mist-shrouded village beyond the wall was nothing more than a scattering of humble wooden cottages along dirt roads that stretched between stands of snow-dusted pine trees-so many trees, in fact, as to constitute a forest. To the northeast, gray cliffs rose sharply, and the road winding up to the abbey was easy to see from this vantage.

The Martikov's family carriage came to a halt, driven by the brothers, in the village's small square. People stood in wait, all clutching water skins and empty glass bottles. A few children were holding on to small cups, perhaps seeking a taste with the silent understanding of their parents or guardians. Many were quiet. Only a few had something of a hint of a smile on their faces, or a spruce of color on their persons.

I dismounted, witnessing Lord Krezkov come down from the walls to near us. Sir Godfrey and Ezmeralda dismounted in turn, stopping behind me. It was clear I would be granted the undue honor of dealing with the local lord.

"Listen here," Lord Krezkov spoke firmly, his voice sharp and his eyes betraying an inner turmoil of sorts. "We want no trouble with the likes of you adventurers. Strahd will come for you, and we don't want to be caught in the middle when he does. We're not without thanks, so rest here today and tomorrow, depart."

"We do not wish to bring misfortune or harm to your people, Lord Krezkov," I spoke as gently and calmly as I could. "The task given to me by my God is to render aid to those in need, and I have heard of the Abbey, and of the holy water your village possesses," I added with a gentle whisper, "Would you be amenable to telling us more?"

Lord Krezkov swallowed nervously. "I'll tell you just so you don't go poking the hornet's nest," he added, "But not here. In my house, later." He gestured at a cottage slightly bigger than the rest, "You brought the wine, I daresay you should taste some of it," he pointed at the road, "as for the holy water, it's our source of water at the North end of the village, it shimmer and shines, but that's all of holy there is to it." He narrowed his eyes briefly, "Be careful around the gazebo. The people won't like it if it breaks. I won't like it if it breaks," he added with a sense of finality, marching resolutely off.

"Famous Barovian hospitality right there," Ezmeralda said with a huff. "That and the staring. You still haven't seen what a proper Barovian staring is like, have you?"

"I have not," I amended, before looking at the path ahead of us.

And then at the one that led up to the Abbey, but that would come later.

After what Ezmeralda had said, I'd perhaps need the whole pond of holy water to deal with the Abbott.

That, and all the prayers I could pronounce.

 

[RichardWhereat]

So, you're facing down a Deva? Well, good luck to you.

 

[shadenight123]

Ravenloft - Chapter Fourteen - Krezk/Abbey

Even under gray skies, the pool at the north end of the village shimmered and sparkled. Near its shore sat an old gazebo on the verge of collapse. A wooden statue of a mournful, bare-chested man, its paint chipped and faded, stood in the gazebo with arms outstretched, as though waiting to be embraced. I stopped at the edges of the gazebo, glancing at the statue with a brief instant of doubt, before recognition flooded into my mind.

"A shrine to Lathander," I said. "I suppose the Morninglord's rays are most welcomed around these parts."

"What did you say?" Ezmeralda asked, her eyes briefly widening in surprise.

"I said," I repeated, pointing at the statue, "That this is a shrine to Lathander, or what little remains of it."

"There is an old tale in Barovia," it was Sir Godfrey who spoke next, "About Mother Night and the Morninglord. From sunrise to sundown, the Morninglord would watch over the Barovian people, but once the sun lost its shine, so too did the prayers no longer reach his ears."

I glanced from Sir Godfrey to the statue next. "Well, then I suppose what I'm about to do next is going to look incredibly strange from an outsider's perspective," I added, before clearing my throat. I thumped my armored gauntlet against my chest-plate. "Morninglord," I said, glancing at the statue. "We of Helm stand willing to fight in the name of justice and good. Where are your faithful? Where are your chosen ones, in the Barovians' time of need? What is the point of sowing new life, if you do not protect that which is born?"

As I spoke, I dimly realized I could feel a small amount of heat on the back of my neck. I ignored it.

The smugness that radiated my being, while not entirely unknown to a paladin of Helm meeting one of Lathander, still warmed my insides like embers. "Worry not for the sake of these people, these that you should have protected a long time ago," I bowed, taking a deep breath. "I will free them from Strahd in the name of Helm, but also in your name too."

I looked away from the gazebo, to the clear waters of the pool and above, to the abbey that towered over the hill.

"So watch over me," I mumbled, "You wouldn't want a faithful of Helm to outshine you now, would you, Inspiration's Dawn?"

The pool of clear water glimmered ever so briefly, catching my attention. Within, I saw a group of adventurers. I knelt by the pool's edge, staring into their faces and appearances, trying to recognize them. My brothers in arm weren't among them, but they were indeed a motley crew. There was a green-haired Halfling in a chainmail, a buckler in her left arm and a sword in her right, leading a merry gang along a dirt road.

A ranger with the face obscured by a green cowl and a bow slung around his back glanced around, keeping an eye out for the wildlife. A priest of Lathander with golden hair and a gentle smile stood in the middle, while a half-orc wielding a large greataxe closed the group.

"I see," I remarked. "If I can help them, I will."

The shining waters of the pool shimmered briefly, and my reflection stared back at me. I unclasped an empty vial from my belt, and filled it with the holy water of the pond. It shimmered, as if flecks of the sun resided within it.

"We may need a bit more than that," Ezmeralda said, dryly nearing to fill a few empty bottles. Sir Godfrey remained at a proper distance, for to him that pool was probably similar to lethal poison, even though his soul had found a different path from what of his brethren.

Once we were done gathering up the holy water, Ezmeralda grabbed a nearby stick and pointed at the dirt in front of her. She quickly sketched what looked like the Abbey's courtyard, and location of a few rooms. "I'm a guest of the Abbott, so they'll let me in without problems." She glanced at me, and then at Sir Godfrey. "He's normally in the main hall; if we move quickly, we can avoid raising an alarm."

"How many enemies are there?" Sir Godfrey asked.

"Sixty, maybe even a hundred," Ezmeralda answered with a grimace. "They are all deformed mutations, sick monsters and won't hesitate to rip us, or the village, to shred if they're let loose. We need to deal with them too."

"There are but three of us," Sir Godfrey pointed out.

"They won't move unless the bell rings," Ezmeralda said. "That's why I need to disable the bell-tower first," she put a cross over a spot on the dirt. "Once the bell's disabled, we should have little trouble in dealing with the Abbot and its...creation," she shuddered. "Don't underestimate her. She looks like a woman, but she's got enough strength to break a table in half with a fist."

"Understood," I nodded. I glanced at the map on the dirt, "Are there guards stationed on the walls of the Abbey?"

"No," Ezmeralda shook her head. "There are only two gate guards, but I'll deal with them. Once I signal you, step inside and wait by the inner courtyard."

"Very well," Sir Godfrey said. "Shall we go, then?" he stood up, clutching the pommel of his blade's handle firmly. "We will bring peace to those souls whose body he has desecrated."

I smiled. "Let us be on our way while the sun is high."

The switchback road that hugged the cliff was ten feet wide and covered with loose gravel and chunks of broken rock. The ascent was slow and somewhat treacherous, and the air grew colder as we neared the top. Ezmeralda went first, gesturing at us to wait. She neared the iron gates, which squealed loudly as she opened them. Two hooded figures accosted her, but soon let her through. She walked away for a bit, disappearing from our sight.

A few minutes later, she returned by the gate's side, waving her now bloodied blade in our direction.

We neared in a hustle, reaching for the inner courtyard. Viewed through the gates, the stone abbey stood quiet. Its two wings were joined by a fifteen feet-high curtain wall. A belfry protruded from the rooftop of the closer north wing, which also sported a chimney billowing gray smoke. The corpses on the ground were of mutated beasts, human in certain aspects, and monstrous in others. I grimaced and turned my gaze away from such foul creatures. There were dozens and dozens of those in the Abbey; and they'd need to be dealt with too.

"There aren't any guards on the inner walls, just scarecrows popped up to scare people away," Ezmeralda said, and as we followed her, I came to a brief halt in front of the inner gatehouse.

A fifteen-foot-high curtain wall joined the abbey's two wings. Behind its battlements, two guards stood at attention, their features obscured by fog. Below them, set into the wall, was a pair of ten-foot-tall, wooden doors reinforced with bands of steel. To the right of these doors, mounted on the wall, was a tarnished copper plaque.

Abbey of Saint Markovia, May Her Light Cure All Illnesses.

"Wait before stepping in the courtyard," Ezmeralda said, "There are others I must deal with," she quietly moved past, opening the wooden doors just a little to allow her passage, and returned a scant few minutes later. With a grim nod, we pushed through ourselves.

The thick fog that filled this courtyard swirled, as if eager to escape. The courtyard was surrounded by a fifteen-feet high curtain wall on which stood several guards with their backs to you-or so it seemed at first. They were merely scarecrows, after all. They also weren't doing their jobs properly, because a few dozens of crows rested perched upon them, eyeing us with glimmers of interest in their eyes.

I made a shush sound in their direction, and their caws dropped to an imperceptible noise.

Wooden doors to the north and east led to the abbey's two wings. In the center of the courtyard was a stone well fitted with an iron winch, to which a rope and bucket were attached. Along the perimeter, tucked under the overhanging wall, were several stone sheds with creaking, half-open wooden doors, as well as three shallow alcoves that contained wooden troughs. Two wooden posts pounded into the rocky earth had iron rings bolted to them, and chained to one of them was a short humanoid with bat wings and spider mandibles.

The creature's body was limp, a wide open gash by its neck showing that she had died quickly, and painlessly.

The unnatural silence remained as such, even as we neared the main hall of the Abbey, where the Abbot rested.

Ezmeralda was quick to signal us to wait outside, and then stepped in. I heard muffled sounds, a gentle and rich voice, and then waited. I waited as the sound of violin began to play from higher up, and my ears picked it with relative ease.

Then the sound stopped.

It stopped abruptly, without fault. Sir Godfrey tensed, looking at me from the other side of the closed door. I looked back at him, and waited briefly. A viola came sailing out of the Belfry's top, crashing in the courtyard.

That was the signal, I reckoned, and with a bellowing cry Sir Godfrey shattered the main hall's door and barged in, myself following swiftly.

"What is the meaning of this!?" the Abbot, for it couldn't be anyone else, yelled at our sudden entrance.

The ground floor was one large, fifty-foot-square room with arched, leaded glass windows. A cauldron sat on an iron rack above a fire in a hearth, while above the fireplace mantel hung a golden disk engraved with the symbol of the sun. In one corner, a wooden staircase climbed to the upper level, while in another corner a stone staircase descended into darkness.

Several chairs surrounded a wooden table that stretched nearly the length of the room. Wooden dishware and gold candelabras were neatly arranged on the table, standing behind which was a young woman with alabaster skin dressed in a torn and soiled red gown. Her auburn hair was neatly bundled so as not to touch her soft shoulders. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, but our entrance clearly agitated her, for she stood with wariness in her eyes.

The Abbot was instead a handsome-looking young man, who wore a simple brown monk's robe. With one hand, he gestured at the woman to stay down, and then raised both hands up, palm open. "Whatever it is that you think you are doing, please hear me out first," the Abbot said. His eyes on me. "I see the symbols of the valorous Ever-Vigilant upon you, so I plead you, here me out."

I tensed, my grip on the Sunsword tightening as the blade sizzled with the light of the sun, but then curtly answered, "I will listen, provided you do not attempt to trick us, or call for further aid. Shall you do so, you will have forfeited my mercy." I watched the Abbot nod at my words, and gently walk away from the side of the woman, coming to a halt instead past the table, right in front of her.

Now that he was slightly closer, I could see the symbol of Lathander around his neck.

"This land is sick," the Abbot said. "And the Baron himself is sick," he continued, "But I am working for a cure, one which may end with the salvation of the Baron, and of his people," he moved slightly to the side, revealing the woman now resting on the chair, once more with her eyes vacant. "I have been teaching Vasilka the finer points of etiquette, to make her the ideal bride for someone as refined as the baron."

He looked at us with true earnestness. "My prayers to the Morninglord must have been answered at last, for he sent you to aid me; I require a bridal gown for her, so that I may present her to Strahd, to show him how perfect-"

"The God Lathander, Inspiration's Dawn, the God of Creativity and the Morninglord," I spoke, interrupting the Abbot. "Would look at the evil you have wrought, at the madness you have brought," I eyed him, "And would gently ask you to repent for your sins, for the madness that clutches your soul and mind is a product of the Mists of Ravenloft," I spoke, and the air grew colder around us. The fire of the hall sputtered, a cold chill crept closer, "But I am not a faithful of Lathander, but of Helm."

The Sunsword sizzled with light, and heat returned to my surroundings, the chill dissipating under the sun's warm glow.

I pointed the tip of my blade in his direction. "The Baron is the only one capable of redeeming himself; and he will never do that, for too great is the evil within his soul. I ask of you now only one thing," I brought my shield arm up, closer to protect my body. "Will you atone for the sins you have committed, for the dead bodies you have desecrated, for the evil you have allowed to fester and grow?" I narrowed my eyes. "Answer me, and then be prepared for the consequences of your words!"

The Abbot's shoulders shook briefly, "You think me a human, misguided by the will of the land," the Abbot answered, laughing at that, shaking his head. A sudden gust of wind caught me and Sir Godfrey, passing past us and snuffing the light out of the golden candelabra that rested on the table.

Two massive wings spread from the Abbot's back, his body grew not in size, but enough to let the robes rip and reveal a taut, strong body the color of silver, the hair and eyes of the same color. A mace of golden light materialized in the Abbot's hand, and he clutched it firmly. "Please see reason," the creature spoke, "For I am no human that can so easily be fooled."

I realized Sir Godfrey had begun lowering his weapon, but even as he did so, I did not lower mine.

I tightened the grip instead.

"I will allow no evil to blind me," I spoke firmly, "My shield is given onto those in need of service, my arm wields the blade of justice, my body clad in the armor of my responsibilities," I took a single step forward, the Sunsword shining as I brought her in front of me. "For I chose to wear the Mantle of Helm, and Helm did not chose the mantle for me."

"You fools!" the Abbot spoke, "Can't you see that yours is the wrong path!? You would attempt to destroy all that I have carefully worked for, and for what reason? For what purpose would you do that?"

I took a small breath, and then I answered as dutifully as I could. "Because it's evil," I charged forward with a bellowing war cry, "And evil shall hold no dominion for as long as the Watcher stands vigilant! I will hold the weight!"

The mace came swinging like a battering ram, the Sunsword held the impact, but my frame did not. I felt the unnatural strength of the angelic creature with the blow itself, and found myself slipping backwards on the ground.

"Then so be it!" the Abbot snarled, his silver eyes darkening, "If you dare attack me, then I will see you removed!"

With a bellowing war cry of his own, the creature's massive mace came swinging down, but I jumped away from the blow, only for one of the creature's wings to stretch and slam into my chest, pulsing energies shimmering against the point of impact and burning through the metal and the flesh alike.

Sir Godfrey's blade swung down against the creature's side, but it hit the hardened wing, and while droplets of blood fell on the ground, all too easily was he whacked away with the return upswing of the mace. The undead knight sailed through the air, the smell of charred flesh overpowering as flakes of cinder dropped on the ground through the holes in his armor.

"You ally yourself with the restless spirits," the Abbot roared, "And I am the one who has lost his way? I am the one in the wrong!? You fool!"

He screamed next, Ezmeralda's lithe form appearing behind him, forcing him to move forward as two grievous wounds slashed across his back. The woman's blades dribbled with the blood of the angel, but even so the Abbot spun his mace high, nearing with thunderous hatred the likes of me.

"I will hold the line against the avalanche of evil!" I bellowed, glimmering light suffusing my shield and strengthening my resolve, the impact of his mace against me like the resounding gong of a war hammer hitting an iron door. My arm stopped answering my will, but the bones settled near-instantaneously, the burning light within me stoking the forge of my righteousness.

A soul-chilling scream came from behind the Abbot's massive figure. "Vasilka!" the angel yelled, "Stay calm!"

But it was for naught. The lithe woman shattered with a single fist the table in front of her, and ran towards Ezmeralda, a fist ready to swing in the woman's direction. The Abbot tried to turn, but the moment he did, I thrust my blade straight through the unarmored chest. Or I would have, had the skin of the creature be like hardened metal. It slid off, opening a sweltering wound, but not killing the creature.

"You do not understand!" the Abbot screamed, swinging his mace with ferocious violence back against me, my blade intercepted the blow, the sizzling sunlight holding like no other blade of metal could.

"Aid Ezmeralda, Godfrey!" I bellowed, "The heavier the burden, the more must the faithful bear!"

"Faithful!? You know nothing of true faith!" the Abbot roared, his anger on me as his wings now bloodied slammed into my sides, throwing me backwards for his mace to attempt to strike once more. I avoided the blow, but the ground quaked and shook under the creature's anger. "All of the pain in this realm, I will set right!"

He pushed his body forward, his wings flapping precisely once. It was all he needed to slam into me and, uncaring of my blade which dug into the open palm of one of his hands, push me outside and into the courtyard. He flew in the air, my left hand grabbing hold of his leg and holding him down. His other foot slammed into my helmet, my head ringing, but my determination unscathed.

I roared as I pulled, swinging the creature with a titanic effort back on the ground, thrusting my Sunsword into the angel's leg with a victory cry.

The blade did not stick for long, one of the wings slamming into my sides and throwing me off, but as the angel attempted to rise, he grabbed hold of the Sunsword and screamed. His hand let go of the blade soon after, "Who are you to judge the likes of me!?" he roared, his leg bleeding and his face a mixture of horror and hatred. "Who are you, mortal, that dare stand between the task ordained by my God and myself!? I am of the Deva! Mine is the will of the Morninglord!"

I swallowed and stood back up, faltering from the pain that had silently crept in my bones. "You are naught but an unfortunate creature, lost to the madness of Barovia," I walked closer, if on shaking legs. "And I am but a mortal, tasked with something beyond his strength to carry," I continued, "But an oath I swore, and an oath I will carry until my last breath," I watched as the Deva did not attempt to fly away. The Sunsword was near him, he knew that if I went for it, he'd be able to crush my spine like butter. "I swore to let no evil pass me by unchallenged," I clenched my fists, "I swore to let no evil succeed whereas I could have prevented it. I swore to be righteous, and just, and my oath is what moves me. Thus," I kept walking forward, "There is nothing you can say or do that will keep me from bringing justice to the wicked!"

The Deva widened his wings, reddish from the dried blood, and held aloft his golden mace. "I understand your determination, though misguided. We may be champions of different faiths, but still champions is what we both are," he grimaced, his madness clear in his eyes, and yet his behavior righteous to the bitter end. "To save the people of these lands...you must die."

He rushed forward, his golden mace held aloft. A single swing would smash me to a pulp; there was no mistaking the strength of the celestial in front of me, of the Deva that should have known no injustice, no evil, and yet was now an embodiment of them.

"It is not the strongest of shields that makes the Helmite," I spoke as the heat within me suffused my shield arm, "It is the Helmite that makes the strongest of shields." My shield glowed, it heated and glowed, expanding in size ever so slightly as both of my hands went to meet head-on the incoming swing. The impact cracked something. It cracked the ground, it shattered the shield, but it pulsed also, denting the Deva's mace as I gritted my teeth. The Deva did not pull back his mace, but kept applying pressure to the mace.

"Your faith cannot compare to mine," he hissed, his silvery eyes now veined in red, "Your mortal strength will falter, and your bones will break in half!" he bellowed, towering over me as I fell down on one knee, air leaving my lungs, strength sapped from my limbs.

"What is faith," I answered, "if not the will to fight, even against all odds?" I pushed back against the towering creature. My body creaked, every fiber of my muscles screamed. And yet I slowly got back on my feet. The Deva screamed, both hands holding on to his mace, and yet still I stood back up.

He pulled away his mace, catching me unprepared for the next swing which impacted against my sides, denting and shattering the plates of my armor, throwing me on the ground as blood pooled out of my mouth in large gurgles. I groaned and gasped, my inner forge burning to close the wounds, searing and cauterizing my pain, and forcing me back on my feet, if noticeably lacking in the warmth within me.

The Deva was upon me in seconds, and I could but witness the swing that would smash my head like a ripe melon, when a swarm of ravens cawed and threw themselves against his face, scratching and biting as fiercely as their lithe forms could.

"The blade, foolish paladin!" a familiar voice called out, and I turned my gaze to watch a wereraven hoist and throw the Sunsword in my direction, the blade pulsing and sizzling with the light of the Sun itself.

It spun in the air, the platinum hilt shining like a glimmering tear of silver, and my body moved towards it. My hand grabbed hold and I spun, staring at the swarm of ravens that were now flying away, a few of their kin on the ground, twitching their last.

"Werecreatures aid the likes of you," the Deva snarled, "What more proof do I need of your corruption!?" he flapped his wings, clearly attempting to fly away, but I would not let him. I rushed forth. I charged him with a bellowing scream in my throat, and as he swatted my blade away with his mace, two darker figures fell from the sky.

Two more wereravens had come from the sky, like angels of vengeance upon this land in need of justice, and as each grabbed hold of one of the celestial's wings, they plummeted towards the ground together.

But only one of the trio would fall upon my sword.

The Sunsword pulsed crimson with the blood of the celestial, the blade searing through him from side to side.

The Deva attempted to pull away, but my shield-arm encircled him, and held him tightly in place. His breathing grew ragged, and his eyes wide.

"Redeem yourself," I whispered, "In your throes of death, see beyond the madness that clouded your mind," I insisted, tightening the grip, "Please, please," I pleaded, my breathing ragged, "Admit your wrongs, beg for the mercy of your God," I pushed the blade deeper, much to the Deva's pain-filled scream, "It is the only way for you to find peace."

"Who will take care of my children?" the Deva whispered, hoarsely. "My precious children..." he groaned, "Who will...protect them..." his eyes watered and deep, crimson tears fell from the Deva's cheek.

His wings began to disperse in light. His eyes lost their light. The body began to break in chunks, the light slowly rising like a shimmering orb. The Sunsword was mournful, and I could sense it.

I was mournful too.

The globe of light floated gently and then dispersed in mid-air, tendrils of light rushing across the abbey's ground. Some lingered around my blade, upon the palm of my hand, through the wounds the creature had caused. Others instead rushed past the walls, and I knew no more of them.

With a deep, tiresome sigh, I glanced at the three wereravens that looked worriedly at me, scraps of my everbright armor held within their talons.

Ezmeralda and Godfrey emerged in a rush, Vasilka no longer a problem.

"I'm going to need a good smith," I said, attempting to break the ice of the strange Mexican standoff between three helpful wereravens and two raven swarms on one side, and Ezmeralda and Sir Godfrey on the other. "A really good one."

Ezmeralda brought out a potion from one of her pouches, once she realized the wereravens didn't appear to be hostile. "You look like you could use one," she said, but I shook my head.

"Our task is not over yet," I glanced at the remaining parts of the Abbey. "We must clear it."

"Allow us, then," Sir Godfrey said. "You look like you could use a rest, Shade."

With a bitter chuckle, I couldn't help but agree with Sir Godfrey.

"I will speak with our new friends then," I said with a smile. "If you are in need of aid, do not hesitate to call."

With a scoff and a roll of the eyes, Ezmeralda walked boldly forward, Godfrey behind her. It was clear they wouldn't need my help.

My eyes zeroed in on the remaining ravens. "So..." I said, trying to find the right way to start this conversation, "You're like werewolves, but in raven form."

Two of the three wereravens looked at the third one, who belatedly looked back with something akin to a silent plea.

"We will look for a smith," the two wereravens said, leaving the parts of my armor on the ground and flying off.

I stared at the remaining wereraven.

The wereraven stared back.

This was going to be...

...hawkward.

 

[ptbptb]

"We will look for a smith," the two wereravens said, leaving the parts of my armor on the ground and flying off.

I stared at the remaining wereraven.

Click to shrink...

Ravenloft? More like ravens left.

This was going to be...

...hawkward.

Click to shrink...

That was a pretty good pun, but don't crow about it.

 

[Syroc]

This was going to be...

...hawkward.

Click to shrink...

That was a poultry pun. Most fowl.