On their way to Vallaki, the party once more takes shelter at the tollhouse of the widow Anaïs. Their horses are tied to the covered bridge, hooves clattering on old wood as the cold wind sweeps in from the mountains. Watches are set, but sleep comes uneasily. Cedric wakes from a terrible nightmare — the vampire seductress who has haunted his dreams returns, her beauty a mask over unending dread. Outside, Percival catches movement beyond the bridge. Something is wrong.
The corpses of Val the Paladin and Saint Markovia, both sacred, lie in the wagon outside. But when the party investigates, they find the bodies have been dragged away into the darkness. Footprints and drag marks lead to the cliff’s edge — the same treacherous drop where the party first discovered the vampire's lair. A sense of déjà vu hangs thick.
They tie ropes and prepare a descent. Gray, ever bold, is already making his way down when Brother Andrei urges caution. In the veil of night, the vampire holds all the cards. Reluctantly, they return to the tollhouse and resume their watch.
At dawn, they make ready again — only to realize they forgot their ropes. When they return to the cliff edge, the length of rope is gone. A tense debate ensues before they return to the tollhouse and manage to acquire a 30-foot length of hempen rope from Anaïs. Combined with Cedric’s coil, it barely reaches the shattered carriage still precariously wedged against a tree far below. Gray descends first. Percival, drawing on his mountaineer’s skill, hammers pitons every twenty feet, risking death on the icy cliff face. After harrowing effort, the others follow.
Eventually they reach the platform leading into the vampire’s cave. From within, a voice calls to Cedric — sultry, mocking, seductive. Brother Andrei blesses the party as a swarm of bats descends upon them. Then comes the poisonous mist, choking and blinding.
Gray charges through it, resisting the vampire’s charm and hurling a vial of holy water straight into her. She screams, stunned and searing with divine pain. The others follow. Brother Andrei throws a second flask, dousing her in sanctified liquid. His blessed vial causes extreme agony. Cedric’s strike lands true, whittling her to the edge of undeath.
As she burns and shrieks, helpless, Percival finishes her with blade and sanctified vengeance. Gray drives the stake through her heart, and she collapses, paralyzed. Her illusion shatters — the once-beautiful seductress is now revealed as a hideous Nosferatu.
Cedric takes her head with a single stroke. Brother Andrei insists they carry the remains into the sun. As her body touches the morning light, it begins to smolder, then crumble. Within moments, nothing is left but ash. Her cursed life ends at last.
Within the cave, they find a harrowing scene: two disoriented, naked women crouched over Val’s unspoiled corpse. Their bodies are covered in bite marks, and they have no memory of how they got there. The reality sets in — Val’s remains were desecrated in unspeakable ways. The Saint’s body is missing.
In a hidden chamber, the party uncovers a treasure hoard: chests of ancient Terg coins, books, jewelry, and elegant garments. Alina finds a red bellydancer’s veil, embroidered in exquisite detail, hanging on the cave wall — perhaps a relic of the vampire’s former vanity. Among the riches lie two holy symbols: one of Ezra, and another unknown. Brother Andrei takes them both, and the party gathers in silence, heavy with the weight of what they’ve done — and what they’ve witnessed.
I'm writing this with a heart heavier than any dungeon door.
Our friend Rich—gaming companion of twenty-odd years, relentless pun-slinger, and keeper of more character sheets than we could ever count, and roller of 1's—has left us after a long, brutal struggle with illness. There are no words to describe the grief we feel over his loss. The proverbial table feels impossibly empty without his laughter, his steadfast optimism, and wit.
We miss him so much.
Even in the worst encounters both real and imagined, Rich never gave up. He rolled up his sleeves, cracked a joke, and urged us to push on.
So we will.
Friday nights will still find us gathered around discord and rolling dice, because that’s exactly where Rich would have wanted us—telling stories, forging legends, and keeping the light of our shared adventure and friendship alive.
This campaign continues in Rich’s honor. Every critical hit, every laugh-til-we-cry moment, every impossible save will be a tribute to the friend who showed us how epic ordinary life can be when you share it with people you love.
Rest well, Rich. May you be in the Elysian fields like Marcus. The way is darker without you—but we carry your torch.
March 9, Y357 (BAROVIA) Game Sessions 12/27/24, 1/10/25, 1/17/25
The abbey greets the heroes as a sun-bleached phantom made solid, re-forming in the clearing Mists just as Brother Andrei promised. Inside, the Grand Entrance Hall is a slaughterhouse of ages past—Strahd’s rusted breastplates mingled with the habits of butchered monks—and it is here the company lays Val’s body on the cracked altar, commending him to the Morninglord before pressing on. In the half-ruined library Andrei uncovers one niche miraculously unpillaged and retrieves a silver reliquary that holds bones belonging to Saint Andral. Night forces them to barricade themselves inside the monk cells, a defensible shelter—until Alina’s watch is shattered by footsteps outside. The fallen soldiers of Strahd have risen. Rather than brave the corridor, the party wedges the door open just enough to admit the undead one at a time. Brother Andrei's faith turns many away. The others are bashed one by one.
When the last corpse falls still, the party discovers a trap door beneath one of the cots. The stair plunges into candle-hushed gloom and ends in a vault alive with holy radiance. Here waits a Daeva, sentinel sworn to the Amulet of Ravenkind. Percival and Cedric are judged unworthy and hurled against the wall, but Brother Andrei endures the angel’s gaze. The guardian transports him to a chamber deep beneath Lake Zarovich and presents him with three keys of living light and prophecies that, when the appointed hour arrives, a gate will open once more to the amulet’s resting place. A heartbeat later the vault dissolves into the Morninglord’s dawn-lit realm where Marcus, Val, and Daciana greet their friends.
A hush like the first breath of dawn settles over the vault, and then the stone walls dissolve into brilliance. The companions stand upon a sun-washed meadow that stretches to a horizon of molten gold—a plane of unblemished joy. Radiant grass shimmers as though each blade is wrought from sunlight itself; wildflowers the color of gemstones sway to a breeze that carries the distant chiming of crystalline bells. A river of liquid dawnlight courses nearby, its surface alive with ripples of rose and amber, and on its banks a long oaken table overflows with sparkling nectar, steaming loaves, and bowls of fruit that glow with inner fire. Music threads the air—harps and pipes and crystalline voices weaving hymns of welcome—and every note seems to lift the heart free of grief.
Marcus is the first to emerge from the brilliance, whole and hale. Brother Andrei breaks into a run, clasping his brother in an embrace fierce enough to shake tears loose. Words tumble out: news of their sister’s joyful marriage in Barovia, of Andrei’s promise to guard the dawn wherever darkness rises. Marcus smiles, places a hand upon the young priest's brow, and blesses his vow with quiet pride. Val appears next—rosy, unmarred, laughter ringing like church bells—followed by Daciana, eyes bright as midsummer skies. Cups are pressed into hands; the nectar tastes of sun-warmed honey and childhood safety. They eat, they drink, they recount battles fought and follies survived, and the pain that clung to every memory in life bleeds away into pure, untarnished joy.
When Percival hangs back, head bowed, Val clasps the knight’s shoulders and fixes him with a gentle but unyielding gaze. “Faith isn’t armor you fasten, old friend—it’s the light you walk toward even when it blinds you. Find that light again, or the road will claim you.” Percival’s throat tightens; he nods, unable to speak. Cedric stands beside him, outwardly resolute yet secretly aching, while the music of the realm thrums through his bones like a heartbeat he’d nearly forgotten.
Moments—or eternities—later a gong of pure sunlight peals through the fields. The vision brightens until it is all brilliance, and the meadow, the river, the table, even their friends fade into radiance. “My duty is fulfilled,” intones the Daeva’s vanishing voice. Sight returns as shadows and stone; they stand once more beneath the monk cells, the only proof of the encounter a lingering warmth in their chests and the faint taste of ambrosia on their tongues. Yet that is enough.
The following morning they enter the cloister garden, only to discover the roses have grown monstrous and ensorcelled. Perfumed coils snag armor and limbs, nearly dragging several companions to an early grave. The flowers' heady perfume lulls before it strikes—coils whip out, snagging armor and limbs, dragging Cedric and Alina deeper into the verge. Brother-Andrei escapes and helps the others break free.
Barely have the vines fallen limp when a new voice rings across the courtyard. Priestess Althea of Krezk strides in, flanked by half a dozen stout villagers bearing pitchforks and hunting bows. Having glimpsed the abbey’s sudden return from the valley below, she has come to investigate—arriving just in time to see the worst of the horror unfold. The fearful villagers flee for their lives.
The heroes climb the inner stairs to an opulent suite whose silk sheets, jewel-bright slippers, and hidden holy symbol speak of a noble guest who once dined on luxury while monks starved a floor below. The chamber’s velvet drapes, however, cannot mask the dark smear that trails from its door. Alina follows the crusted blood down a spiraling stair into a crypt rank with iron and decay.
There, beneath guttering votive candles, hangs the hideous tableau: Saint Markovia crucified above a mound of her slaughtered brethren, ribs cracked open, her heart torn away. As they approach they are surprised by hideous abominations–carrion crawlers have been feasting on the bodies.
Althea’s cry of grief echoes off the stone as the creatures lurch forward, mandibles clicking; battle is joined in the shadow of a saint’s martyrdom. Steel, fire, and holy light clash bears witness to desperate combat—this time for vengeance, and for the right to lay its tortured dead to rest at last.
The carrion crawlers fall one by one, ichor hissing on sanctified steel, and the crypt settles into a bruised silence. After healing prayers, Althea chants the Dawn Hymn and Brother Andrei traces sigils of light. The company eases Saint Markovia’s broken body from her grisly crucifix and shrouds her in a blanket.
Markovia will journey with them now, destined for hallowed earth.
Andrei turns to the others and says, “We make for Vallaki,” he declares. No one argues. Val’s litter is hoisted once more, and a day later the party secures a stout cart in Krezk—payment from grateful villagers who credit the heroes for the reappearance of the monastery—and begins the journey east.
Mist clings to Raven’s Bridge when they arrive at dusk. Anais, veiled in widower’s black, emerges from the toll-house with a bittersweet smile. She has guarded their gear. Torches are lit, a quiet meal shared, and gratitude exchanged in the hut above the gorge.
Here, the party discovers Val's belongings and a letter addressed to them.
The letter reads:
In the event of my demise as we face the dire challenges ahead, I wish my belongings to be distributed to my surviving companions as follows:
Beloved Gloria and my Boots of Swiftness are to be given to Grey as he has shown himself to be selfless and devoted to goodness despite his bouts of ill-humor. Even though he clearly desires a magical sword, his generous and empathetic act of handing Igor’s sword to Alina touched my heart. As for my endless bag of dowels, since Grey hates the cold more than anything, may my bag of endless dowels provide him with enough campfire fuel to warm him on the coldest nights.
Percival receives my Miraculous Teapot of Perfect Cups as he needs to remember to settle down and lighten up from time to time! I also bequeath my Clinker Dagger to Percival in remembrance of our adventures with Marcus. Lastly, I charge Percival with carrying my Holy Symbol back to my love, Alara and introducing my steed, Stormbreaker, to Cedric in hopes they may bond in my memory.
To Cedric, I leave my Blessed Silver Carving Knife in hopes he may slay more ghouls with it. I hope Stormbreaker thinks of you as fondly as I. But if he does not, I pray you release him to find his own fate.
To Brother Andre, I leave my Ring of Animal Friendship as a token of my friendship and in remembrance of our adventures with Marcus.
As for my smoking kit and materials, I leave that to whomever wishes to take up the most pleasant habit and wish them well.
The rest of my belongings I leave to the needs of the survivors, may the Morning Lord watch over you all!
This is my will and my farewell,
Valeri Vodalescu, Paladin of the Morning Lord and a proud son of Lunamire.
Alina is instantly drawn to Val's sketches and his notebook. She picks it up and flips through it, slowly, methodically, mesmerized by the sketches of the buildings, the altars, the hearths, all more different and more beautiful than anything she's ever seen or even imagined in her wildest dreams. She sees a diverse cast of people and creatures - some she she feels she is destined to meet one day, and others - though slightly unnerving or decidedly frightening - she secretly wishes to meet as well. To Alina, the sketchbook is the treasure among Val's belongings. She quietly entreats the group, "I know he was a dear friend, companion, brother, and I have perhaps yet to prove myself in that sense, but I would be humbled if I could be allowed to have his sketchbook. I clearly see there are some intimate and sentimental images, and I don't wish to keep them from anybody if you would like them. But I crave the opportunity to continue in our journeys and to continue the work he was doing here. They may have been anecdotal sketches to him, a therapeutic way of keeping his memories alive, maybe? But I see them as windows into a world I would love to see in its entirety–a legacy of adventures that haven't yet completely unfolded. Maybe I can continue that legacy, carry the tradition? My dream of creating maps of the world beyond is not just of creating the maps themselves but also capturing the essence of the places I one day hope to see and experience." She respectfully bows her head and holds out the book. "I completely understand and respect if one of you would prefer to keep his memories close instead of entrusting them to a stranger."
Brother Andrei says aloud that, "the journal should go to someone who wants and appreciates it, in fact, the ring of animal control (although bequeathed to me) would be better served in Alina's possession as well. I have no need of this item to remember Vals' bravery. He stood up to Gregor and embarrassed him in front of his minions. I applaud val's courage, and wish that I only had the forthrightness to stand up to Gregor in the same way. Alina, you keep the maps as well."
Night, however, grants scant rest. Cedric dreams of moon-washed corridors and a velvet-eyed vampire whose kiss burns and beckons. He wakes slick with sweat to the sound of uneasy horses stomping and snorting beneath a sky smeared gold by rising dawn. Somewhere beyond the river, a wolf howls—lonely, unresolved—and the smell of snowmelt drifts on the wind. Cedric grips his holy symbol, wondering whether the vision is memory, warning, or temptation, while the caravan creaks back onto the road toward Vallaki and whatever trials lie ahead.
Some Unknown Date in Vorostokov. Game Session 12/27/24
"There are old paladins, there are brave paladins, but there are no old, brave paladins."
With Gregor Zolnik finally slain, the heroes retrace their steps to the snow-soft hollow where they last saw Val. The cruel winter has already begun to surrender: a sudden tide of vivid blue lupines ripples across the vale, and in their midst lies Val’s body, perfectly preserved. His cheeks glow with improbable life, unmarred by decay, save for the grievous slash where the boyar gutted him. Brother Andrei kneels beside the fallen warrior, murmuring Morninglord prayers until a quiet certainty settles over him that Val’s soul is at peace. The companions weave a pine-branch litter and, with solemn care, hoist their friend for the trek back to Torgov—the village where this grim odyssey began.
Spring crowds in with every mile. Ice sheets crack, streams burst free, and birdsong fills birches that have never known leaf. Alina the ranger and the young tracker Mikhail, children of eternal frost, stare in tearful wonder at crocuses pressing through thawed earth. Yet joy quickly turns to restlessness for Alina: she confides that the reborn world beyond Vorostokov calls to her. She will not remain; she will chart the strangers’ distant lands and map whatever realms the Mists reveal. Mikhail chooses to stay and rebuild, blessing the party’s road ahead.
At Torgov’s gate Brother Andrei points toward the cloud-wreathed heights. Where bare rock and mists once loomed, the Abbey of Brilliant Worship now gleams in sudden sunlight, its turrets materializing as the Mists roll back. The monastery—portal through which Andrei himself entered this domain—has returned, and the party knows their path. After heartfelt farewells and a last resupply, they secure Val’s wrapped body across a pack-horse, mount up, and turn toward the winding track that climbs to the abbey. Their goal is twofold: discover the fate of Saint Markovia within those shining walls and, when duty is done, carry Val home to Lunamire for the burial he deserves. With petals swirling on a newborn breeze and the Mists thinning overhead, the company rides uphill into the promise of revelation—and whatever trials the next horizon holds.
Some Unknown Date in Vorostokov. Game Sessions 11/22/24, 11/29/24, 12/20/24
Above the timber palisade of Vorostokov rises a moon as thin and cruel as a scythe-blade. Frost-laden wind keens through the wolf-skull totems, carrying the promise of blood and deliverance. On this night the outlanders—Gray the shadow-walker, Percival the Cursed, Cedric, his cousin, and their haunted companions—move to sunder Boyar Gregor Zolnik’s dominion forever.
Mikhail’s childhood memory of the hall, sketched upon brittle vellum, guides them: a back door little used, a turning corridor, the yawning Great Hall. Alone, Gray vaults the stockade, ghosting across snow crust. He slips through the servants’ postern and becomes a rumor among the shadows—past kitchen hearths where weary voices can be heard, past chambers heavy with the snores of boyarsky drunk on mead.
Then the Great Hall unfolds before him. Firelight gutters in the stone hearth painting the spruce pillars in gold and black. A pine-longtable, scarred by years of feast and knife-game, stretches toward a dais where an oak throne broods beneath a banner of a snarling wolf. Five visiting boyarsky lie in wine-stained slumber on bench and bearskin; their breath fogs the air, but their ears are dulled by drink.
Gray passes unheard.
Beyond a wolf-carved door he finds Gregor’s lair. A raw-timber bed, iron-bound chest, hunting trophies—and, nailed high upon the eastern wall, the thing they have come to doom: a soot-black wolf pelt, bristling as if still alive, its eye-sockets twin voids. Gray unstoppers a pouch; wolfsbane, salt, and mountain balm drift like bitter snow upon the hide. With each grain the pelt’s thrumming power falters, until at last it hangs nothing more than dead fur.
Task wrought, the shadow-walker melts back into night and signals the party.
The attack was meant to be quiet. Instead it is thunder.
Stepping through the courtyard gate, the company scatters and the slumbering hall erupts. Benches splinter, torches whirl, and steel shrieks against iron as startled boyarsky rise only to fall beneath spell-fire and blade. The wolf banner whips in the updraft, watching its sworn warriors die.
Gregor himself barrels from his chamber half-changed, senses the pelt’s betrayal, and flees with a roar that rattles the rafters. He sprints into the snow, leaving crimson footprints that steam in the moonlight. The party, many cursed to change into werebeasts pursue him to the cave told by Gregor's mother's ghost. They feel the dread pull of the coming dark moon in their blood, the guilt of the death of their fallen companion, Val, weighing heavily.
They have but hours to end him or be lost to the beast within.
Across fir-haunted slopes and frozen stream the hunt races, until Gregor dives into a wind-carved cave whose mouth gapes like a wolf’s toothed jaw. Inside, rime armour plates the stone; echoes of dripping ice sound like distant heartbeats. There the boyar makes his final stand, bereft of the pelt’s sorcery. Steel bites; tempers flare; the cave becomes a battleground.
In the end, Gregor Zolnik—wolf-lord, tyrant, Dark Power’s favored son—falls to his knees, blood dark upon the snow-dusted floor, and his death cry is swallowed by the mountain.
Clutching his wound, Gregor topples with a great cry. For a moment he glares wickedly, his blood pooling around him. "You have not yet defeated me." he snarls. "I will kill you all!" Then he dies, still cursing.
As soon as Gregor falls, an eerie mist fills the room, rising from the flagstones of the floor like the icy breath of some unseen monster. It swirls around the boyar's body. and the image of a white. frost-covered wolf seems to glare from the vapors. Then. as quickly as it had come, the mist dissipates. Gregor's body has vanished!
His sword begins to sparkle, and it, too, dissolves into silvery mist that pours back down between the cracks in the stones. Finally, the black wolf pelt nearby begins to sparkle with the same slivery light. In a moment, it will vanish as well.
As will the frost that has covered the land for two decades.
When the sun at last edges above the pines, its rays strike a valley strangely hushed. Within the Great Hall, torches gutter low beside toppled benches; the wolf banner hangs limp, its magic spent. Outside the cave, Percival and Cedric feel the fever of lycanthropy drain from their veins like thawing ice. The curse is broken.
So ends the reign of the Wolf-Lord of Vorostokov. Where his tread once silenced villages, dawnlight now spills upon unmarred snow, and the howling in men’s dreams grows quiet. Yet the Mists are ever hungry; they close over the fallen tyrant and over the heroes who dared defy him, whispering that every victory is bought with a great price—one whose shadow may yet follow them beyond the next moonrise.
But that is another day.
For now, Spring comes, brilliant and bold.
Ice that once armoured every thorn and treetop shivers and begins to slough away. Where glaciers had clutched the hills, cataracts now roar: torrents bursting free in silver ribbons, cleaving new gullies, sending mist plumes that catch the newborn sun.
Beneath the melting crust the earth quickens. First come crocus spears—violet, gold, and ghost-white—skewering the thaw-soft loam. Then a riot of green unfurls faster than thought: ferns uncoil in a single heartbeat; mosses spill emerald carpets down every rune-scarred stone. Buds swell, burst, and bloom in trembling cascades—apple, cherry, hawthorn—until the air drifts with petals.
All around, the realm remakes itself in days, not months. Streams braid into rivers, rivers into lakes, and the lakes brim over, sculpting new deltas of silt and promise. Flower-drowned fields sway like a many-colored sea, and wind-tossed petals whirl skyward to greet a sun no longer muted by ice. Above it all, clouds billow white and fluffy.
The frost’s dominion ends not in silence but in rapture—an exultant chorus of melting, blooming, rushing life. Spring has come, brilliant and bold, and every buried seed answers the call: rise, rise, rise.
Some Unknown Date in Vorostokov. Game Sessions 11/15/24
At first light, Natalya and Elena rouse the party with sharp words and warm cloaks. They make good on their promise—furs, skis, snowshoes, rough packs with dried meats, and whispered warnings.
“You may rest no longer. The dark of the moon comes fast.”
The witches give directions, and Mikhail leads the way. His voice is tight. His shoulders hunched. The road to Vorostokov is long, but he knows it by heart.
Not an hour out, disaster nearly strikes.
A sudden rush of snapping branches and bounding forms explodes from the forest—a pack of wolves bursts from the trees, snarling and baring their teeth. The party turns to fight, but—
Mikhail screams.
His body seizes and collapses to the ground. Muscles twitch. His mouth opens in a raw cry, and his eyes burn bright yellow. The others leap toward him, ready to pin him down, to hold him back—but the change doesn’t come.
The wolf inside him rages, but does not rise. Mikhail lies panting in the snow, his hands bleeding from clenched fists. Slowly, the wolves slink away, as if released from command.
He does not speak for hours.
By evening, Vorostokov lies ahead.
Night has settled over the land, which may be a blessing; the shadows, along with the parkas and furs, hide identities well. The village is surrounded by snow-covered fields. The glittering band of a frozen river winds past the sleeping cottages. Across the river from the village, there is a large wooden palisade and the peak of a high roof ls visible behind it. Guttering torches flare before an open gate. "Gregor's hall," explains Mikhail. uwe should ask some of the villagers if the boyar has returned. We may be able to collect a few weapons-there are many in Vorostokov who have no love for Gregor's rule."
The village is silent, rooflines buried in snow. The old roads are blocked with drifts, and the windows glow dim with firelight. Once, fields surrounded this place. Now, they are dead, blanketed in ice. A few brave torches burn along the edge of the village, but no one patrols.
The Trau River is frozen over, thick enough to cross. Mikhail leads the party across the ice, boots crunching softly in the stillness. No one is about.
Percival and Gray suggest heading to the hut closest to the Trau River past the bridge.
“We’ll need weapons before we try to face him” Mikhail whispers. "Alina and I will scout first to assess if the town is guarded. If we are stopped by locals we speak the language and can blend in."
The party slips through snow-covered alleys and between shuttered homes. The villagers are inside—or watching from behind slatted windows. The place appears deserted.
Gregor’s Cabin
Across the river, nestled in a cluster of evergreens, stands a small weathered cabin. The group pushes open the door which opens with a groan.
“This was Gregor’s home, before the hall,” Mikhail says. “No one lives here now.”
The interior is dusty and cold, but largely intact. Snowshoes and skis lean against the wall. Blankets hang in the doorways. The cabin holds crockery, utensils, and dry stores, a small iron stove and cracked hearth, and some blankets and parkas, still in usable condition.
The party also finds a few rusty but serviceable knives, hunting gear, and sewing supplies. This is not a warrior’s lair—but it’s enough. A place to warm their feet and whisper a plan.
There’s a hush in the air, though. The group can’t shake the feeling that something lingers in this place.
This is where Gregor killed his mother, Antonina.
Some say she still haunts it.
Gifts from the Living
After brief respite, Mikhail and Alina venture forth into the village for aid. They pass shuttered homes and veiled windows, the weight of suspicion hanging thick in the air.
At last, they come to a wide, snow-draped cabin. A single lantern glows within.
Alina knocks.
After a pause, the door creaks open. A thin old man stands before them, his hair white, his face like seamed leather.
“Mikhail,” he says, surprised. His sharp eyes scan Alina. Then, wordlessly, he steps back and waves them in.
Inside, the cabin is thick with pelts and skins—cured, raw, stretched across wooden racks and beams. Near the hearth, a gaunt woman—Miri—sews a fur cape in silence, her needle flashing in firelight.
Their host straddles a chair and speaks.
“I am Andrei. My wife is Miri," he says to Alina. I can see that you are a stranger to Vorostokov. Who are you, and why have you come?”
Alina speaks first. Then Mikhail. And once it’s clear that they are with a group of warriors who are no friends of Gregor, Andrei leans in.
“Good,” Andrei says, low. “Then we are of one mind.”
He offers aid—but with care. The village is crawling with Gregor’s watchers. He can offer parkas, furs, snow gear—on loan, though he appreciates anything of value in exchange. Weapons are scarce, but he promises to scour the village for shortbows, arrows, knives, even materials for makeshift clubs and slings. If asked, he’ll direct them to Katerina the trader and Mother Tasha for herbs.
“Give me a few hours. I’ll find what I can.”
Warnings from the Dead
Mikhail and Alina return to Gregor's abandoned cabin and relay the news of help. The rest of the group is wary, but they have little choice. They wrap themselves in pelts and settle in for an icy rest. Inside this abandoned place the air is musty, steeped in cold rot and long disuse. Clay jars and rusted knives lie scattered on the floor. A frayed curtain shifts in the wind.
Then—
The wind rises.
A terrible chill pours through the room. The rocking chair by the hearth begins to creak, back and forth, back and forth. From the hearth comes a faint, cackling laugh.
The party freezes.
A glimmering shimmer takes form—a net of glittering ice, its threads stretched between two pale hands. In the flickering firelight, a shape coalesces in the chair: a ghostly crone, ancient and terrible, weaving snow into a spider’s web of frost.
“Welcome, Mikhail… welcome,” she whispers. “Come and give your grandmother a kiss, my boy.”
Mikhail’s face goes pale as death. “Bolzhoi moi… it’s Antonina.”
The spirit nods, rocking gently.
“Twelve years ago your father murdered me, Mikhail. There is a power in this land that sustains his curse, that gives life to him now. Gregor cannot be destroyed. If you kill him, his curse will only bring him back stronger than before. His curse must be broken if you are to finally kill him.”
“The curse of the wolf-skin?” Mikhail asks, his voice tight.
“It is Gregor’s source of power, and his only weakness. Sprinkle the skin with salt and wolfsbane, and when next he dons it, he will become the black wolf again… but he will be vulnerable to your weapons. Kill him while he is caught in this form, or you will never be able to defeat him again.”
“If Gregor is killed in man-form,” she continues, “his curse will carry him off to a secret cave in the forest. If you are quick, you will be able to poison his skin before he vanishes. His cave lies three miles to the south, beneath a black and rotten oak.”
Mikhail’s voice breaks. “Will this break the curse that he passed to me?”
But the ghost does not answer.
Antonina fades—first the hands, then the net of ice, then the whisper of her laughter, echoing like shattered icicles.
And then she is gone.
Luckily, Percival still has some of the Chitine salt from the depths of the dungeon, but the wolfsbane in the frozen waste will be harder to find.
Alina remembers–Mother Tasha for herbs.
That very night they venture back out in search of the Wolfsbane and manage to acquire it!
One by one, the forest spits the adventurers out—half-frozen, bloodied, and hunted. Each of them thinks the end is near.
Without fanfare, Natalya and Elena Zolnik, Gregor’s sisters, collect the survivors. Those who hesitate are warned: refuse their help, and the wolves will return. The wise follow.
The Witches’ Hut
The forest breaks open into a crooked glade, where a low, sagging cottage leans against a snow-laden pine. Smoke curls from its chimney, warm light flickering behind frost-laced windows. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of peat, herbs, and woodsmoke. Bundles of dried meat hang from the rafters. Shelves groan under the weight of strange roots, jars of eyes and oils, bones tied in bundles. Patchwork rugs cover the floor, and iron cauldrons simmer beside a hearth of stone.
There, curled beside the fire like a sleeping hound, lies Treshka—a leucrotta, monstrous and muscled, his amber eyes open and watching. He purrs, almost, as the party files in.
The door creaks shut. The heat hits their bones. But something is wrong.
Val is not with them.
For a moment, no one speaks. Then the silence shatters.
“Where's Val?” Gray says.
Eyes scan the room, then the door, then each other. Val is missing.
The weight of it hits like iron. Tears come, quietly at first. Alina lowers her head. Mikhail turns to the fire and does not speak. Brother Andrei makes the sign of the Morninglord with shaking hands.
But it is Percival who erupts. “No!” he growls, rising to his feet. “I’ll find him. I’ll go now—he might still be out there—he might be—”
Before he reaches the door, Natalya slams her staff to the floor. “You will do no such thing.”
“You don’t understand—he stayed behind! We must find him!” says Percival.
“No,” Elena says, stepping into his path. “We saw it all. He made his stand. He paid for it.”
“Val is dead,” Natalya says, her voice like stone. “And you are alive. Do not waste that.”
The fire crackles. Treshka watches, silent now.
No one else tries to leave.
The pain lingers, but the truth is final. Val is gone but he will be avenged.
After a while the witches address Mikhail. “We have watched you for some time now. It has been many years since anyone stood against Gregor. My sister and I hate the boyar and want to see him dead for his crimes. So we will aid you against him. At the same time, we are aiding ourselves.”
“Years ago that fiend murdered our mother,” Elena says, her eyes blazing. “You can help us exact our vengeance against the boyar.”
Mikhail sits slumped, exhausted, his face pale and drawn. But as Elena speaks, his head rises. His eyes catch the firelight.
“He killed Antonina? Another murder at his hands!”
Natalya continues, her voice low and steady.
“By now you have seen the kind of man that Gregor is. You have also seen the dark magics that he commands, taking the form of a great black wolf when he wants, and forcing his boyarsky to serve him. He is an evil creature, a creature of darkness. If his rule continues the day will come when Vorostokov is empty save for the howling of the hungry wolves.”
“Besides, if you do not strike now, you will never be able to,” cackles Elena. “Gregor's curse has touched several of you, and he can force you to change at will. But once your change is ruled by the moon, you will never be able to break the curse. The dark of the moon is only three days away. If Gregor is not dead by then, you will become his servants.”
“I will die before I become another of his boyarsky,” Mikhail mutters.
“Gregor has returned to his hall and awaits your return,” says Natalya. “He knows that your efforts to avoid his hunt were futile—no matter what happened, you would be his in a matter of days. We think he took your weapons and equipment with him. Mikhail knows the way to the boyar’s hall.”
"Now pay attention. You owe us your lives." Elena says. "You can repay us by destroying Gregor. If you do not undo Gregor's curse by the dark of the moon, you will be his forever. You may rest here for the night. We can give you furs and supplies. Mikhail can probably find weapons or allies in the village. but you shouldn't trust anyone you meet in Vorostokov. Many of the people are under Gregor's sway."
Gray, ever the diplomat, removes a ring from his finger and presses it into Natalya’s palm. “For your help,” he says.
She nods once and accepts.
In return, the witches offer warm furs and provisions, directions to Vorostokov, two potions of healing.
Some Unknown Date in Vorostokov. Game Session 10/25/24
The battle is over.
In the aftermath of the werewolf siege, the adventurers burn the twisted bodies of their enemies. The air is thick with smoke and mourning. Among the dead is Priestess Daciana, fallen mid-battle when Percival fails to reach her in time. She is honored with a solemn pyre–her sacred holy symbol resting upon her chest. Fire takes her gently, as the sun might cradle a final sunrise.
The rest of the cabin is torched with the dead. When some in the party suggest burning what remains of Kirinova, Alina and Mikhail object. This place is more than ruin. It is memory, it is hope. Elders once spoke of its beauty, of life before the eternal winter. And so the buildings stand, charred at the edges, but not erased.
The Clearing
Tracks lead southeast—wolf prints, unbroken, winding through snow-covered forest. After ten miles, the trail enters a clearing beneath a wide, cold sky. Stars shimmer above. But something is wrong: the wolf tracks stop. In their place are bare human footprints, overlapping and tangled, heading back toward Kirinova. A shallow pit nearby, now empty, marks a weapon cache, hastily covered with fir boughs. Gregor and his boyarsky dropped their gear here before the slaughter.
As the party investigates, Gregor strikes.
He and his men emerge from the trees—silent, sudden, sure. Before anyone can react, Cedric and Percival drop to their knees. Their bodies convulse. Fur rips through flesh. Bones stretch and snap. Their screams dissolve into snarls. They transform—werewolves, fully under Gregor’s command.
The rest of the party fights, but Igor and the boyarsky close in. They are outmatched, outnumbered, overwhelmed. Captured, disarmed, and stripped of gear, the adventurers are dragged before Gregor Zolnik, the dreadlord of Vorostokov.
A Father's Claim
Gregor interrogates them—names, origins, purpose—but his interest soon turns to Mikhail.
“I have left you alone for too long, my son,” Gregor murmurs.
Mikhail fights against his captors, spitting defiance. But Gregor doesn’t argue. Instead, he has a wolf pelt brought forth. The boyarsky strip Mikhail to the waist. Gregor places the skin across his shoulders.
Mikhail screams. His body seizes. Fur explodes from his skin. In moments, the hunter is gone—replaced by a massive gray wolf, eyes burning. With a savage snarl, Mikhail lunges past his captors and vanishes into the trees.
Gregor laughs.
“He will be back.”
Val’s Stand
Now Gregor turns to the rest.
“You are already mine,” he says. “But I give you a chance. A test. Reach my hall in Vorostokov by tomorrow night, and you may live—as boyarsky. Fail, and die.”
The party is given one hour. One by one, they will be released—unarmed, unarmored, no winter gear. Each will be hunted.
All agree.
Except Val.
He meets Gregor’s eyes and steps forward.
“I will never serve you,” he says. “I serve only the Morninglord.”
Then he defiantly slaps Gregor across the face.
Silence falls. Even the boyarsky hesitate.
Then Gregor acts. With a single, clean motion, he drives his sword through Val’s chest. The paladin crumples, but not before whispering his last breath:
“The light will find me.”
Val dies on his feet. A hero.
The Hunt Begins
One by one, the adventurers are cast into the night. The woods close in around them. Each is pursued—wolves and werewolves alike, driven by Gregor’s will.
Cold bites. Snow blinds. The forest disorients. Some stumble. Some run. Some hide.
Those who falter are nearly lost. The wolves close in. Growls echo. Fangs flash.
And then—
“Begone!”
Snowballs fly from the trees, striking with unnatural force. Wolves yelp and scatter. Out of the darkness hobble two ancient women, their stooped forms hunched under shawls of ice and root. With shrill voices and unerring aim, they drive off the pack.
These are Natalya and Elena, the witches of the woods.
“So. Gregor’s prizes,” one cackles. “Come with us if you want to live. The woods are full of his beasts tonight…”
I'm rather proud of the organization of this battle. I think it was super epic and you guys should be proud of yourselves for defeating so many elite foes. Here is the round by round as it went down.
Some Unknown Date in Vorostokov. Game Session 10/4/24, 10/11/24, and 10/18/24
The village of Kirinova is no more.
After a desperate flight through the frozen forests of Vorostokov, the adventurers arrived at what they hoped would be a haven—only to find horror. The town was eerily silent, its homes ransacked, its snow-covered streets darkened by blood. Wolves howled in the surrounding woods. The boyarsky had already come.
But the party was ready.
Inside a sturdily built cabin, the party made their stand. They barricaded doors, shuttered windows, and braced for the storm of fur and fang. Then the wolves came—first the natural beasts, then the monstrous werewolves who served the tyrant Gregor Zolnik.
The assault was relentless.
At the front, Val held firm, alone in a narrow hallway, her blade flashing silver as she cut down every creature that dared breach the threshold. To the rear, Brother Andrei and Mikhail Zolnik, the estranged son of the boyar, fought back-to-back against the pack. Inside the chaos, Paladin Percival waded into the fray, smiting wolves with divine wrath—but his single-minded fury cost the party dearly.
As Priestess Daciana lay bleeding out, her hands outstretched in silent plea, Percival turned away to finish another strike. By the time he returned to her side, it was too late. Daciana died with no last words—only the distant thunder of howling marking her passing.
Eventually, the tide turned. Alexei Zolnik, Gregor’s favored son, fell in battle—his body torn and lifeless in the drifting snow. But Igor, the werewolf hunter-turned-traitor, escaped with a handful of his beasts, melting into the forest.
The silence that followed was heavier than the snowfall.
A Survivor Among the Ruins
As the party regrouped and began a grim search of Kirinova, they made a single unexpected discovery: in the shattered remnants of the village church, a young female ranger crouched over the body of Sergei Ikoviev, the slain village priest. Her name was Alina, a cartographer by trade and a former confidant of Sergei. Shocked to learn that anything might exist beyond the mists, she agreed to join the adventurers—there was nothing left for her in Kirinova. Mikhail knew her by name; her grief was quiet but resolute.
Clues in the Ashes
Over the next half-day, the heroes scoured the village. They found 45 mutilated corpses, ample rations and winter supplies, and weapons enough to rearm and prepare for what lay ahead. In a ransacked cabin identified by Mikhail as Igor Rikorsky’s home, they discovered:
A forged set of silver arrowheads
A +1 silver longsword, hidden behind a loose hearthstone
A potion of healing and a scroll of protection from evil
And most critically, a charred journal, its last pages filled with revelations: Igor had tried to escape Vorostokov through the mountain passes—but they were impassable so long as the winter endured. He intended to seek out Natalya and Elena, Gregor’s outcast sisters, in search of hope or answers.
The journal also confirmed the party's worst fear: Igor had witnessed the boyarsky transform—human to wolf—in the depths of the forest.
What Comes Next
The trail of the wolves was clear, leading toward Vorostokov village. The adventurers, wounded but burning with resolve, knew that they had not reached the end—only the midpoint. The full moon had not yet risen. And Gregor, the black wolf of the forest, was still out there.
Waiting.
____
Effects Found on Priestess Daciana
Worn or Carried:
Cleric’s Robes (Cold Weather) – heavy woolen garment dyed in warm earthen tones, suitable for alpine conditions
Winter Clothing – fur-lined boots, gloves, and cloak
Holy Symbol of the Morninglord – finely cast sunburst of bronze and enamel, worn on a leather thong
Belt Pouch – containing 40 silver pieces and 16 gold pieces
Potion of Superior Healing – sealed glass vial with a sunburst sigil etched into the wax stopper
Holy Water (2 vials) – crystal-clear, sealed in thick glass with wax and twine
Flint and Steel – iron striker and stone set in a leather pouch
Scroll Case – lacquered wood with unfamiliar runes, containing divine scrolls (content TBD by DM)
Silver Pendant with Opal – a delicate vine-like cradle of silver holds a flame-hued opal, hangs from a fine silver chain with an adjustable clasp
Hammer – simple but serviceable, used both as a tool and holy implement
Sling of Seeking (magical)
Expertly crafted from carved wood, Midnight-blue leather pouch, embroidered and embossed with a serpent encircled by constellations, Two small sapphires, each carved with a mysterious run, Braided silver-thread cords, exquisitely detailed
Stats: 2 attacks, 1d4 damage / 1d4 damage, Range 40 ft / 80 ft (-2) / 160 ft (-5)
Some Unknown Date in Vorostokov. Game Sessions 8/30/24, 9/6/24, 9/13/24, and 9/20/24)
A Mysterious Light in the Wilderness
The day is bitterly cold, and the silence across the snow-covered landscape is eerie, as if the very air itself were holding its breath. The adventurers trudge forward through the frozen wilderness, each step through the deep snow draining their strength. As twilight begins to fall, Gray spots something unusual in the distance—a dim, orange glow piercing through the oppressive cold. It's the light of a campfire.
Gray, straps on his skis, moves ahead cautiously to investigate. As he approaches, he finds a small clearing where the fire crackles merrily in front of a lean-to made from pine boughs. Sitting by the fire is a dark-haired young man, warming a cup of steaming tea. He wears weathered buckskins and a thick fur parka draped over his shoulders. Close at hand lie a sturdy bow and a large battle axe. Over the fire, two rabbits roast on a spit, filling the air with the comforting smell of cooked meat.
Gray observes for a moment before stepping forward. The young man greets him warily. After a brief conversation, Gray learns that Mikhail Zolnik is a young hunter from Torgov, the village they are seeking and may just save them from getting lost in the wilds. Gray soon signals for the rest of the party to join them.
The adventurers gather around the fire where Mikhail freely shares his food and hot tea, grateful for the company.
As the adventurers warm themselves, Mikhail asks many questions, curious about who they are and where they come from. “What brings you to Vorostokov?” he asks, his tone friendly but probing. “And what do you know of Gregor Zolnik, the boyar of these lands?” He watches the adventurers closely, gauging their responses, especially whether they are allies of his father, Gregor. Once satisfied that they mean no harm, Mikhail relaxes, openly sharing his knowledge of the land over endless hot tea and the comfort of a fire fed by endless wooden dowels.
"This is Vorostokov,” Mikhail explains. “I’m from Torgov, a small village not far from here. The winters here… they never end. I’ve never seen spring, nor has anyone else in my lifetime. The elders say it's a curse. Whatever it is, it’s all I’ve ever known." He talks about the wolves—“The true masters of the forest,” he says, warning the adventurers to avoid them at all costs. “There’s a great black wolf who leads them, the grandfather of all wolves. He’s more cunning than any man.”
Mikhail’s own story is striking. He reveals that he is the marshkoulk of Torgov, the leader of its warriors. He is also Gregor Zolnik’s son, though he hasn’t seen his father in years. “Gregor is a cruel man,” Mikhail says bitterly. “He and his boyarsky enforce his reign with brutality, demanding tribute from the villages and starving the rest of us. Torgov refused to give him tribute last week, and I fear we will soon face his wrath.”
Seeing potential allies in the adventurers, Mikhail offers to lead them to Torgov. “You’re lucky you found my fire,” he says with a smile. “You might have frozen to death out here. I’ll take you to Torgov in the morning—it’s about a day’s march from here. You’ll find shelter and supplies there. And perhaps you can help us stand against Gregor when he comes.”
Grateful for his hospitality, the adventurers spend the night sharing stories and learning more about the harsh realities of Vorostokov. Mikhail's warm demeanor puts them at ease, but his underlying desperation is clear—his people need help, and he hopes that the adventurers may be the allies he’s been searching for.
Journey to Torgov
The next morning, the adventurers follow Mikhail through the endless snowfields, making steady progress. The day is cold, and the sky is a flat, dull gray, but Mikhail’s knowledge of the land keeps them moving efficiently. As they crest a small ridge, the village of Torgov comes into view.
Nestled at the base of a barren, snowy hill, Torgov is a small, humble hamlet. A dozen cabins form a rough circle in the village center, surrounded by empty farmland blanketed in snow. The granaries and livestock pens are nearly empty, and the village has a worn, desperate look to it, with the marks of hunger and cold visible everywhere.
Mikhail leads the adventurers to a small cabin at the heart of the village. He stomps the snow off his boots and shakes the ice from his fur parka as they enter. Inside, warm firelight fills a cozy taproom, where a handful of villagers drink hot tea or hard cider. Their faces are somber, but when they see Mikhail, their expressions soften with relief and curiosity.
“Anna, Pyotr, Kerin,” Mikhail calls out, introducing the adventurers to the villagers. “These are travelers I met in the forest. They’ve had a hard journey and could use some warmth and food.” At his request, the villagers bring blankets, bread, and cider to share.
The villagers, while hospitable, are wary of outsiders. They ask many of the same questions Mikhail did, wanting to know if the adventurers can be trusted, especially given Gregor’s looming threat. Anna Karelia, Mikhail’s fiancée, is a kind-hearted young woman with a bright smile and dancing eyes. She tends to any injured adventurers with care, offering a gentle touch and soft words of encouragement. “We need your help,” she says softly. “Gregor’s boyarsky will return soon. We can’t stand against them alone.”
The mood darkens as Pyotr Bolshoi, a grizzled old farmer-turned-blacksmith, chimes in, his voice low and bitter. “It’s no use,” he grumbles. “We’ve resisted before, and Gregor always wins. We’ll just be throwing our lives away.” His pessimism hangs heavy over the conversation, but despite his words, Pyotr is a stalwart defender of the village when it counts.
Kerin, a tall, wiry youth with keen eyes, listens intently to everything the adventurers say. He’s the village’s finest archer and is eager to learn more about the adventurers’ world, clearly impressed by their courage and experience. He’s quick to support Anna in urging the adventurers to help Torgov fight back against Gregor.
As the evening goes on, the adventurers share their own stories, warming up by the fire. Val gives them his mule for food and there is much celebration and gratefulness for the abundance. He also makes quick friends with his magical bag of wooden dowels by stockpiling their supply of firewood.
After some time, Mikhail sits down with the adventurers to discuss their plans. He explains that the village needs help, but he also acknowledges the dangers ahead. “If you’re serious about defeating Gregor or escaping this cursed land, I’ll stand with you. But I need to make sure the village is defended first. We can’t leave Torgov vulnerable.”
As the evening winds down, Greta, Mikhail's aunt and the owner of the taproom, shows the adventurers to a small room with straw-pallet beds and heavy sleeping furs. For the first time in days, they find a measure of comfort and warmth, knowing that tomorrow will bring new challenges.
Gregor’s Assault on Torgov
The next day, just before dawn, the adventurers are abruptly awoken by the sound of clashing steel and shouting outside. The village is under attack—Gregor Zolnik and his boyarsky have come, their torches already lighting the early morning darkness.
As the adventurers step into the open, chaos greets them. The wind stings their eyes and whips their cloaks, making it difficult to see. One of the peasant huts in the center of the village is already ablaze, casting a flickering light over the battlefield. Tall warriors in chainmail, Gregor’s men, are spreading out with torches in hand, ready to ignite more homes. The villagers fight back with whatever they can find—pitchforks, axes, and hammers—while Mikhail, the village’s young leader, leads them with his axe raised high, shouting, “To me! To me!”
Mikhail rushes into the fray, yelling for the villagers to rally to him. The adventurers, some half-armored, grab their weapons and follow. Outside, the scene is one of chaos and fire. Warriors in chainmail cut down the desperate villagers, and one of the huts is already ablaze.
The villagers are fierce, but the boyarsky are better equipped and fight like wild animals, cutting down the peasants with savage brutality. The adventurers throw in with the villagers, turning the tide with their skill and magic. Despite the confusion and the overwhelming odds, the party helps Mikhail and his people hold the line. Through the smoke and flames, they spot Gregor himself, directing the assault with cold, calculating efficiency. His fur cape flaps in the wind, and beside him stand Alexei Zolnik, his son, and the hulking Dmitri, a grim lieutenant wielding a massive battle axe.
The battle rages fiercely, and after several bloody minutes, the combined strength of the adventurers and the villagers begins to push Gregor’s men back. Gregor realizes he’s lost the element of surprise, and with a harsh curse, orders a retreat. “Listen to me, people of Torgov!” he bellows as his men begin to fall back. “Surrender, and I will spare your village! Defy me, and I will return with more warriors, and none of you will live to see another dawn!”
The battle is fierce, and for a moment, it seems the village might fall. But with the adventurers fighting alongside them, the villagers rally. Slowly but surely, the tide turns. After losing many of his men, Gregor orders a retreat, shouting, “This isn’t over! I will return with more men, and none of you will be spared!”
Mikhail, bloodied but unbroken, steps forward, his axe held high. “Go back to Vorostokov, father! We will die free rather than live beneath your heel!”
Gregor’s eyes burn with hatred. “You have not seen the last of me, my son. Your outlander allies will not be here to save you next time.” With that, Gregor and his remaining warriors disappear into the darkness, leaving Torgov silent except for the cries of the wounded.
As dawn’s pale light creeps over the horizon, Torgov stands scarred but standing. The villagers are shaken, but they offer what little they have to the adventurers in gratitude—rations, winter furs, and gear to survive the frozen wilds of Vorostokov. Mikhail, weary from battle, spends the morning ensuring Gregor and his men are truly gone.
At midday, the villagers notices a figure stumbling down the snowy hills. Val is incredulous when he recognizes Brother Andrei. The priest's body is frostbitten, and his once-proud robes are tattered. He explains he's been lost in the wilderness, searching for the monastery but found himself in a nightmare realm of ice and death. The adventurers take him into the taphouse, offering warmth, food and much healing. Andrei shares his haunting tale—of wandering through a land that no longer seemed connected to the world he knew. The monastery that appeared like a mirage and then as quickly vanished, replaced by a frozen wasteland filled with terror.
Later that day, Mikhail enters the village tavern where the adventurers have gathered. “Gregor won’t return for at least ten days,” he says. “He needs time to gather reinforcements, and the weather will slow him down.” His face hardens as he leans forward. “We can’t wait for him to come back. I want to go to Kirinova and persuade the men there to join us. If we’re going to stop Gregor, we need allies—and we need them fast.”
He pauses for a moment, looking at the adventurers with a determined gaze. “I ask you to come with me. We cannot spare any more of Torgov’s men, but with your help, we might stand a chance. Besides, Kirinova might hold the answers you’re seeking.”
After some discussion, the adventurers agree to accompany Mikhail to Kirinova, hoping to rally support and perhaps uncover more about the dark powers plaguing Vorostokov. In the following two days, the paladins silver the villagers' weapons in the forge and teach them some basic defensive maneuvers. They decide to leave the horses behind but charge Gretel to keep the animals safe. His mule, Val figures, should keep them fed for several weeks.
Daciana finds time to gather more stones for her sling and begins a process of atonement for her role in Elara's suicide.
Meanwhile, Gray finds time to woo Gretel and the two disappear for quite some time.
Mission to Kirinova
The journey to Kirinova begins under an ominous sky. Mikhail guides the party through the snow-covered wilderness, his experience in survival proving invaluable. The first several days are grueling but manageable. The biting cold is constant, but the weather is clear, and the party makes good time. However, as the second day draws to a close, the air suddenly grows colder, and the sky takes on an unnatural darkness.
The wind begins to howl, and the temperature plummets further. Mikhail’s eyes widen in fear. “It’s the Zilinya Neshka!” he shouts over the roaring wind. “We must find shelter, or we’ll die!”
The adventurers are caught on an open plain, with no immediate cover in sight. Desperately, they begin digging into the snow, creating a makeshift trench to protect themselves from the deadly winds and cold. As they huddle together, the storm intensifies. The wind rips through their furs, and the temperature drops to a deadly level. The Zilinya Neshka, a storm born of dark magic, threatens to freeze them alive.
Hours pass as the storm rages on, but the adventurers manage to keep their fire alive—barely. The magical teacup is passed around or just held as they cling to any shred of warmth. As they begin to hope they’ve survived the worst of it, shadowy figures appear in the blizzard. The Arayashka, primeval wraith-like predators of the frozen wilds, stalk them through the storm. Their black ghostly forms loom through the blinding snow, attacking without warning.
In the howling winds, missile attacks are nearly useless, and melee strikes are clumsy at best. The adventurers are forced to fight in the storm, battling the fiends in the freezing white-out.
Brother Andrei stays inside during the battle. He is too weak from the cold to face creatures of paralyzing ice. He prays fervently to the Morninglord and his prayers are answered when the party vanquishes the darkness.
The wraiths are relentless, but the adventurers hold their ground. After a brutal struggle, they manage to slay creatures, who leave behind dark negative stains where they fall.
The storm continues to rage for another day, forcing the party to remain in their trench, huddled together for warmth. When the Zilinya Neshka finally passes, they continue their journey, exhausted but alive. Still, they have lost valuable time. What should have taken five days has now taken a week.
Kirinova’s Devastation
After seven grueling days in the wilderness, the adventurers crest a ridge and finally see the village of Kirinova in the distance. The surrounding farmland is eerily still, and as they approach, it becomes clear that something is terribly wrong. There are no fires in the hearths, no lights in the windows. The village is silent, shrouded in an unnatural quiet.
Suddenly, the howls of wolves break the silence, echoing from the nearby forest. Gregor’s pack emerges, watching from the treeline. The adventurers realize they are being hunted. Without hesitation, the wolves begin their chase, sprinting across the snow with terrifying speed.
Val's first valiant thought is to attack, but when the rest of his comrades flee, he sees the wisdom of it.
The adventurers run toward the nearest building, their legs struggling through the deep snow. The wolves close in behind them, but the party reaches the village just in time. They throw themselves inside a darkened cabin, slamming the door behind them. Inside, the horror becomes clear—the cabin is filled with the remains of the family that once lived there, torn apart by savage claws. The village has been utterly destroyed.
Several party members puke at the sight of the slaughtered family–their entrails strewn about.
The adventurers barricade the doors and windows, knowing the wolves will soon be upon them. Outside, the howls grow louder, and the wolves’ shadows flicker through the windows. Gregor and his boyarsky are coming. The adventurers steel themselves for the fight of their lives, trapped in the heart of a ruined village, hunted by the Boyar’s pack.
The night grows colder, and the howls of the wolves echo across the frozen village. The battle for survival begins now…
In the warmth of the Torgov taproom, with the fire crackling and the adventurers gathered around, Greta leans in with a glint in her eye. “You want to hear about Gregor Zolnik, do you?” she begins, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “He wasn’t always the tyrant you know. No, in his youth, Gregor was a different man.”
She shifts in her chair, eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “Gregor was the strongest, most skilled hunter in all of Vorostokov. Proud, brave, and feared for his ability to track and kill. But there was one winter, long ago, that changed him forever. It came early—snowfall heavier than anyone had ever seen. The crops were ruined, buried beneath drifts so high that even the sleds couldn’t move through it. It didn’t stop. Day after day, the snow kept falling, and soon, Vorostokov was in danger of starving.”
Her voice drops, drawing the adventurers closer. “The hunters went out every day, but found nothing. The forest was barren. The only sign of life? Wolves. Hunters would scavenge the leftovers of wolf kills, but it wasn’t enough to feed the village. Gregor—he wouldn’t accept that. One day, near midwinter, he was out tracking, and it was so cold, so dark… even the sun refused to rise. He was returning home empty-handed, and that’s when he found it—a great black wolf, wounded after a fight with a bull elk. Or so they say..."
Greta pauses for effect, her voice growing hushed. “He watched the wolf dying and thought about its strength, its cunning. ‘If I had your stamina,’ he muttered to the beast, ‘I wouldn’t be starving. I’d feed my family and more.’ The wolf stared at him with those eyes… you know the kind. Cold, intelligent. And in that moment, Gregor remembered an old story his grandfather had told him—a legend about how the fiercest hunters could take the strength of the beasts they conquered.”
She straightens up, gesturing with her hands. “Gregor decided that he wouldn’t return home empty-handed. He killed the wolf, butchered the elk right there in the snow, and dragged the carcass back to Vorostokov. By the time he reached his mother’s house, he was near collapse, but he had done it—he had saved his family.”
A brief smile plays across her lips before she continues. “But that’s not the end of it. When Gregor awoke the next evening, he found that his mother had shared the meat with the whole village. At first, he was furious—he’d wanted it for his family. But then he realized… he could do it again. Night after night, Gregor hunted. While others starved, he brought food to the people of Vorostokov. He never told anyone how he managed it, but he kept the village fed for the rest of that terrible winter.”
Greta leans closer, her voice softening as the fire crackles. “Come spring, the duke himself—Andrei Vladimir—came to meet the man who had kept Vorostokov alive. Many other villages in the region hadn’t survived the winter as well as ours. That’s when Gregor met the duke’s daughter, Ireena. They say the two fell in love at first sight, and soon after, they were married. Gregor went to live at the duke’s castle, leaving the village behind.”
She gives a knowing look to the adventurers. “But it wasn’t a happy ending, no. Even in the warmth of the duke’s halls, Gregor couldn’t shake the call of the wild. He’d find reasons to leave the castle—‘visiting his mother,’ he’d say. But in truth, he was returning to the forest, back to the hunt. And Ireena… well, she began to suspect something. She thought Gregor was sneaking off to see another woman, and in her grief and anger, she took a lover of her own.”
Greta shakes her head, her voice tinged with sorrow. “That betrayal—it broke something in Gregor. When he found out, he flew into a rage. He killed the lover first, but it didn’t stop there. He went to Ireena’s chambers that night… and she didn’t live to see another dawn.”
The room falls silent as Greta’s tale comes to an end. “After that, Gregor changed. The man who had once saved Vorostokov became a tyrant, a cold-hearted ruler who cared only for his own power. Some say it was grief, others say it was the wolf in him. But whatever it was, the hero of Vorostokov was gone, replaced by the monster we know today.”
She leans back in her chair, letting the firelight dance across her face as the adventurers absorb her words. “But, like all stories, who’s to say how much is true?” Greta adds with a shrug. “Folk around here love their tales. Still, something changed that winter, and Gregor hasn’t been the same since.”
As the fire flickers in the dim taproom of Torgov, the adventurers lean in closer to hear Greta spin the darker part of Gregor’s tale, her voice hushed as if sharing forbidden knowledge.
"You see, it wasn’t just Ireena and her lover. The night Gregor found out about her betrayal, he didn’t stop with them. The tale goes that Ireena’s screams woke one of the maidservants. Poor thing went to see what had happened… and Gregor, already lost to madness, killed her, too. But that wasn’t the worst of it."
Greta’s eyes dart around, making sure no other villagers are too close to hear. “They say something took over Gregor that night, something more than grief or rage. The scent of blood, it drove him mad. He stalked through the corridors of the duke’s castle, killing any who crossed his path—servants, retainers, even the duke himself, still asleep in his bed.”
She pauses, the fire crackling as if echoing the bloodshed she describes. "By morning, the castle was a tomb, and Gregor awoke… not in the duke’s halls, but back in Vorostokov. The following winter was colder and darker than before, and the village was starving once more. Gregor tried to hunt, but the forests had turned against him. No elk, no caribou—nothing lived in those woods anymore."
Greta lets the silence hang for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. “The only thing left to hunt… was people. Oh, yes. Gregor turned his attention to the villages. His people. At first, they praised him as their provider, the man who brought them meat when all else failed. But over time, the villagers noticed the game he brought back was… strange. The meat, they whispered, wasn’t from elk or caribou. It came from something else.”
Greta lowers her voice further, leaning in. "You see, the black wolf of the forest was no longer a hero. He became a terror. Villagers started to disappear—hunters, woodsmen—any who dared to enter the forest alone. Gregor wouldn’t allow it. He hunted the hunters. One by one, they vanished, and only Gregor returned, his hands stained red, always with food to offer… but never saying where it came from."
She lets out a breath, casting a glance toward the door as if expecting someone—or something—to walk through it. "The people feared him, but what could they do? They were starving. Desperate. And Gregor, well… in his twisted mind, he still thought of himself as the hero of Vorostokov. A provider. But the truth was, the man who once saved the village had become its worst nightmare."
Greta takes a sip of her cider, pausing before continuing. "There were rumors, though—whispers that not everyone would stand for it. A young man named Yuri rallied the bravest of the villagers, a small band of loyal men who demanded to know where Gregor went each night and what he truly hunted. Gregor, they say, nearly killed them all for their insolence. He wanted to. But his mother, Antonina, she stepped in. She called him out, saying he had betrayed his people and the memory of his father. Some say it was the only thing that stayed his hand."
She leans back, her eyes flicking over the adventurers with an almost somber look. "That’s when it really began, you know. Gregor couldn’t have his power challenged. So, they say, he created his boyarsky, men loyal only to him—enforcers, really. He recruited them from those still desperate enough to follow him, men who feared starvation more than they feared the truth. And from then on, no one questioned Gregor Zolnik. Those who did… well, they never returned from the forest.”
“Then there is… the story of my sister, Sasha—Mikhail and Alexei’s mother. Sasha was the most beautiful woman in Torgov. Gregor met her while traveling through the villages, back when he was still building his power as Boyar. When he saw her, he decided she would be his wife, no matter her fear of him. He had strength, yes, but his temper… it was vile. Still, Sasha, in her innocence, agreed. She left Torgov and went with him to Vorostokov.”
Greta pauses for a moment, her voice softening. “My sister was kind, gentle, and pure-hearted. Gregor, for all his savagery, doted on her. His temper would soften in her presence. But even though he loved her, every night he would leave her side to roam the forests, disappearing into the cold darkness. He forbade Sasha to speak of his absences, but she grew uneasy, wondering where he went. As time passed, she gave birth to their first son, Alexei. Gregor adored his son, but the rest of his family—Antonina, his mother, and his sisters—were jealous beyond reason.”
She shakes her head, her voice tinged with sadness. “When Mikhail was born, Sasha hoped it would bring peace to their lives, but it only deepened the divide. Mikhail was different—gentle like his mother, quiet and reserved. Nothing like Gregor or Alexei. It was Alexei who Gregor favored, and when Alexei turned eighteen, Gregor decided to initiate him into his inner circle, the boyarsky.”
Greta’s voice drops even lower, her face hardening as she speaks. “That night, Mikhail was visiting us here in Torgov, staying with me. The rumor goes that Gregor took Alexei deep into the woods, preparing to bring him into his dark world and Sasha and Antonina followed him. Together, they spied on Gregor and Alexei in the forest. And what they saw… it changed everything. That night, my sister must have learned the truth; the horror she had married into.” Greta's voice falters for a moment as she stares into the fire, her eyes distant, lost in memory. “A week later I learned that Sasha was dead. Gregor said she had fallen to her death…but I do not believe him. Whatever horrors Gregor and Alexei were involved in—must have shaken her to the core."
Greta takes a sip. "Now, I can’t say for sure how much of this is true,” she says with a slight shrug, “but folk around here, they still whisper about the black wolf of the forest. About Gregor. Whether he’s still the man who once saved Vorostokov, or something far darker. You saw for yourself.”
With that, she leans back into the shadows of the taproom, her tale lingering in the adventurers’ minds like a chill creeping in from the cold outside.
During the night, Cedric falls asleep and the party half freezes to death. They spend the following day just tryign to get warm.
Before they break camp, a raven delivers a message from Brother Andrei. It turns out that he is in Barovia for a happy occasion, rather than a somber one. His sister is getting married to a nobleman and his whole family has come into significant wealth as a result.
As the party gets on its way, they begin to hear a chilling, moaning sound coming from the woods. At first, they think it's the wind, and Val and Daciana try to "sing" it away. After a moment it becomes clear that the sound is not the wind but some supernatural manifestation. The party faces off with vile creatures that paralyze them, terrify them, and attempt to eat them alive all agains the backdrop of howling wolves.
The party emerges victorious against the cloakers and discovers their lair where victims' belongings have been strewn into a pile. The treasure yields:
Currency
215 silver pieces (sp)
95 gold pieces (gp)
44 copper pieces (cp)
Gems and Jewelry
5 black pearls
3 moonstones
Pieces of nicely cut obsidian
Silver pendant set with an opal
Gold ring with an intricate raven motif
Sinister black ring, intricately carved
Weapons and Armor
Beautifully crafted dagger
Very well-made shortsword
Partial suit of human full plate (including breastplate, helmet, and greaves)
Exquisite sling (very well crafted, carved wood) with a small bag of perfect rocks, carefully wrapped
Magic and Religious Items
Scroll case with scrolls
An unholy symbol (twisted silver amulet depicting a dark deity that looks like a demon)
Miscellaneous Equipment
Quiver with arrows (6 good arrows, some broken)
Hammer
Climbing pitons
Backpack
Provisions
Frozen jerky and cheese
Artifacts
Beautifully painted ceramic tea set (includes pot, 2 cups, and a satchel of tea)
The following day it becomes clear that they are being trailed by wolves. They face off with ten wolves, six lycanthropes, and an alpha black wolf that appears every bit like the kin of the fierce Vorax Shadowfang. They kill twelve of their assailants before the rest run off. Shortly after the battle, they see two of the wolves revert into naked human males.
Could such bites be contagious? Only time will tell.
1052 XP for this session. Are you sick of wolves yet?
January 25-28 Y357 Game Sessions 7/30/2024, 8/2/2024, 8/7/2024
The adventurers approach the ancient and foreboding Raven’s Bridge, en route to Krezk. As they near the bridge, a raven alights on a nearby branch, its dark eyes locked onto Gray. The bird's ominous caw sends a shiver down his spine, warning of unseen danger. Gray's instincts flare, putting him on high alert as they continue toward the tollhouse.
Raven’s Bridge itself spans the yawning chasm of Rime Gorge, standing as a grim sentinel on the road to Krezk. The covered bridge, a relic of an ancient era, groans underfoot with every step. The wood is gnarled and twisted, with a surface uneven and slick with moisture, and the air is thick with a bone-chilling cold. As the party crosses, they feel as though the shadows themselves are watching, whispering tales of the countless souls who have fallen into the abyss below.
Arriving at the tollhouse, the party meets Anais, the weathered and distraught tollkeeper. She is a middle-aged woman with graying hair pulled into a tight bun, her face etched with lines of worry and fatigue. Her voice trembles with desperation as she recounts her husband Lucien's disappearance. He had left to assist a noblewoman whose carriage had broken down near the gorge. Lucien never returned, and Anais, bound to her post, is helpless. The adventurers, moved by her grief and the dark mystery surrounding the event, vow to find Lucien and return him safely. Anais is grateful. She offers them food and a place to rest in the loft of her small, cramped tollhouse. The night passes uneasily, the flickering lamplight casting eerie shadows that dance across the rotting timbers of the bridge outside.
The next morning, the adventurers set out to investigate. The path leads them to the edge of the gorge, where they discover the remnants of the noblewoman's carriage, its broken frame lodged precariously on a crag far below. The signs of a violent struggle are evident: heavy, erratic footprints, a blood-streaked handkerchief, and a discarded satchel. The scene is one of chaos and desperation, hinting at the horror that befell Lucien.
Determined to find answers, Daciana, Cedric, Percival, and Gray prepare for the perilous descent into the gorge, leaving Val to guard the horses. The path down is steep and treacherous, with loose gravel, icy slopes, and crumbling rocks that threatening to send them plummeting into the churning waters below. The walls of the gorge rise high around them, dark and jagged, cutting sharply against the overcast sky. The descent is slow and cautious, each step a battle against the slippery terrain. Gray, ever nimble, leads the way, his keen eyes scanning for danger.
At the bottom, the adventurers discover a cave entrance, partially obscured by overgrowth and the sheer rock face. The cave beckons with an ominous allure, its gaping maw exhaling a cold draft that carries the faint, acrid scent of decay. The air inside is thick and oppressive, the walls slick with moisture and adorned with dark veins of minerals. Stalactites hang from the ceiling like jagged teeth, and the floor is uneven, covered in loose gravel and slick mud.
Gray hides in shadows and enters the main chamber of the cave. Here, the darkness is profound, broken only by the dim light of the entrance, which reflects off pools of stagnant water, casting eerie shadows that dance along the walls. In the rear of the chamber, Gray is horrified to find Lucien—pale and gaunt, his eyes glowing with an unsettling hunger—about to sink his fangs into the neck of an unconscious child. Acting on instinct, Gray launches a surprise attack, his blade striking true. Lucien reels from the blow, and as the rest of the party rushes in, chaos erupts.
Lucien, now fully aware of their presence, pleads for his life. He explains in a voice trembling with fear and regret that he has been cursed by Elara, an ancient vampire of immense power and cruelty. She seduced him with promises of power and immortality, only to turn him into a twisted creature of the night. Lucien begs the adventurers to tell Anais that he loves her but that she must forget about him, for he is lost. Just as he is about to warn them further, a dense, poisonous mist begins to rise from the floor of the cave, and before their eyes, Lucien’s head rolls from his shoulders, severed by an unseen force.
Realizing the danger, the paladins and the priestess flee the cavern without any thought of the unconscious boy. In disbelief, Gray grabs the child and rushes toward the exit, but the mist is relentless, gnawing at their health as they stumble through the darkness. As if things couldn't get worse, they are attacked by a swarm of giant bats.
Val sees the commotion from above and makes his way down the ropes in time to slay several bats. Val then heals the boy, who awakens terrified and disoriented. The child refuses to leave without his mother, whom he insists is still inside the cave. Val, understanding the gravity of the situation, convinces the boy to climb back up the treacherous slope and wait with the horses, promising to return with his mother. The boy, though unwilling, finally obeys.
The vampire vixen appears in the cave and all who make eye contact with her feel the pull of her powers. All resist except Cedric, who is seduced by her and willingly follows the "nice lady" inside. Mist envelops the cave once more, preventing the already wounded party from charging in. After a heated debate where Gray warns against entering, the party decides to go after Cedric once the mist clears.
Gray reluctantly volunteers to scout ahead once more. The deeper tunnels are narrow and oppressive, the air thick with a sense of malevolence. Strange symbols and carvings on the walls suggest that dark rituals have been performed here. As Gray moves deeper, he hears disturbing sounds—echoes of bestial passion—that lead him to a horrifying scene. Cedric, entranced and naked, is engaged in a twisted act with the boy’s mother. The vampire Elara is nowhere to be seen, but her influence is palpable.
Gray quickly retreats and relays the situation to the others. The party enters and finds the pair of unlikely lovers in a disheveled state, and though Cedric is clearly still under Elara's spell, they manage to drag him and Cyntia out of the cave.
Tragedy strikes when they discover the boy’s body, lifeless and broken at the foot of the gorge, having fallen from the treacherous slope. Val, numb with regret, blames himself for sending the boy to his doom. His failure weighs heavily on his heart, a bitter reminder of the dangers of assumption and the unforgiving nature of the world they inhabit.
In a moment of rage, Daciana admonishes the woman for being a bad mother. Driven mad with grief and despair, throws herself into the fuming gorge. Gray makes a desperate attempt to save her, but he slips, nearly falling to his own death. The suicide deepens the party’s sorrow as does
With heavy hearts, the adventurers return to Anais and deliver the devastating news. Her husband is dead, and though they have tried to save him, they could not bring him back. Anais is inconsolable, her grief a mirror of the sorrow that hangs over the entire party. That night, they rest in her home, but sleep brings little comfort. The fear of Elara’s return and Cedric’s compromised state haunts their thoughts, keeping them on edge.
The next day, they escort Anais to Krezk, where they meet with Priestess Althea to make funeral arrangements for Lucien. With no body to bury, Anais is left with only memories and a heart full of sorrow. Val, guilt-ridden, promises to return Lucien’s body to her. As they enter Krezk, they find the town oppressed by a mysterious illness, its people fearful and weighed down by despair. The air is thick with unease, and the adventurers realize that their journey is far from over, the shadow of the vampire still looming large over them.
Sister Althea gives the party advice on battling vampires based on what she knows and prays over Cedric, ending his enchantment. When Cedric comes to his senses he's appalled at his actions and atones with prayer.
The following day, the adventurers head back to the tollhouse and make camp for the evening in Anais' house.
Outside, the night is cold and damp and frigid mists blanket the countryside. A rime of clear ice has settled over the branches of the trees. and the ground is covered with white frost. The warmth of the fire is a comfort against the encroaching chill. Gray tosses more dowels into the fire hoping to counter the chill. He hates the cold.
ln the distance, the ghostly howl of a wolf rises. Its forlorn cry sends an icy chill through the room. Even with weapons close at hand, Gray feels unease in the misty darkness away from the fire-something is not right, and he doesn't plan to be caught flat footed. He wakes up Percival and Daciana and the three go outside to see what has spooked the horses.
The mists swirl and eddy around the covered bridge, and then a dark shape emerges at one end of the bridge and stumbles foward. It is a strangely dressed man, and he totters forward and collapses. He is wearing thick furs and a hooded cape, and his boots are made from buckskin. Broken snowshoes are strapped to his back, and clutched in his hand is a blood-stained hatchet.
His face is ghostly white, and a pattern of deep blue wounds surrounded by patches of white frost mark his throat and his arms. A long, flowing beard and drooping mustache frame his swarthy face. His skin literally burns with cold to the touch.
The silence is suddenly pierced by the haunting howl of a wolf, much nearer than the last one. A great white wolf with red eyes emerges from the mists a few yards away. The mists ding to it, and with a quick twist it is gone, padding off again into the fog and the cold. It turns and glances back once. and then the mists roll In to conceal it once more.
There is nothing to be done for the stranger–he is frozen through and quite dead. A thorough search of his pockets and gear turns up a
parka, the pair of snowshoes, a composite short bow, a quiver with no arrows, a hunting knife, and the hatchet. A backpack holds a few scraps of dried meal.
As they examine the body, the wolf drifts in and out of vision, darting and disappearing in the mists and the shadows. The air around it is amazingly colder, and every breath drawn in burns nostrils and lungs with its frostiness. Suddenly, the wolf turns to attack! In a lightning-swift leap, the wolf rips into Gray causing grievous wound. Gray is struck by waves of cold that numb his whole body as the wolf's fangs find their mark. The pain and darkness overcome him, and he fall to the ground racked by horrible chills. As he collapses, the mists rush in and cover his body. For a moment Gray can't see his companions and then he is blinded by cold.
Percival attacks the beast delivering a solid blow, but the wolf seems almost spectral as it takes the form of mist, disappearing again in a swirl of fog. For Gray, the surrounding sounds of struggle appear distant and weak.
As the wolf vanishes, Percival lifts Gray over one shoulder and rushes with him inside where he immediately stokes the fire to get him warm. Percy then wakes Cedric and Val.
Daciana remains outside in the cold and begins dragging the dead stranger down the covered bridge.
Once again, the wolf appears and attacks, nearly killing her. Hearing this from inside, Val rushes out in only his padding. The party gets there in time to save her life. Another few seconds and the wolf would have had her. It's a this moment that the spiritual hammer she's cast vanishes into thin air.
Everyone retreats inside. Daciana and Gray are in rough shape, half frozen and bleeding. Meanwhile the wolf is wreaking havoc with the horses outside. Stormbreaker is bitten and suffers serious frostbite.
Val, Percy and Cedric go back outside to face off with the spectral ice wolf. Somewhat recovered, Gray joins the fray with this bow and arrow at one end of the bridge. Daciana too exits the house and goes outside to see what is happening, making sure to keep distance between her and the wolf.
Percival at last lands a solid blow on the beast and kills it. The wolf disappears in a puff of white mist that suddenly engulfs them and transports them to another time and place.
Darkness and cold swirl about. and all sense of direction is completely obscured by the mists. Heartbeats slow and stop in the numbing emptiness. Time seems to hang suspended. and the darkness lasts but a moment-or perhaps for an eternity-before white, blinding light erupts everywhere. In the next instant. reality returns in the form of cold, dry snow.
The party is struck by a bitter, biting cold that, unlike the frigid mists from before, is not supernatural. It is, however. more numbingly icy, more absolutely arctic, than seems possible. Exposed hands and faces are already becoming clumsy and painful, with needles of searing cold piercing the skin in a maddening assault. Several varieties of evergreens-mostly pine, spruce. and fir-stretch on as far as the eye can see. Powdery snow lies over the branches and in deep drifts beneath the boles of the trees, creating an eldritch realm of sparkling ice and delicate white sculptures. It would be quite beautiful if it were not so bitterly cold. The sky is deepening toward twilight. and the approaching night is likely to bring unendurable cold. Coats and furs, adequate for the winter of the realm let behind. will not be enough protection in this frigid place.
The immediate surroundings hold nothing but dark, brooding forest and deep drifts of snow. No landmarks of any kind can be seen In the frozen wilderness. The cold, dry air leaves throats and noses burning. The wind carries on it from far away the howl of a wolf. The sun has dipped below the horizon. and although it is barely imaginable, it is growing colder. A more careful search of the hauntingly quiet area reveals a set of tracks in the snow, leading to a small clearing nearby. They are the footprints of a single man with numerous animal tracks overrunning the man's prints. The human footsteps appear to end in the middle of the clearing.
The air is unnaturally still and clear in the frozen woods. The only sounds are the crackle and rustle of boots in the snow and ragged, steaming breaths. Exposed hands and faces are throbbing with pain. Near the tracks in the clearing lie scattered packs and gear–apparently an abandoned campsite. A heap of cold ashes and half-burned logs is surrounded by packs, a crude set of sleeping furs, and a pair of skis. It is obvious that someone left in a hurry without bothering to take any of the supplies or equipment. From the condition of the packs, it's obvious that animals have discovered the camp.
A search turns up 10 days' rations (dried meat and cheese), two frozen waterskins, skis, enough extra furs to manufacture one parka, a tinder kit and kindling, and a tattered journal lying In the cold ashes of the fire. The journal is largely destroyed, but a patient reader can piece through it. ln the back of the journal there is a sturdy map inked on caribou hide. The journal was tossed into the fire and most of it is unreadable.
Igor's Journal & Map
"...This being the journal of Igor Rikorsky, begun in the year 1127 of the Patriarch's Calendar. I have chosen to record my journey in Vorostokov hoping that even if I do not disocver a way to escape this cursed land, perhaps those who come after will..."
"...I reutnred to Kirinova to consult with Sergei Ikovich concerning the location of the passes to the north, but I discovered that the Boyarkski of Gregor had gatehred outside the town. Their presence here can only mean trouble, and I fear for the folk of the village..."
"...the men of Kirinova took up arms against the boyar Gregor and drove him and his boyarski off, refusing to pay his mad tribiute. The boyars promised to return with more warriors and to put the village to the sword..."
"...at Sergei's request I followed the boyar and his men to Vorostokov, looking for an opportunity to spy on their camp. I was able to overhear the boyar plotting Kirinova's destruction. 'We will have to break Torog, as well, he said. Could it be that there is another village that rebels against his rule?"
"...This being the journal of Igor Rikorsky, begun in the year 1127 of the Patriarch's Calendar. I have chosen to record my journey in Vorostokov hoping that even if I do not disocver a way to escape this cursed land, perhaps those who come after will..."
"...I reutnred to Kirinova to consult with Sergei Ikovich concerning the location of the passes to the north, but I discovered that the Boyarkski of Gregor had gatehred outside the town. Their presence here can only mean trouble, and I fear for the folk of the village..."
"...the men of Kirinova took up arms against the boyar Gregor and drove him and his boyarski off, refusing to pay his mad tribiute. The boyars promised to return with more warriors and to put the village to the sword..."
"...at Sergei's request I followed the boyar and his men to Vorostokov, looking for an opportunity to spy on their camp. I was able to overhear the boyar plotting Kirinova's destruction. 'We will have to break Torog, as well, he said. Could it be that there is another village that rebels against his rule?"
"...they have discovered my eavesdropping, but I got away fro their camp. The boyarski shall not rest until they have found me..."
"...I must reach Torgov, to warnthem of the boyar's men. I do not think that I will make it there. The wolves are stalking me–even now I can see their red eyes in the shadows, watcing me. I may yet escape–a strange fog is risign and it is growing colder. I will try to lose them in the mists."
The dead man is a hunter named Igor Rikorsky who was apparently trying to escape from someone named Gregor in the forests when the mists descended on him.
The name Vorostokov and Torgov strikes a note with Percival who recalls their meeting with the two wolf hunters at the Grimvale Inn prior to arriving in Vallaki where they learned the name of the great black wolf that stalked them (Vorax Shadowfang). The tall muscular wolf hunter named Faelin had been dressed in a manner similar to Igor and said he was from a place named Torgov. Could he have hailed from this place?
When Val asks Daciana why she risked her life for the dead hunter's body, he learns her plan for swapping the man's body with Lucian's should they only be able to procure the severed head from the cave. This elicits a laugh from Gray and several incredulous looks from the paladins. They figure the cold has gotten the better of the priestess...and they might just be right.
The temperature continues to drop rapidly, and fingers and feet no longer hurt, In fact, they cannot be felt at all. The wounds from the white wolf of the mists ache as though liquid fire had been poured into them. No one could travel far in this darkness and the cold; the only hope for survival is a shelter from the cold.
Gray who has had plenty of experience dealing with the cold quickly mobilizes the half frozen party and they begin building a gigantic fire and cutting boughs from the nearby woods to build a shelter. As night falls they have huddled around their animals in the improvised shelter of snow, leaves, and a tarp for a roof. Only in this manner do they find warmth. Those who can mend begin work on constructing mittens and a parka from the supplies in the camp and the dead man's gear. Gray explains that in the cold they must eat twice their rations if they are not to succumb to starvation. Survival is the first priority.
The night lasts forever, or so it seems. When the sun finally rises, it is dim and weak, and from the way that it barely clears the southern horizon, it is obvious that there will be less than five hours of sunlight. Perhaps, with the twilight that lasts for a few hours before dawn and after sunset, there will be eight hours of usable light during the day.
If they are to traverse these snowy wastes they will need to get crafty as much of their gear has been left behind in Anais' home.
To be continued.
950xp for game session on 8/2/2024
500xp for game session on 8/7/2024
In Vallaki, Daciana manages to convince a farmer to part with his pack animal for an ungodly sum of gold and she purchases a mule she names "Sorry." Let us hope that Sorry doesn't meet the same sorry fate as "Eclipse."
After resupplying their rations, the party departs Vallaki once more and head out on the Old Svalich Road. An ice storm has coated the woods in crystalline splendor and the sun manages to peek through the gray clouds. Even the fog is not as thick as it usually is and the journey goes uneventfully.
At dusk they arrive in Drakenheim, a quaint, snow-covered village nestled within the dark, mist-shrouded lands of Barovia. The village is built around a central square, with a mix of wooden and stone buildings. Despite the foreboding atmosphere, the village exudes a rustic charm with its warmly lit windows and smoke curling from chimneys.
The group stables their horses in the stables of The Black Wolf Tavern and settle in for the night. The tavern is a two-story building with a thatched roof and a large stone fireplace. Inside, they are greeted by innkeeper Vaelora, a middle-aged and handsome woman who is glad for the company. The roast "meat" they discover is wolf meat cooked to perfection. Gray discovers that the locally wine is exceptional and buys several bottles.
During the meal, they are greeted by a an older balding man dressed in woolen priest robes bearing the symbol of the Morninglord. He introduces himself as Father Anton and bids them stop by the church before departing.
Later in the evening, Gray picks up his guitar and begins to play. During the song, he begins to hear a strange accompanying melody. Val and Cedric hear the music, along with many of the other patrons, but Daciana and Percival do not.
As Gray changes the tune, he realizes that the melody becomes concordant. And when he stops playing, the music continues–albeit in his head.
When questioned, Vaelora admits the music has been a problem for a while. Some have gone quite mad from it and wandered into the forest. The music has been going on for many years and no one knows its origin.
The party members who hear the music cannot stop hearing it and sleep becomes nigh impossible as it becomes louder and louder. Val and Cedric are so infuriated by the sound that they rush out in the middle of the night and enter the forest to try to "kill" the music.
Their confused companions follow.
Deep in the woods they come upon the source of the beautiful and haunting music.
The ghostly figure of Ailard the Melodious stands tall amidst the Circle of Stones, his ethereal form flickering with a ghostly light. His eyes, once filled with sorrow and longing, now blaze with a fierce determination as the paladins approach. He raises a spectral hand, silencing the rustling wind and whispering trees.
"Brave knights, heed my plea!" Ailard's voice echoes with a haunting melody, reverberating through the ancient stones. "You tread upon hallowed ground, where blood was spilled and dreams were shattered. I am Ailard the Melodious, bard of old, slain by treachery and deceit in this very circle."
He pauses, his eyes scanning the faces of the paladins, searching for understanding. "Long have I been bound to this place, a restless spirit seeking justice and peace. My murder was not an act of war or vengeance, but a cowardly strike born of jealousy and fear. I ask not for your pity, but for your aid."
Ailard's voice grows softer, tinged with a desperate hope. "Find the one who bears the blood of my killer. Right the wrong that was done. And complete the song that I could not. Only then will my soul find rest, and this place be free of its sorrow."
He lowers his hand, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. "Will you, noble warriors, take up this quest? Will you help a fallen bard find peace at last?"
After an exchange of words it becomes clear that swords will answer the plea and a battle ensues.
Daciana and Gray arrive to find Cedric, Percival, and Val engaged with the ghostly spectre. Daciana has heard of the bard before in long forgotten history books and attempts once more to reason with him. She learns of the terrible evils that someone named Gethen inflicted on him, sacrificing him and stealing his soul on the very spot they stand on.
But the dialog does not last long after Gray proceeds to taunt him and call him "stupid." The infuriated ghost focuses his anger on Gray leaving him stupefied with fear.
Moments later, it is all over as Val delivers the killing blow. The bard disappears as does the music, but has his haunting ended? Impossible to tell.
A mother and daughter have been drawn to the music and arrive at the clearing, terrified for their lives. The group escorts them back to Drakenheim along with Cedric who has severely maimed his sword arm from a bad swing.
In town, they go directly to the chapel and wake Father Anton. After much prayer and the laying of hands, Cedric's arm is restored, but not to its fullest. He will bear the scar for the rest of his days.
Priestess Daciana then tells what she recalls about Ailard the Melodious.
History of Ailard the Melodious
Ailard the Melodious was a celebrated bard from a time long before the current age, renowned for his exceptional talent in music and storytelling. Born in a small village near the ancient city of Carrowkeep, Ailard was gifted with an extraordinary voice and an innate ability to weave tales that captivated all who heard them.
Ailard's early life was marked by poverty, but his natural gifts soon attracted the attention of a traveling minstrel, who took him under his wing. Under the minstrel's guidance, Ailard honed his skills, learning the secrets of music, poetry, and performance. By the age of fifteen, Ailard had already composed numerous songs that became popular across the region.
As Ailard matured, his fame grew. He traveled from village to village, castle to castle, earning the patronage of nobles and kings. His performances were not merely entertainment; they were experiences that left audiences spellbound. His most famous work, "The Ballad of the Lost King," told the tale of a noble ruler's tragic fall and ultimate redemption, a song that resonated deeply with listeners.
Despite his success, Ailard's life was not without its challenges. His fame attracted jealousy and envy, particularly from a rival bard named Gethan. Gethan, consumed by spite, plotted against Ailard, seeking to end his rival's career and life.
The climax of this rivalry occurred at the Circle of Stones, an ancient and mystical site believed to hold great power. Ailard was invited to perform a special concert there, an honor that Gethan could not bear. On the night of the performance, Gethan ambushed Ailard, striking him down in cold blood. The murder was swift and brutal, ending the life of the beloved bard.
In the years following his death, Ailard's spirit remained bound to the Circle of Stones, unable to find peace. His unfinished work and the injustice of his murder tethered his soul to the mortal realm. Over time, legends grew around the haunted circle, with many claiming to hear the sorrowful strains of Ailard's final song on moonlit nights.
XP for this session is 600. Ailard appears to have been vanquished, but only time will tell.
The party leaves Vallaki on horseback, heading toward Krezk on the Old Svalich Road. Enormous trees crowd the path, their massive trunks resembling the columns of a temple for fell beasts. Except for the tread of their horses' hooves, the dusky air is smothered in silence. Sometime in the afternoon, the light flees as if an impenetrable cloud has engulfed the sun. It is dark as night for a few seconds. Then the daylight returns, grayer, and a strange breeze suddenly moans through the wintry, snowy forest.
They look to the ground to check their bearings, but the road seems to have vanished. The breeze has turned into a chill wind, and its moan deepens. Upon the wind, the party hears the unmistakable screams of a small child nearby. Quickly, the party moves to investigate. The cries pierce like a beacon through the forest, growing stronger and clearer as they thread their way through the maze of trees. After passing a few more trees, a clearing opens.
There, framed between the ponderous trunks of two ancient trees, stands a small girl. Beyond her trembling silhouette, an enormous tree pitches maniacally from side to side as though caught in some otherworldly gale. As they draw near, they see that the tree's branches do not move with the randomness of wind but instead with calculating and sentient evil. Even the brawny roots stir, pulling from the stony ground, lashing out across the clearing, and sinking down again.
Then, they catch sight of the body of a man, snagged among the higher boughs and seeming to writhe in a futile struggle to break free. The party conquers their fear and rushes in to try to help the man and simultaneously shield the girl. Upon seeing the tree tear the man apart and eat him whole, the party flees for their lives with the little girl in tow.
After escaping, they finally get a good look at the child. She is about seven years old, with bronze-colored hair that emerges from beneath a frilly hat and flows smoothly to her shoulder blades. An aristocratic beauty hovers elusively about her even though her eyes are wide with fear, and she is shaking all over. Her complexion is pale and smooth, and her eyes are a deep azure. She wears a long box coat of fine red wool with brass buttons and a stand-up collar. From under the cuffs and collar protrudes a finely embroidered sateen waist shirt. Upon her hands are silk gloves. She holds a torch in one hand, and in the other, she has a doll in a lacy dress. The girl's walking skirt is made of royal blue wool and wears thick stockings and high-button boots.
In addition to her understandable terror, the party notices a marked sadness that haunts the child's features—a sadness that seems to extend beyond the terror of what she has just seen.
The child becomes insistent that the party light her torch, even if the party carries other light sources. She says that fire will keep her safe from the bad things. When the characters ask her name, she tells them she is Elenia Windalla. And when asked how she came to be in such a predicament, tremors of fear and distress play across her smooth face, and horrible images seem to stream past her eyes, like the reflection of racing storm clouds. At length, the child gathers her strength and begins to speak:
“Mother and father were poisoned and Uncle Dory came to take me away but he said we have to go through the bad woods and he says if we have fire we’ll be safe but the bad things didn’t come at us for one whole day so Uncle Dory says we’ll use torches only at night but then the tree started moving and grabbed him and now who will take care of me in the bad woods?”
Elenia then begs the party to escort her through the woods to her uncle’s house. She is all alone and will surely be killed in the woods unless someone protects her. When she doesn't cease crying, the party agrees and begins to trek toward the girl's house.
As they do so, night begins to descend, and they stop to make camp.
Something huge and shapeless shifts in the shadows beyond the ring of trees. Though the breeze is gentle, you hear the unmistakable sound of branches crunching and striking against each other. The child screams and begins to mutter frantically.
“Need fire! Need fire!”
The child begins to gather more wood, piling it on the flames. Frightened, she tries to convince the party, “We’ll be safe if we have fire!”
Val uses his bag of endless dowels to make a gigantic bonfire much to the girl's delight. As the flames leap up, casting fiendish shadows upon the trees, the motion beyond the clearing ceases. Then comes a slow, grating sound as though an enormous monster is backing away.
They go to bed after supping on rations and establishing a watch order.
Elenia settles down in Gray's tent.
That night, all those who are asleep have vivid dreams except Gray. All discuss these dreams with each other at some point.
Val's Dream:
As you sleep, your mind cycles through phantoms and fragments of your recent adventures-battles and monsters, darkness and dawn-shreds of sensations tumbling like leaves through your mind. Then a tide of fear slowly seeps over the whirling memories, fear darker than night. The terror congeals, black and hard, into a depthless, suffocating night. Then hope slices through the black terror. You feel you may go blind staring at it, but it is too beautiful to tear your eyes away. As you gaze deeper into the radiant hope,
you see that Elenia is its source.
Percival's Dream:
You dream you are flying. Above you hangs the blue vault of the heavens, and below you drift mountainous clouds on a continent of air. Not by wings or magic do you fly, but by holding to the hand of a child. Elenia soars beside you, lending power to your flight. She smiles at you, her eyes filled with joy and hope.
Then something goes terribly wrong. Elenia is pitching unsteadily. A stream of crimson issues from her back. You spot an arrow that has shot through her. Suddenly you are plummeting, and the sky and the world below turn to blackness.
Brother Andrei's Dream:
You dream that you are falling from a cliff. The rocky face tears your body apart as you tumble hopelessly downward. When you smash into the ground, you are merely a broken pile of bones and flesh. Yet you live, and you suddenly have to wonder if you
cannot die. The merciless sun pounding down on you is abruptly eclipsed. It is Elenia, leaning over your broken form, laying her hands upon your wounds. You feel life-energy course like
fire into your frame. Gashes close, broken bones fuse, and the terror and pain in your mind turn to joy. You are whole again-whole as you never have been before.
Cedric's Dream:
Elenia appears in a deep woodland. You see that her heart is
black as coal, and she knows you know her secret. The child-guise she wears peels away. Beneath the innocent exterior, she is a withered, craggy sorceress of evil. Her fingertips are black with poison and her clawlike nails are sharp as daggers. She swipes viciously at you. Her claws sink in deeply. You feel the poison seep into your blood. All goes dark. In the final ebb of your dying mind, you realize that Elenia must die! Elenia must die . . . must die. . . must die. . . .
When it is Cedric's turn to watch, he confesses a terrible nightmare and is convinced the child is evil. "She must die," he tells Percival. "She is evil and came to me in a dream."
Percival is shocked by his cousin's accusations over a nightmare and tells him not to do anything stupid. Cedric snaps out of it and agrees. "Of course, cousin. It was just a dream. I would never harm a defenseless child. Rest, all will be well."
The following morning dawns cold and damp. As the party stretch their aching muscles and gather their provisions, they notice great troughs and scars on the ground around the edge of the camp. From the massive disruption of soil, they can see that at least one evil treant circled the camp a few times during the night. Elenia stands in the midst of the camp, gazing up toward the canopy of leaves. At length, she announces to no one in particular, “Uncle Dory said go toward the dawn.”
Brother Andrei casts Augury to try to get a sign for the course of action they should take in the near future, but after the spell is cast he is more confused than ever. He sees a raven and a dove fly in circles, sometimes clashing mid-air and other times flying in harmony. Their movements create a sense of tension and unease.
Though the party cannot see the sun because of the thick fog, they can tell that dawn has come in the direction the little girl is pointing.
And so the journey continues with Elenia seated atop Gray's horse.
All through the morning, the child leads the party through the dark and rambling wood. She insists upon carrying a torch, and looks to every side for more attacks, but none come.
By noon, you reach a narrow road. A stone’s throw down the road,
the adventurers see a Vistani wagon. Its canary-yellow wheels and cherry-red sideboards starkly contrast the oppressive white of the wintry forest. Outside the vardo sits a gnarled woman draped in a ratty but colorful shawl. She motions for the party to approach.
Val, Percival, Cedric, and Brother Andrei approach against Elenia's wishes to stay away from gypsies.
The old woman opens her hand and says, "Greetings travelers, I am Madamme Ragnyn, two silvers, I will read your collective fortune. Come inside, take a seat."
Val agrees, and the party enters the wagon and sits down.
Despite the cheerful colors and cleanness of the wagon’s exterior, the interior feels cramped and cluttered. It carries the weary smell of a place that serves as a bedroom, kitchen, parlor, and transport. The bent old woman moves through the wagon with a surprising deftness that bespeaks a lifetime of such confinement. She arranges small crates and rickety stools, enough for the party and herself then settles like a vulture upon a low seat. She produces a small crystal ball from her robes, then sets a piercing eye upon them. She puts her hand out, palm up.
Val hands her the money, and the reading begins.
The old gypsy woman leans laboriously into her task, her craggy hands caressing the clear crystal with amazing delicacy. The glass ball seems to be another eye for her. Although the crystal does not glow, you suddenly realize that the room has become unsettlingly dark. Then the crone’s voice rings out:
"Much darkness...much darkness...one among you is deceived...one among you thinks to do the right thing, but does evil...one among you, though good once and kind has been turned to great evil by this land...one among you must be slain to save the others..."
The reading is interrupted by the shrill shriek of a horrified child from outside the wagon. The crone leaps up, jostling her crystal ball, and rushes for the door. Glaring daylight spills into the dark wagon as the Vistani woman rushes out.
As the party ventures outside, they see the child scream in fear as she tries to scramble up a tree. From the brambles below, four black forms suddenly surge. They are wolves, snarling and drooling. They reach the tree's base in moments, carefully skirting the girl's torch, and leap at the screaming girl. One catches hold of her dress and for a moment she loses her hold on the tree branches and slips down. She shrieks in terror as another set of slavering jowls clamps brutally on her dress.
Gray's arrows deflect the attention from the girl, and the wolves quickly turn and head for the horses.
Two of them latch on to Brother Andrei's horse, and another two onto Percival's.
During the melee with the wolves, a familiar yet unexpected figure appears. Priestess and Dawnslayer Daciana emerges from the wood, her quarterstaff twirling, and smacks one of the wolves dead. Cedric gives her a quick greeting and returns to the fight.
Within moments, the Vistani woman packs her wagon and leaves, disappearing in the thick fog.
The wolves are quickly dispatched, but the mystery of their appearance deepens when they vanish into thin air.
When the battle is over, Daciana introduces herself as a cleric of the Morninglord. She has been sent from Vallaki to find the party with urgent news for Brother Andrei. The Vossmeyers sent an urgent message via raven to the temple in Lunamire, begging Andrei to come to the town of Barovia, where they are now based. His younger sister has fallen ill and needs his help.
Since the road is still nowhere to be found, Brother Andrei continues the journey with his fellows.
The party follows the girl's lead through the forest with no end in sight. When night approaches, Val begins to search for a suitable camp. He thinks he finds the perfect place–a large fallen log, but upon hitting it with his sword to make sure it's dead, the grumbling grinding sound coming from the woods makes him reassess. Val now has a healthy fear of killer trees.
As they settle down for the evening, Elenia is kept busy with the dowel bag. Brother Andrei questions her and finds out she was orphaned and now lives with her aunt and uncle in the forest. Her uncle is a lumberjack (and he's OK!), and they were headed to Vallaki to get some grain. Daciana questions the story, seeing how the girl is dressed like an aristocrat. Elenia shrugs and says she always wears her best to town.
That night, the party doubles up on the watches. Elenia takes Daciana's hand and insists on sleeping in her tent. Once inside, she tries to kiss the woman, but Daciana refuses.
As everyone falls asleep, the nightmares begin.
During the watch, Percival and Cedric suddenly feel a terrible weakness come over them. Even lifting a tea kettle becomes difficult. They are figuring it out when, out of nowhere, Elenia's doll leaps at them from the darkness. The infernal thing bites Percival's neck, ripping out a chunk of flesh. Both paladins begin to scream and scramble, but their screams fall on deaf ears. Sapped of all strength, they lose their battle with the doll golem.
The first to wake is Gray who arms himself with a burning faggot and attacks the thing. Then, slowly, the camp wakens to a pitched battle. Daciana stumbles out of her tent dizzy and out of sorts and proceeds to try to heal Percival.
Cedric is bitten by the doll and finds the whole situation hilariously funny. A few moments later, he is doubled over in unnatural spasms of laughter that seem to be taking a terrible toll on him. At last Brother Andrei and Val awaken. Andrei casts Dispel Magic, ending Cedric's torture, while Val overpowers the doll and pins it beneath him.
At this point, Elenia flies out of the tent, screaming to leave her dolly alone, and throws herself on top of Val. As she squeezes him with phenomenal superhuman strength, Val begins to turn blue from lack of oxygen. "She's not a little girl!" he cries. "Kill her."
Though she holds Val in a vicelike grip, her voice is still soft, loving, and childlike. “Why are you struggling? I love you! Why do you hate me so? I just want to be your daughter. I just want us to be happy together. Swear you will stay with me, love me and will never leave me, and I will let you go.”
"Kill the bitch!" screams Val.
Several party members land blows on the little girl, but none do any damage. All are baffled and desperate with the escalating situation.
Meanwhile, Percival has a brilliant idea to destroy the golem with his Bag of Unholding. "Shove it in the bag, Val!" he says, opening it.
Val finally manages to free himself from the sorceress's hold, and helps Percival stick the doll in the bag.
Once the bag is closed, the doll disappears and is never seen or heard from again.
All who have battled the small child now see her as she truly is–a decrepit old woman with many tricks up her sleeve.
The old woman (actually an Ermordenung) casts hold person on Brother Andrei and Val. Frozen in place, they can do nothing.
Then, it's the young paladin's turn to shine. Cedric delivers a deadly sword blow to the hag, severing her head and sending it spinning into the flames.
Once she dies, all are freed from her influence. Cedric and Percival's strength returns, and Brother Andrei and Val are freed from paralysis.
Winded, the party regroups and rejoices at having survived a terrible ordeal. Exhausted, they fall into a dreamless peaceful sleep and the rest of the night is uneventful by the light of the great bonfire.
Almost as if by magic, the following morning, the mist lifts, and they find the Old Svalich Road. Daciana, who had tied her horse on the side of the road, discovers the error of her ways. The animal has been butchered and disemboweled by a hungry pack of wolves.
Winter is a harsh mistress.
The following day, the party accompanies Brother Andrei back to Vallaki and bids him good travels. Brother Andrei and Tang will ride to Barovia.
Tang tells them he will use his ravens to stay in touch.
Congratulations, you survived what was sure to be a total party kill.
Each of you gets 1400xp
Percival you get an additional 500 XP bonus for excellent roleplay and problem solving.
After a grueling march through the foggy and frigid slopes of the Old Svalich Road, the party arrives at the massive gates of Vallaki. The stone gates, topped by gleaming copper onion domes, evoke the Terg occupation. Two sentries warn about the use of arms in the city–martial force is punishable by death.
As night falls, they walk their horses through the main avenue, where dozens of businesses line the road. The road itself is a wonder, expertly paved with square-cut stone cobbles. The party is dazzled by the number of stores selling everything from toys and esoteric books to antiques. They pass tailor shops, alchemists, fortune tellers, fish markets, leatherworkers, apothecaries, and more.
Coming from a backwater town, Vallaki feels larger than life–the big city they didn't even know existed.
The Blue Water Inn
After asking for directions, they arrive at the largest and most prosperous inn in Vallaki, the Blue Water Inn. They stable their horses and meet the two young stablehands, Bray and Braum, who welcome them and recommend they order the Hunter's Feast platter.
As the PCs approach the Blue Water Inn, they see a sturdy, two-story building made of dark, weathered wood. The roof is steeply pitched, and a stone chimney sends thin wisps of smoke into the evening sky. A large sign hangs above the entrance, creaking slightly in the wind, depicting a blue waterfall cascading into a tranquil pool. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifts from inside, promising warmth and refuge from the bleak streets of Vallaki.
Upon entering, the party is greeted by the cozy, inviting atmosphere of the inn. The common room is spacious, with a high ceiling supported by stone arches above which are strong wooden beams. The air is filled with the comforting scents of roasted meat, fresh bread, and the faint aroma of brewing ale. The walls are adorned with hunting trophies, local artwork, and a large, detailed map of Barovia with Vallaki at its center.
A large stone fireplace dominates one wall, its roaring fire casting flickering shadows and a golden glow across the room. Comfortable chairs and benches are arranged around the hearth, where patrons can relax and warm themselves.
The bar is a long, polished wooden counter with an array of mismatched stools. Behind it stands Danika Martikov, a friendly and efficient woman with a ready smile. Shelves behind her are lined with bottles of wine, ale, and various spirits, including the locally renowned Red Dragon Crush and Purple Grapemash No. 3.
The room is filled with sturdy wooden tables and chairs, arranged to accommodate both large groups and solitary travelers. Each table has a small oil lamp, adding to the warm ambiance. The sound of dice rolling and quiet conversation fills the air as patrons enjoy their meals and drinks.
A wooden staircase in one corner leads up to the guest rooms on the second floor. The stairs creak softly with each step, adding to the inn's rustic charm.
The Blue Water Inn is a hub of social activity in Vallaki. It's a place where locals gather to share news, travelers find respite, and adventurers can hear the latest rumors. The inn offers a stark contrast to the gloom outside, making it a perfect spot for the party to rest, gather information, and perhaps find new allies in their struggle against the dark forces that rule over the land.
Val orders the Roasted Pork with Apples and allows Danika to recommend a good wine–Bran Castle Blanc, which he dislikes. Percival and Andrei share the large Hunter's feast.
Bran Castle Blanc Wine: Bran Castle Blanc is an elegant and intriguing white wine with a pale straw color and glints of green, reminiscent of misty mornings. The nose is delicate yet complex, offering aromas of white peaches, green apples, and hints of jasmine. On the palate, it unfolds layers of citrus fruits, crisp pear, and a subtle herbal nuance framed by lively acidity and a mineral-driven finish.
The bard Rictavio performs this evening, telling stories through songs and spoken poems. When Val tosses a sizeable tip into his hat, he is treated to a private performance. The bard plays a familiar song about the light of the Morninglord, and Val joins in–adding a fine harmony to the music. Rictavio congratulates his fine voice, takes a bow, and introduces the next act–the alluring Ireena Kolyana.
Ireena Kolyana, The Bellydancer
The party's interest is piqued when a figure cloaked in red from head to toe emerges alongside a man carrying a wooden box. The musician sits on the box and begins to tap a heart-quickening rhythm. The show begins when Ireena flicks the red robes with a graceful swirl.
Belly Dancer Ireena is a vision of exotic beauty and grace. With flowing, dark locks cascading down her back and expressive dark eyes that sparkle like polished onyx, she possesses an allure that is both enchanting and mysterious.
Her voluptuous figure moves effortlessly, each movement of her hips and arms telling a story of ancient rhythms and seductive charm. Adorned in vibrant silks and shimmering sequins that catch the light, her attire accentuates every hip twist and shimmy.
Ireena's smile is warm and inviting, drawing admirers into her world of swirling colors and hypnotic melodies. Her performance ends in a swirl of red silks. Val's generous tip wins him a wink from the Vistani performer.
But alas, there is no encore, much to the pleasure of Brother Andrei, who wholeheartedly disapproves of such skimpy attire.
After a whiskey nightcap, the night ends, and the party settles in the inn's spare room.
The following morning, they sleep in late. After breakfast they go to the Church.
The Holy Light: Cathedral of the Morninglord
The Holy Light, Vallaki’s Cathedral of the Morninglord, stands as a beacon of hope and faith. This imposing edifice crafted from dark, weathered stone, is dominated by soaring spires and pointed arches. The grand entrance, adorned with intricate carvings of dawn and rebirth scenes, leads into a vast nave with a high, vaulted ceiling supported by slender, ribbed columns. Stained glass windows, framed by ornate stone tracery, line the walls, depicting various saints and legends associated with the Morninglord. The cathedral’s interior has exquisite mosaics featuring intricate geometric patterns and floral designs. The grand marble altar, illuminated by a massive stained glass window of the Morninglord, stands as the focal point.
Smaller chapels along the nave, dedicated to different saints, offer spaces for personal reflection, while the rear of the cathedral houses a grand pipe organ. Father Gregor Vasilka presides over the Holy Light and welcomes the party with a blessing.
The party stays for the noon sermon, which focuses on inclusion, acceptance, and, most of all, love.
After services, the party heads to some shops to sell some of their wares. Percival does business at Tincturi Apothecary, where he deals with Ruxandra Voinea to sell some potions. He uses the money to pay part of his debt to Val.
After some inquiries in town, they learn that there is indeed a famous waterfall that flows over a cave in the woods. The waterfall's hiking trail is marked by a wooden sign and is within an hour's walk from the city's gates. The party heads there during the day to learn the way for the following night's rendezvous–a good decision considering how deep in the woods the trail goes.
Meeting at the Grotto
The following night, as the full moon crests, the party sets out after midnight and travels to the grotto. The night is bitterly cold, foggy, and filled with the distant howl of wolves. They reach the cave and wait for the appointed hour beneath the frigid waterfall. When they least expect it, a black-clad figure with raven feathers pinned on his armor emerges from the shadows and bids them follow.
The group does so quietly, trudging away from the path and up steep snow-covered cliffs. They arrive at the ruined foundations of a watch tower, where the mysterious figure opens a trapdoor leading down into the tunnels.
The entrance is hidden beneath a layer of moss and leaves, making it nearly invisible to the untrained eye.
The tunnels are narrow and winding, with walls made of rough-hewn stone. Wooden supports keep the ceiling from collapsing, though some areas show signs of disrepair. The air is damp and musty, with the faint scent of earth and decay. The sound of dripping water echoes through the passages, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
Occasionally, the adventurers navigate through tight squeezes and low ceilings.
After a tense, hour-long journey through the tunnels, the adventurers arrive at a reinforced wooden door banded with iron. A coded knock and a specific phrase is required to gain entry, ensuring the security of those within.
The adventurers step into a cavernous underground space supported by stone arches and thick pillars. The floor is uneven, covered in a mix of dirt and loose stones. Around the perimeter, various crates and barrels are stacked. The scent of old wood and preserved food fills the air.
In the center of the room, a large, rough-hewn table serves as a meeting place. Several chairs are arranged around it, and maps of Barovia, marked with notes and symbols, are spread out on its surface.
Elizabetta Pirroska stands at the head of the table, a commanding presence in her shining armor. Her eyes are sharp and determined, reflecting her unwavering commitment to the cause.
The other members of the Dawnslayers and the Keepers of the Black Feather are gathered around a mix of warriors, clerics, and spies. They are a somber but resolute group, each bearing the marks of their struggles against Strahd's forces.
There, in absolute secrecy, Elizabeta welcomes the party to the Dawnslayers and their cause. (See Elizabeta's Welcome).
After the quest is given and allies gained, the party heads back to Vallaki the way they came.
Traveling with the party are three henchmen.
Cedric, Paladin of the Morninglord
Cedric is Percival's younger cousin, a paladin in training, and will serve as a squire for the party.
Tang, Keeper of the Black Feather
Tang is a scruffy teen wearing black leather armor who seems to have had a rough upbringing.
Gray, Keeper of the Black Feather
Gray, their gray elven escort is a Keeper of the Black Feather. He is older and weathered, with a black feather tattoo on his wrist.
