Who: The brightly colored minstrel at The Blue Water Inn — the most splendiferous mustache in Barovia, and a very strange relationship with the law. He has never given a name; his wax jar reads “Riptarvo’s Finest Wax,” so Riptarvo he is until corrected.
Where: The taproom, most evenings. Latterly of Waterdeep, he says, and current on its fashion.
Status: Watching us. His words.
First seen: Session 7 (playing, pointedly not Vistani); properly met Session 8.
The man who says the name
He said “Strahd” out loud. In a crowded taproom. Twice. With the air of a man remarking on the weather. “The laws are for the little people.” Nobody arrested him. Nobody seemed to consider it.
What he gave us, between twirls
- The Reformation Centre runs on dark magics, he believes — stay out.
- Stories of ancient fey creatures whose power over this land was usurped — power tied to the land itself. When one of us leaned in and suggested that what was stolen could be reclaimed, he looked up very sharply indeed: “That is a very astute thing to say, sir.”
- We seem, he noted unprompted, “recently empowered” — those entwined in fate grow strong quickly. His advice for earning the universe’s assistance: “prove yourselves a bit more.”
Then he announced he was tired and retired with the words: “I shall watch you with great interest.”
The luggage (Session 11)
The night before the worst morning in Vallaki, he handed Muriel a heavy chest for us, with a rolled note. Five words:
“Hunt well those who hunt.”
Inside, meticulously compartmented, everything pointing straight up and proper: three flasks of holy water, three stakes, a small iron mallet, two potions of healing, a potion of necrotic resistance, a spell scroll of protection from evil and good, a steel mirror, manacles, oil, a crowbar, and three torches. A complete vampire-hunting kit, packed by someone with strong opinions about labels — the night before we found out the coffins held vampires.
We got out the card reading and stared at it together: your destined ally is the hunter of hunters. That does rather feel like this, doesn’t it? Somebody out there has decided to arm us. His kit kept Lily alive the next morning; his necrotic potion and scroll were spent on the stairs of the Coffin Works. We still have not managed a proper conversation with the man.
The minute-taker’s assessment
Shared by the whole table: that was no mere bard. He mocks the name-law like a man the law can’t touch, tells fey history like a man who was taking notes, read our fate-blessing off us at a glance — and apparently knew what was in six sealed crates before we did. Ally, examiner, or something worse — the file now leans, hopefully, ally. The hunter of hunters. We intend to find out what he is.
Appears in: S7 · S8 · S11. See also: The Blue Water Inn, The Reading, Muriel Vinshaw.