The party’s own record of a black day and a strange road — the end of the boy in the crypt, an uninvited guest at Ismark’s door, and the camp where a stranger already knew our names. Use it to fill the gaps in whatever you scribbled down yourself.
Doru, at the last
We did not go back into that fight swinging. Lily said what needed saying — “Don’t make his father watch us give up trying to help him before we’ve even tried” — and while the boy stood there begging for blood, she got a loop of rope over his wrists, gentle and sure, no aggression in it, and lashed him fast to one of the crypt’s supports. He was not coming loose.
Then we brought Father Donavich down to hear his son. And Doru told him everything: the devil caught him outside, drank from him, and made him drink in return. Every instruction Strahd gave him became, in his words, a fetter on his mind — a truth he must obey. He was sent home and told he was free to feed on anyone he wished. “I do not think I am in the Morninglord’s light anymore. Please, Father — I think these people speak true. I’m so hungry.”
The Father turned away, weeping. “Do what you must.” And he fled up the stairs.
We asked the boy’s own leave to end it. And here is the thing we will not forget: he wanted to say yes — “this is not me” — but he could not allow it. Strahd had commanded him that he could not, through action or inaction, let himself be destroyed. The command held even there, tied to a post, wanting to die. He began to struggle, and we finished it as quickly as we could. Drew and Lily went upstairs rather than watch; no one thought less of them.
He did not bleed and he did not fall. He crumbled to dust — no rot, no body, nothing natural about it. Fëanor said a prayer over what was left, which was nothing.
Upstairs, the Father knelt at the altar praying like a man drowning. Drew crouched beside him — “I’m not a religious person, but I think you both made the right choice” — and Sirius knelt and prayed with him until it was clear he needed to be alone with his god. There was nothing else we could offer him.
Ismark’s map — and Ismark’s confession
Ismark was waiting outside the church, and had spent the whole time drawing us a map of Barovia — rough, scale all wrong, but ours. On it: the road to Vallaki (a full four days’ travel, longer than we’d thought), a winery somewhere south of Krezk (wine being, apparently, the lifeblood of this place), the Vistani camp at Tser Pool about a day out — and Castle Ravenloft, marked so we know where not to go.
Then, back at the house, Ireena came out of the kitchen dragging her brother by the arm and made him tell us the truth: he knew. He knew what was in that crypt, knew it would likely attack, and sent us in anyway — because he would not put his sister in the care of people who couldn’t protect her. “I needed to know that you were strong enough. And now I am assured.”
We told him we could have done without the emotional damage. His answer is worth writing down exactly: “You will learn not to trust people in Barovia.”
What he knows of the turned: Strahd makes them only occasionally, and mostly from people who are loved — just to torment us. They come back stronger and faster, and they do anything Strahd tells them, without fail. We saw that last part for ourselves, down in the crypt.
Of the Vistani: they can walk the mists — though they can take no one with them — which is where the rumour comes from that they serve Strahd. Ismark says they’ve never done him wrong, and their camp is safer than a night in the open.
An evening almost like peace
We did proper introductions with Ireena at last — the farmer’s daughter who makes things, the annoyed priest, the knight of two weeks’ standing, the paladin who copes with sunrise by simply not going to bed — and took her to the Blood on the Vine for wine. The tavern empties and bolts at twilight; nobody here is out after dark. We carried the flagons home.
Worth recording: Fëanor admitted he’s feeling hopeless in this place, and Sirius told him something true — “You are the sun in these lands, Father.” Fëanor said he means to truly connect with his god for the first time. We’ll hold him to it.
The visitor
After dark: a knock. Ismark told us to hide, and opened the door. Then his voice floated up, gone strange and dreamy: “Everyone come out. It’s fine.”
What happened next, we mostly know from Fëanor, because the rest of us were not in our right minds. One by one we looked at the man standing in the hall, and one by one we simply knew he was a friend — the best of men, no threat at all. Fëanor alone kept his wits long enough to cast a spell and see the truth: every one of us was under an enchantment. He said so, plainly, repeatedly. We smiled and told him to calm down. When the visitor came up the stairs, Fëanor met him with a bolt of divine light — it missed — and the man laughed, delighted: “Good to see some backbone in some fresh blood.” And then Fëanor loved him too.
He introduced himself. Strahd. Ruler of these lands, rightful lord. “I am this land, and this land is me.” He said it had been decades since visitors brought him any “spice,” and that he relished the thought of us trying to stop him. And then, as our host’s guests, he required a token of fealty — pointed at Sirius, and asked for his blood. Sirius, charmed to the gills, agreed. Strahd bit him and drank — not deeply — and left us with this:
“Remember this when tomorrow you feel more like yourselves. I own this place. You may have your fun, but I get what I want.”
And he walked out. We stood around agreeing he seemed like a lovely fellow, bit forward with the biting, but solid. Ireena — who has seen this before, on her own father — told us to go to bed and think about it in the morning.
Morning came, and with it the horror. We spent breakfast testing Sirius for vampirism: fingernails (fine), climbing walls (declined), appetite (enormous, but for bacon and egg rolls, not blood — Barovia, damningly, has no bacon). He seems himself, blood of angels and all, and his strength came back with a night’s rest. But we are keeping watch, and black pudding has been designated the official test, should we ever find any.
Also that morning, and we write this with worry: Lily woke and ate a pie without a word, again. That’s twice now. The craving is not fading. It’s growing.
The road: lights, the standing stone, wolves
We set out with Ireena — who has barely left her house, never mind the village, and is heartbreakingly excited about it all.
The lights. From the woods came cries of “Help! Help me!” — and Sirius was three strides into the trees before sharp eyes caught it: the crying came from floating, glowing lights. Ismark had mentioned such things. We did not follow, the lights trailed us a while and faded. If someone real was ever behind that voice, may they forgive us. We said we’d look on the way back.
The menhir. A three-foot standing stone by the road, moss-grown and old, carved with a winged woman bearing three eyes — and around its base, ringed over and over, the exact symbol on Fëanor’s heirloom stone. He checked. Identical. Osric’s history is good enough to say this with confidence: that symbol and that winged figure are not from our world. They belong to Barovia. So mark the tally: Osric’s banner hangs over Barovia’s gate; Sirius’s raven feather matches the “lucky” ravens here; and now Fëanor’s stone — which, remember, glows at the new moon, in a land that has never once shown us a moon — is carved into Barovian standing stones. Lily’s wolf tooth is a dire wolf’s tooth, and this land is crawling with them. Only Drew’s amber necklace has said nothing. Yet. Fëanor took a rubbing of the symbol for the records.
The wolves. Late in the day, a grey flash in the treeline — then seven wolves and two dire wolves came out of the woods at us. It should have been nasty. It wasn’t, for two reasons: their teeth found nothing but armour and (in Drew’s case) a shimmering shield of magic that stopped a bite a hair from her skin — and then Drew reached into a pocket, spun a tool, and conjured the thing she’d been dreaming up for days. A little walking cannon. It stepped in front of a wolf and produced a sheet of flame that burned it to a crisp on the spot. The pack howled and fled, every one of them — just as Ismark said: drop one and the rest run.
The machine is called CLOVER — Combat Laser Ordnance Vehicle for Emergency Enemy Removal — and it also dispenses “good vibes,” which turn out to be very real (we all felt tougher for an hour). It’s adorable, for something that incinerates wolves. Osric skinned the kill with Drew’s tools and Fëanor’s blessing: one pristine wolf pelt (lightly charred at the edges) — they buy pelts in Vallaki.
Tser Pool — and the man who knew our names
Toward evening we found the side-track off the main road, cart-ruts plain in the dirt, and followed it to firelight, music, and laughter — the Vistani camp. After the Village of Barovia, the merriment was almost shocking. They welcomed us in and asked their price: “the trade of a story.”
Sirius paid it — and paid honestly, which we suspect mattered. The whole tale: the wastrel noble boy of Waterdeep, drunk in the family cellars at thirteen, and the heroic grandfather who pressed a raven’s feather into his hand at fifteen and shipped him off to a boarding school for priests, where they taught him to love the sun. “Good story. Good trade.” Food and drink and singing all around.
And then a large man strode out of the big tent at the back and said:
“What took you, Drusilla, Fëanor, Lili-grai, Osric, Sirius? You are expected.”
Every name. All five. We have never seen this man in our lives.
Where we stand
- At the Tser Pool Vistani encampment, end of travel day one of four, with Ireena in our care — and a stranger who knows all our names waiting on us. Doru is at rest; Father Donavich is not.
- Strahd has met us. He walked into our host’s home, charmed us like children, drank from Sirius, and told us to our faces that he owns this place and will enjoy watching us try. Sirius shows no signs — so far. Black pudding test pending.
- Gear & assets: Ismark’s hand-drawn map (Vallaki, Tser Pool, the winery, the castle-shaped warning); four days’ rations for all of us plus Ireena; one wolf pelt for sale in Vallaki; one potion of healing; Fëanor’s rubbing of the menhir symbol. Drew can now field CLOVER (flamethrower, force blasts, morale-boosting vibes, ~one hour of power).
- Watch list: Lily’s pie compulsion (worsening), Sirius post-bite (fine, allegedly), the glowing “help me” lights we promised to revisit.
Questions on our minds
- Who is the man in the tent, and how are we “expected”? Expected by whom — and since when?
- Why is the symbol on Fëanor’s stone carved into Barovia’s standing stones? Who is the winged woman with three eyes? And why does a moon-stone glow in a land with no moon?
- Four of five heirlooms have now answered to this land. What is Drew’s amber hiding, and what happens when it finally speaks?
- Strahd said “one of my pups managed to grab you… it will recover, and I have others.” What did he mean — and was he lying about it recovering?
- Can Doru’s fate be undone for others — or is destruction the only mercy we’ll ever have to offer the turned?
- What is in those pies, and how do we get them out of Lily?