The party’s own record of the night our fates were dealt out on black velvet — and of the windmill we should not have poked our noses into. Copy the card readings somewhere safe. We will need them.
Madam Eva
The big man led us into the great tent: candles, black velvet on every surface, a crystal ball on a gold stand, and two decks of cards — a tall “common” deck and a smaller “high” deck. Behind the table, an old woman who needed no introductions, because she already had ours: Madam Eva. “It took you all long enough. Are you ready to learn your fate?”
She told us plainly: we are here for a reason. It is no mere happenstance that we were brought into Barovia. When we asked whether she knew about our heirlooms — “I know many things. I cannot say all. The cards will tell. I will not.” The reading was given freely, no silver crossing any palm (Fëanor ruled it therefore could not be devilry). Sirius got a glass of wine fetched, drew from the wrong deck, and was called an imbecile — twice, with relish — by a woman who informed us that “an old woman is given many affordances.” Also that if we refused the reading, we would fail. Guaranteed. He stomached his pride for our sakes. It is in the minutes.
The five fates
Write these down again wherever you keep the important things:
- Knowledge of our enemy — Lily drew The Healer. “Look to the west, far to the west. Marvel at high water aglow with the light of the sun, hidden behind the walls of man.”
- Protection, the boon of faith — Osric drew The Paladin. “I see the house of a dragon, and a heart once pure, corrupted by hatred. Bring light to the house and peace to the heart, and you’ll have your protection from the devil on high.”
- Power and strength — Sirius drew The Avenger. “I see the shrine of murdered gods. Help the land find its peace, and it shall reward you with the power you seek. Start in an amber palace of darkness.”
- An ally — Fëanor drew The Executioner (a guillotine, cheerfully). “Look for a mighty predator, a hunter of hunters. He stalks this land in hope of slaying the mightiest prey of all. Perhaps you and he share an adversary.”
- The devil himself — Drew drew The Broken One. “When it is time to face your fate in the eyes of your deadliest foe, pursue him into the depths of darkness. You will find the devil in the tomb of the only man he ever envied.”
Our own threads
She offered each of us a personal reading — our present, and our future.
- Osric — the Dictator, then the Tempter: “You carry an old conquest at your back. Your blood marched beneath that banner… Carry your banner to the house of the fallen dragon, where the shadows do the cruelest work. Cast off temptation. Kneel and answer for your blood, and win an honor that is yours alone.” The same house of a dragon as the party’s protection card. Osric’s road and ours point the same way.
- Fëanor — the Wizzard, then the Mists: “You channel the power of a god you scarce believe in. The stone in your pocket remembers a fire you have never felt.” (His answer: “Who told you?”) And: “The sun only hides in this land behind the mists. In water it glows still. Stand there at dawn and choose.” Water aglow with the sun again — the same place as our first card, we think.
- Lily — the Charlatan, then the Beast: “Something sweet has taken root in you, little one. Starve it. It is not yours.” And: “The tooth you carry mends what otherwise cannot be healed. Far to the west there is a den of peace. One who howls there will need it.” Mark it: the pies, named to her face. And her wolf tooth, given a purpose at last.
- Drew — the Necromancer, then the Raven: “A secret sealed in amber stone. Your blood has carried the question for generations… The raven purveys the message, sealed in amber deep in the mountains. But mark me, child — knowledge there is bought, and bought dearly.” Drew told us afterward of the lady of ravens on her card, that what was stolen is not fully owned, and the land can be reclaimed — and that she thinks the ravens are our friends. It has, in her words, only added steel to her resolve.
- Sirius — nothing. “Even if you wanted a reading, I could not give you one. Your fate has already been read.” She handed him a card anyway, and he sat transfixed by it. We looked over his shoulder: the card is blank.
So tally the heirlooms one more time: Osric’s banner, Fëanor’s stone, Lily’s tooth, Drew’s amber — all four now named by the cards themselves. And Sirius, feather and all, has a fate someone else already read. All five of us were brought here on purpose.
Her parting words: “I have read what may be, not what must be. You could still fail. But with this knowledge, you have a chance.” Will we see her again? “Signs point to yes.”
A night among the Vistani
We stayed the night in the safest place we’ve slept since the mists took us — fires, watch, music. What we learned over the wine:
- The Vistani pass through the mists by an ancient agreement with Strahd — he leaves them be, they leave him be. They are not his allies; they are simply exempt, and they know it, and they do not much care about the people who aren’t. Barovians, in their words, are “property of Strahd.” Drew’s little frown could have curdled milk.
- Do not try to ride out in a Vistani wagon. They tried taking a passenger through the mists once. The wagon came out the other side. The passenger did not. They don’t know what happened to them.
- There are other lands like this one — they call them the Domains of Dread — and ordinary sunny places beyond, the Coast of Faerûn, Waterdeep. The seasons still turn here, colder now. Nobody could tell us the month in any calendar we recognize.
- We asked who Strahd might have envied, chasing the Broken One’s clue. Nothing — the Vistani are an oral people, and Strahd has been exactly as he is for some 700 years. If the answer exists, it is probably written down somewhere.
And in the morning: bacon. Actual bacon, from outside Barovia, fried by actual friendly people. Sirius declared them the finest folk in this land, and for once nobody argued.
The pie problem, third morning
Before the bacon, though: we woke to Lily elbow-deep in Osric’s pack, rustling like a raccoon, and what followed was the least dignified wrestling match in the history of knighthood — she twisted free, sprinted off with the pie, and ate half of it before Osric could reclaim the rest. Her explanation was that she was hungry. Her dreams, she admits, are full of light and happier than life.
So Fëanor took ten minutes over breakfast and cast the spell that sees magic, and here is what he saw: the pies are wound through with strong enchantment magic — and there is a fainter web of the same magic around Lily’s head. The fortune teller’s words, less than a day old: something sweet has taken root in you. Starve it. It is not yours.
We held what can only be called an intervention. Lily maintains she is not enchanted, merely fond of pie. But when Osric asked her to promise not to eat his, she gave the most honest answer she’s given us yet: “I don’t want you to be kind to me, and me to tell you a lie in response.” She cannot promise. We kept the remaining pies — perhaps unwisely — and Fëanor can see the magic but cannot lift it. Watch her. Watch your packs.
One more thing we all felt on the road: since the reading, something has settled on us. Fëanor says the fates have woven around us and drawn taut; whatever the truth of it, we are all of us stronger than we were. The land is noticing us.
The rider
Hours down the road, hoofbeats: Aragal, a Vistani man of some influence from the camp outside Vallaki, riding home in a hurry. Friendly enough. Useful, too:
- The road ahead: wolves and the crying lights (“will-o’-wispies” — kill wolves, ignore lights, travel fast).
- Vallaki does not admit Vistani. Stringent rules, paranoid of outsiders, and they call the Vistani allies of Strahd. “A paranoid and distasteful people,” says the man they won’t let in.
- A commission: in Vallaki there is a toy shop — Blinsky’s. Aragal will pay us 20 gold on top of the cost if we bring a Blinsky original to his camp for his daughter, Araba. Osric read him hard: the man simply, genuinely dotes on his girl. (Lily’s separate assessment: sturdy boots, beefy calves, terrible knees.)
- He is not, he says, a hunter of hunters. Too grand a title. The Executioner remains unclaimed.
The windmill
Toward dusk — Ireena sensibly insisting we find shelter — we came on a windmill leaning on a rise in a clearing: onion-domed, sails tattered, windows dark with grime. Behind it, mark this well, a henge of standing stones. And drifting off the whole place, the smell of fresh herbs and freshly baked pies.
We fell back to the road so Fëanor could get his magic eyes on, and five minutes into the ritual, Granny came down the road with her cart. “Hello, dearies. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?” Lily, of course, asked to buy a pie.
We put it to her about the enchantment. Her answer, verbatim: “They are enchanting pies, I will admit. So you got me. They’re enchanting… it’s good for business.” And then Sirius, loitering by the cart, heard what we all then heard: muffled screaming. Not pies.
The old woman ran — faster than any old woman has ever run — shrieking two names at the mill: “Bella! Ophelia!” Lily threw open the cart and found a woman bound and gagged in a net of silver, who begged us — begged us — not to cut her free: “I am cursed. This net is silver. It’s stopping me turning.” There is a full moon above those grey clouds tonight. She was bitten. Her partner is a werewolf born, not bitten — and the hags already took him inside. “If you can save him…”
Then the mill door burst open, and three of them stood there — Granny’s own face among them, warped and purple now, the thing called Morgantha — and she said: “You shouldn’t have poked your nose in, dearies.”
It is going badly and well all at once. Osric has held the doorway and paid for it in blood and one horror shown only to him. Sirius stands wreathed in black raven wings, his eyes dripping feathers — a side of him none of us had seen. Lily put her daggers in the thing that baked her pies, and it told her, eyes like an inky void, that it would be unwise to attack their best customer. Ireena is at the roadside screaming for us to run.
We did not run. The fight hangs mid-swing.
Where we stand
- Mid-battle at the windmill, roughly two days short of Vallaki, against three hags who are made of sterner stuff than we are. A cursed woman in a silver net lies by the cart; her partner is captive inside; there is a full moon somewhere above the clouds.
- The reading is our map now: knowledge far west at high water behind the walls of man; protection at the house of a dragon; power starting in an amber palace of darkness at the shrine of murdered gods; an ally in a hunter of hunters; and Strahd himself, at the end, in the tomb of the only man he ever envied — a name not even the Vistani know.
- Gear & assets: Ismark’s map; rations plus roughly three of Granny’s pies (now confirmed enchanted — eat at your own risk); one wolf pelt for Vallaki; one potion of healing; the menhir rubbing; CLOVER on call. Commission: a Blinsky original toy for Aragal’s daughter, 20 gold over cost.
- The heirloom tally is complete — five for five. Banner, stone, tooth, amber all named by the cards; Sirius’s fate “already read,” his card blank.
- Watch list: Lily’s compulsion (three mornings, now escalated to burglary); the enchantment visibly woven around her head; Sirius since the bite; the henge behind the mill.
Questions on our minds
- Who is the only man Strahd ever envied? Seven hundred years unchanged, say the Vistani — the answer is likely in a book somewhere. Whose tomb will we find him in?
- Who is the hunter of hunters? Not Aragal. Who stalks this land hunting the mightiest prey of all?
- What is the “high water aglow with the light of the sun, hidden behind the walls of man” — and is it the same water where Fëanor must stand at dawn and choose? Choose what?
- Why is Sirius’s card blank? Who read his fate already — and what did they read?
- What are the hags putting in those pies — and what happens to their “best customer” if she keeps eating them? Starve it. It is not yours.
- The henge behind the mill — the same old stones as the menhir with Fëanor’s symbol? Why do hags bake beside a holy place?
- Can we actually kill three of these things — and can we get the werewolf out of that mill before the moon does its work?