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"Well, since we're going to be working together, I guess I should introduce myself properly. I'm Sprocketbox, mage of the Alliance and engineer extraordinaire. I specialize in frost magic, especially anything that slows or inhibits my enemies. If it looks like I'm in a bad spot, don't worry too much, I know how to get out of most tricky situations without too much trouble."
Sprocketbox starts eating to give the others a chance to speak as they see fit.
Kyran nods and orders an ale, "An engineer and a mage? Perhaps we should compare notes. My neighbors only seem to want my donkey shoes and hinges, but I've been working on imbuing magic into my own projects for some time now."
"An hour?" Kouran said with a start, and finished his pint in one long swig. "I need to get cleaned up," he said with an unconscious hand through his hair and a tug at his wrinkled jacket before placing the coin on the table. "We can't show up in such a shambles to a funeral, it's downright disrespectful. Not to mention making a poor first impression of what may be the first Caydenites in this land, eh?" With that, he straightened up and turned to face his old and new companions. "As I mentioned to one of our new friends here, I am Kouran Veraxian. I admit I haven't knowledge of magic, nor machines, but my sword-hand and faith have always sufficed thus far."
"Ah, a fellow cleric?" Orvin nodded to Kouran appreciatively. He smiled and began to cut into the roasted meat laid in front of him. "I serve as well. I am Orvin Metsk, simple priest of Kelemvor, the Lord of the Dead. But don't let his title unnerve you my friends; it merely means I have attended many funerals before."
With that, he raised a slice to his mouth and began chewing thoughtfully before washing it down with his ale. If he'd heard Ismark correctly, this land had a frequent problem with people coming back as the living dead. The thought made Orvin somewhat worried about this upcoming funeral, and if it would be pertinent to insist on giving the deceased his last rights. Perhaps the people of this cursed town would consider it rude, but it was a risk possibly worth taking. Either way, it sounded like there was much to be done here.
Orvin took some table salt and dumped it into a small bag in his belt pouch. It would probably come in handy later.
"I'm not terribly skilled in magic either, I'm afraid. Just armed with the knowledge of the inevitable end and my faith in the Judge."
Sprocketbox smiles at Kyran and nods. "Oh I do love tinkering with things! Maybe after this funeral. I wonder who he thinks might 'crash' it?"
He places a silver piece on the table and gets up to go clean up. The glowing cushion dissapears at a wave of his hand.
"Oh, never mind you that, Mr. Metsk. Me n' Drastia've got all the magicking you could ever want!" Clover slurs.
"Oh, I'm no cleric. Just a devotee of Cayden Cailean, who's earned a boon here and there in His service," Kouran said with a little bow.
"Darn Right Clover, the magic is everywhere in the roots and trees and even in the largest and smallest of animals." Drastia says after chuggging down a pint.Quote:
Originally Posted by Chromascope3D
"Oh, you're a druid? I love druid healing! It's like your pains are being slowly erased."
The hour advances quickly and you soon find yourself strolling down Barovia's main street. The late afternoon brings a chilly wind that howls through the alleys. Barovia sports the look of an average farmer town if the house where submerge in a mixture of sooth and pitch. Dark facades and tinted windows command the view, with many window shutters closed, adding to the hostile feel of the entire region. Not many people are on the street, and a mother takes her curious kid back inside before it could approach the weird strangers. The rest of the passerby's seem like they're disconnected from reality alltogether. They look through you, and each other, their steps almost ethereal, ghostlike.
Spoiler: Insight DC 15They appear to not even notice you. You feel it is not even arrogant to say they're just backdrop, and their whole demeanor is different from Oleg, Ismark and your whole group. now that you think about it, most inn patrons were equally subdued and pacified.
As you close in towards the mansion, you are greeted by Ismark. Ireena, come here. Our funeral party is here. Behind the man, a brunette woman in her early twenties appears. There are no signs of happiness in her face as she bows for you. Her tears dried up long ago, all that remains is a cold demeanor, stricken by grief. Thank you for helping. I am Ireena. My father is inside. Who would take on the burden of carrying his casket? As you go inside, a simple but elegant oaken casket is barred up in the foyer of the mansion. It is a house befitting a burgomaster, but still humble compared to what you have seen.
Spoiler: CloverAs Ismark, Ireena seems to be accepting of your exotic appearance. She doesn't even give you a proper look.
Sprocketbox looks around as they walks. He seems to notice the people about as much as the people notice them. At first, he seems nonchalant about the reactions, or general lack thereof. Then he seems to come to a realization.
"They're like the lost spirits of Karazhan. Stuck in the past and unable to notice anything in the present. This place really does need our help. Though it may be too late for most of these people, even so."
When they are introduced to Ireena, sprockebox waved a greeting. "I wouldn't be a very good bearer, but maybe I can conjure up a suitable decoration for the the occasion?"
Spoiler: Insight[roll0]
The more Orvin wandered the village, the more he was reminded of a graveyard. The rows of houses began looking less like dwellings and more like mausoleums, cracked and heavy with the weight of death. There was nothing lively about this place at all.
"I've never seen the living act so quiet." Orvin agreed with the gnome as the group marched on. Even undisturbed as their travel was, the oppressive weight of the town's atmosphere was starting to unnerve him. It was fortunate they didn't have to walk far.
As Ismark called for his sister, Orvin found himself stricken by the sight of the young maiden. She looked frail and withered, like a flower in desperate need of watering. To see someone so young and so hopelessly grieved was heartbreaking for him, but Orvin knew there wasn't much he could do for this stage of grief. He was almost glad that Sprocket piped up first, as the gnome seemed to effortlessly lift the tension in the air.
"Some flowers, perhaps," Orvin noted with a pensive frown. "Or maybe a candle, if you can conjure those. A light in this place would be most welcome, I think."
Turning back to Ireena, his demeanor softened into his best attempt at an empathetic smile.
"I am sorry for your loss, little one. I may not be of great strength, but I will help carry the coffin for you. Perhaps, would you permit me to perform some last rites for your father before we begin?"
"Now where have we seen the like of this before?" Kouran wondered to his companions with sarcasm. "Subtler than the carnival, but a mass enchantment nonetheless, I'm sure of it," he muttered as they passed.
After Irena introduced herself, Kouran bowed solemnly.
"My name is Kouran. My friends and I will be honored to help bear the casket." He decided to try for some sign of life from Ireena. "However, we are foreigners to this land. Are there certain local rites, or matters of specific etiquette, to be observed by pallbearers?"
Ismark approaches Kouran. I thank your thoughtfulness but these lands are beyond rites. Usually the dead are hastily buried in shallow graves. One of us can carry a lantern, to symbolize the Morninglord. It should burn until the burial is finished, then you ritually extinguish to accept that the dead is in the hands of the Nightmother now. So if you can provide a lantern, we are glad to carry it.
Ireena smiles a broken smile. Yes, flowers would be nice. she says to Sprocketbox. Please do not refer to me as 'small one', priest. I am Ireena. she adds in a nonhostile but snarky tone.
Spoiler: Ireenahttps://rpg.sandcat.nl/cos2017/chara...ges/ireena.jpg
That is about how she looks. Yes, she is lightly armored and armed as well.
Kyran shakes his head at Kouran, "No enchantment, or at least none that I have noticed. Hope has simply been drained from my people like blood from an open wound. Look around you, there is nothing here but gloom, mist, and death. This is all we have known since birth. Most cannot help but grow numb to it all."
The artificer had run back to his home shortly before the funeral and had returned with some additional items, along with a woman and young boy trailing behind. He produces a pair of small flat stone disks with the graven image of a sunburst on them. Passing his hands over them, they begin to glow with a soft, warm, light. He passes one of each to Ismark and Ireena to carry, "A small piece of the morninglord for each of you. With your permission, I would play for the Burgomeister's passing."
With their consent, he opens a box and pulls out a small viol. Hanging it in front of him with a shoulderstrap, he begins playing a haunting melody as the funeral procession begins.
Spoiler: OOCShould be something similar to this, tried to find something specific to romania for the lore connection, but my googlefu failed me. Skip to 1:35 for the music https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1YDcQqaRLk
A viol's not the same thing as a violin, but they're fairly similar.
While they wait for Kyran to catch up, Sprocketbox goes into the home and looks at the casket and it's surrounds for a minute. He seems to be confused about something but eventually gets to work picking a decoration.
At first, his spells seem to have trouble working. As if he's exeeding some limit and failing because of it. Eventually objects start appearing and dissapearing, and after a few of them work, and with no immediate reason, and on a failure, he exclaims suddenly.
"Ahah! So that's how it works!
Suddenly and very excitedly, the gnome starts conjuring up a seemingly random barage of items. Each time a new one appears the previous one vanishes, and each item glowing faintly with it's own light. Now the problem seems to be more an overactive imagination. The objects that pop up range from unfeasible to silly to, just plain weird. Over time he seems to be getting a bit desperate and is just about to give up when Kyran comes in and hands out the sunburst patterns. Suddenly Sprocketbox grins and turns back to the casket, summoning a small yet brightly colored shroud with the same symbol upon it. This fell into place across the top of the casket, draping down a bit on either side.
Now he turned back to the others and tried not to smile. (He isn't very good at it.) "How is this?"
The siblings can't help but smile warmly at your gesture. You're going through an awful lot just to decorate. Best not to pull as much attention to yourself. You don't want the people to be afraid of your fantastical magicks. Ismark smiles warmly.
People are moved by Kyran's viol play but it dampens the mood while being appropriate. Suddenly, Ireena's eyes start to well up as the young woman realize again, what they are doing here. Her brother comforts her crying but can't help but get teary-eyes himself. Shall we proceed?
Sprocketbox shrugs in response. "We gnomes make up for our small stature with big personalities. I couldn't stand out less if I tried."
Clover shakes his head. Despite his normally unflappable demeanor, the pangs of the town seem to wear even him, ever so slightly. Even if he didn't fully understand the nature of death to the extent that humans did, he himself had lost a few friends along the way, so he could at least relate on some level. He tried to think of words to comfort, but in all honesty it was perhaps best to let the young woman cry now, for there was nothing to be said that the catharsis of tears couldn't bring in equal measure.
"You play beautifully friend," Clover remarks to the blacksmith, drumming the set of pipes around his neck with his fingers, "It may be no surprise that I am a musician as well, and though I know not this dirge, I would be glad to accompany you!"
"I apologize for my ill manners, Miss Ireena." Orvin noted solemnly as the lady wept. "It shall not happen again."
As the blacksmith returned and began his evocative melody, Orvin moved to stand near the coffin and to give the grieving siblings their space. While he wasn't able to get permission to perform some of the usual burial rights that were common where he was from, it was fascinating to hear of the Barovian customs for the dead. Orvin didn't have a sun disk, so instead he poured a little oil into the hooded lantern hooked onto his belt and took a second to light it. It would have to suffice.
"The music is most welcome." He found himself agreeing with the horned one, though he tried to keep his voice from carrying back to the siblings. "But I'm afraid I'll need help carrying this casket. Still, grave digging is arduous enough that there will be time for another tune later, even if the hole will be a shallow one."
"I'm afraid I haven't a lantern. Just torches, which hardly seem appropriate, and a tinderbox. At least I can help you light a candle," Kouran said apologetically. "If such would
"Arduous digging..." Kouran wondered aloud. "We'll have to take it in shifts, to dig and to keep a lookout. That reminds me: Who, or what, can we expect as 'unwanted attendees'? It occurs to me I never asked."
Kyran switches to a simpler melody as he answers Kouran's question in a low voice, "Strahd saw fit to kill this man by sending a pack of wolves and a murder of crows to tear him apart. Should he decide to disrupt the funeral, he may send more of the same, or perhaps some of his more powerful minions such as werewolves and vampire spawn. Hopefully it does not come to that."
Sprocketbox glanced up at Kyran as he mentioned 'vampire' again. He'd been wracking his brain for a while now and couldn"t figure it out. "Er, what's a vampire anyways? Where I'm from the only thing I can thing I can think of are these giant bats the forsaken like to ride around on..."
Kyran states, "Animated dead. Not your standard mindless and clumsy zombie though. A vampire is just as intelligent as they were in life, has all of their memories from before their death, and can easily pass themselves off as still being among the living. They crave the blood of humanoids, and will often keep living people around to feed upon night after night. If they drain a victim to the point of death, they can choose to bring that victim back as yet another vampire fully loyal to their creator. I have felt the fangs of a vampire buried in my own neck before. I was just a snack to it, discarded rather than killed as soon as it had its fill of my life's blood."
"They can turn into mist to infiltrate a place or to escape, can heal from mortal wounds within minutes if allowed to do so, and they are known to wield powerful enchantment magics to force others to do their bidding. They do have a few weaknesses, chief among them being running water, holy water, and true sunlight." Kyran briefly points to the gray sky above with his viol bow as the funeral procession moves along, "Unfortunately, as you can see, that last has not been a problem for them in these lands for quite some time. Supposedly, a wooden stake pounded into their heart can paralyze them long enough to ensure their destruction, but I do not know if that is true."
Sprocketbox listens intently to the information and nods intently. Realizing that they'd begun the proccession, he fell in behind the others, and trying to keep an eye out for danger.
It doesn't sound like it'd easy. This Strahd has been alive for long, he probably has measures against these things." Drastia replies.Quote:
Originally Posted by Daishain
Kyran nods, "Like I said before, most people that go straight for him fail even as they begin. He is most definitely prepared, especially for the obvious methods."
"But there is a bright side to that. Strahd has gone for so long without a real challenge that he is known for playing games with would be heroes rather than crushing them outright. Deadly games to be certain, but still. He is bored, and overconfident. Cultivate his sense of superiority and keep him amused by your presence, and you will most likely have a good deal of time to gather strength and learn of his weaknesses before he will put his true might into trying to kill you. Whether or not that will be enough, I am afraid I cannot say."
My father did not succumb to age nor did Strahd's attack injure him. I am no healer but I think the terror finally got to him. That is how he operates: through fear and intimidation. To say a direct attack would be foolish. But I see the need for something to be done. Ismark says as he clutches the hand of his sister. Can we please shift the attention from the undead to the dead now? Ireena adds. I do not want to insult you but I think a bit of silence is customary now.
Ismark and Orvin take the front half of the casket, while Kouran and Kyran take the latter half. As Clover continues his solo, Drastia and Sprocketbox walk after them.
As you walk down the main street with the casket in arms, the passerbys look at your procession in fear and disgust. If this place had any unity and resolve, it died with the man you are carrying on your shoulders. As you slowly approach the closed gates of the graveyard and chapel Drastia hurries ahead to open the gates. They creak and moan as if to lament the dead.
Inside you see a graveyard with a stone path in heavy disrepair. Its stones are not level, with a few already missing or cast aside. To your left, you can see graves and crypts overgrown with moss. Weather has worn the once pristine stone walls of the mausoleums and the chapel itself. Ismark signs you to slow down, as he would not like to trip on said broken stoneway. You continue your way inside.
Inside the chapel you approach, you can see very simple stained glass windows on the left and right. Its simple imagery often shows the sun banishing the darkness of the night, represented by a black orb or swirl removed from the lands.
As you approach the altar, there is a small bier where you leave the casket. Donavich, are you here?
From the transepts to the left of the altar, you can hear a commotion with two voices. After a minute, you hear a thud and Father Donavich, the local priest appears. So you brought the burgomaster to his final rest, then. Let us hope our Lord has no other plans for you, Kolyan. And you did you bring someone to help dig the grave too, very smart. He looks around. I don't believe you're from here?
Spoiler: KouranIsmark is not telling you everything. While breaking the populace of the town, naturally he hounds the burgomaster into his early grave. But you don't think isolating a random citizen - and even the burgomaster is no more to him than that - is something a tyrant like that would do.
There is certainly no need to make an example, as you think most people are heavily discouraged in opposing the vampire even without their town leader killed by sheer terror.
Spoiler: DrastiaAre you doing anything in particular? If you look around, you can see quite a few birds, even though they are ravens, a bunch of rats. Barovia town itself has no trees but the graveyard has a few pines.
Inside the church you can hear faint scratching and wailing from the beneath the chapel, exactly from where the priest approached.
Spoiler: OrvinInside the church you can hear faint scratching and wailing from the beneath the chapel, exactly from where the priest approached.
Sprocketbox looks about the church as they enter. He'd been in a few chirches here and there, but none so depressing. Of course, his people never really had a big thing for religion. It just wasn't logical. So he decided that this was none of his business, for the most part anyways.
While the taller folk were manhandling the coffin, he casually walked towards the Transept the priest had come from as he stared about the church and it's various decorations.
Sprocketbox sees an intricate timberwork which is fitting for a farming and logging town like Barovia, however the craftsmanship is superb. Still, like outside, the chapel is in heavy disrepair. It is solid enough to endure a few decades still but you wouldn't like your funeral to be held here. For safety and more obvious reasons. As you go closer to the door that leads to the chambers of the priest, the scratching and moaning is getting louder. Donavich glances at you before talking to Ismark again.
So thirsty....am so thirsty...