Ustalavian Ravenloft IC

[stack]

With the dying of daylight, a fog creeps across the land, clutching everything in its clammy grasp. Inside the Weary Horse Inn, though, the fire is warm enough, and if the few patrons are sullen and stare at the five strangers a little boldly, at least the food and drink are good. For an inn’s common room, it’s quiet. It holds no more than a handful of customers. They keep their voices low, and even the clink of their mugs seems subdued as the fog gathers outside.

Five men, the subjects of the locals interest, have arrived here. Their attire and demeanor mark them as uncommon men, far from the farmers in experience and capability.

The middle-aged bald innkeeper goes about his duties quietly.

The land you have passed through is largely forest, small farming villages tucked in the clearings and valleys of the rolling hills. The land has become more hilly, mountains visible in the distance. The year grows old, the few leafy trees have given up their foliage, though evergreens are now predominate.

Cast:

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{table]Player Name|Character Name| Race| Class (Archetype)|initiative|sense motive|perception
Bhaakon|Salvatore Legatus|Human | Gunslinger/Inquisitor|7|9|12
Firebeard|Connor Halfhand|Human|Paladin|6|8|-1
Sthalor|Old Timer|Half-orc|wizard (teleportation specialist)|1|11|3
Stormwind|Erin 'Raven' Brujah|Human|Witch (hearth)|6|13|9

(Everyone introduce your characters. You have all received this letter:

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Hail to thee of might and valor:
I, a lowly servant of the township of Barovia, send
honor to thee. We plead for thy so desperately needed
assistance within our community.
The love of my life, Ireena Kolyana, has been
cursed by the witches of Lysaga Hill, and even the
good people of our town are powerless to free her from
this enchantment. She wastes away under the witches’
curse and I would have her saved from this menace.
There is much wealth in this community. I offer
all that might be had to thee and thy fellows if thou
shalt but answer my desperate plea.
Come quickly, for her time is at hand! All that I
have shall be thine!

Kolyan Indirovich,
Burgomaster of Barovia

Your reasons for being in the area are your own. Please describe them, then RP until plot happens. Please post within 24 hrs.[/SPOILER]

OOC thread

Fortunes:

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Holy Symbol of Ravenkind

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“This symbol is a powerful force for good and protection against the forces of darkness.”

“Seek it in the heart of the wilds, far from human hands.”

“The holiness in this item waits for hands of holiness to touch it once more, but that is not enough to bring its power back to life.”

“You must bring the symbol home, to the last remaining shred of sacred ground in the defiled castle.”

"Regarding the young ladies trinket, the green dragon speaks of the wildness of nature. The symbol is deep in the woods, perhaps guarded by a fey spirit. It must be taken the the chapel on the castle grounds to restore it.”

the Count:

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"Everything in this land is affected by the ruler of the castle, though not all in his control. Even the mightiest have foes, fears. Which troubles do you lay at the count's feet? If you seek the man himself..."

"You will seek him in the castle, and though he might find you many times, you will find him only once.”

"You will find him where the light lies dead, slain by his own darkness."
“The lord of the castle seeks a lady to reign beside him, but he fears rebellion from his subjects. If you seek him, you will find him in his brother's tomb.”

“There is a very bad influence in this place. The powers of death will strip away your protections should you seek violence.”

Maurgen

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"Water earth and sky, the hunter now the beast, the hunter now the prey."

Sunsword

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“Seek it where the river flows into the land.”

“Darkness was born from light. Bring the sword to where that light lies dead.”
"Regarding the sword, the black dragon speaks of elemental forces mingling together. The weapon should be in the marsh downriver from here. To unlock its power, seek the crypt of the lord’s mother, deep beneath the castle.”

Witches

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"A darkness from Lysanga hill, a calling to a defiled place under the blind moon."

"Seek the ruins of the monastery of Saint Ectarina on the night of the new moon. One who once guarded the mountains now seeks to rule."
"If you have heard the name Baba Zelena, you ought have marked it. She seeks to overthrow the lord of the castle. Her spell can only be complete when even the moon is turned away. You will find her on Lysanga hill, in the ruins, two nights hence. Beware, she is powerful and has attracted followers."

Tome of Strahd

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“The tome you seek holds knowledge of the ancient and knowledge of the land." “Seek it in the place of blasphemy, where humans plumb their darkest nature.”“This is a card of debasement and debauchery. The tome has become a manual for witches. Convenient for you, since you where going there anyway, I believe."

"If you find the tome and delve into its secrets, you will discover the source of the lord’s strength. If you read it care-fully, you may also discover how to rob him of that strength. You must find the three defiled places described in the tome. At each fane, you must unearth the relic it contains.When you have all three relics, you must destroy what you have created. At each one, keep a vigil through the night and make its power yours”

[Firebeard]

Clad in a shining breastplate with Erastil's forked lightning prominent on the pauldrons and carrying a great bow, Connor Halfhand easily picked up on the outliers in this inn's taproom. His face was weathered by years of travel and battle, the jagged scar running down the right side of his face standing out from the tanned, weathered skin below. His brown hair and gray eyes stand out from a handsome face, scar notwithstanding, and his body is lean with muscle acquired from many years on the road.

He lifts his mangled right hand and waves to the others to join him, the last two fingers on his right hand ending in stumps surrounded by twisting scar tissue, as it seems obvious that they, like he, have likely been summoned here. And, like he, each probably has a letter in his possession from the Burgomaster of Barovia.

"Well met! I am Connor Halfhand, judge-paladin of Erastil. Do I assume correctly that you each have been summoned here by the Burgomaster of Barovia? If so, then it is likely that we will be joining this little adventure together."

Connor studied each of the others without judgement, for judgement is to be made in the face of evidence and law, not in belief and supposition. There might be those, for instance, who would immediately look askance on a half-orc, no matter how he acted. And a dwarf! By Erastil this was going to be an interesting side-trip. I wonder why Old Deadeye sent me to this place, with these people?

[RocketMan]

Konrad

As far as inns go, The Weary Horse isn't a bad one, in Konrad's view. He likes the quiet, and likes that, no matter how interested the locals may be, none come to harass him with questions. Their stares don't bother the mercenary and only go stonily ignored.

Konrad surveys the paladin, Connor, as he speaks. Shining armour and "little adventures," Konrad thinks to himself, shaking his head. If not for the scars, Konrad would simply have dismissed him immediately. As Connor finishes, the mercenary stands.

"My name is Konrad," he says, stepping forwards from the shadows. He is a tall man, with an imposing physique of corded muscles. He is ruggedly handsome, but looks like he's seen better days - his short-cut hair is greying prematurely, his face is scarred, and his nose looks like it's been broken on at least one occasion. He wears a set of full plate armour, though it is tarnished and now is only a dull bronze, and has an enormous greatsword slung over his back. Konrad looks out at the rest of the assembled party stormily with his blue-grey eyes.

"I'm here," he says sharply, "for the money. This may be an adventure for some of you, but I'm not here to play. This is a job, period," he finishes, his voice harsh. He looks about, as if expecting to be challenged.

[Leviathan]

Standing on the threshold of the Weary Horse as the sun fades away and foggy twilight approaches, Pious Bronzeanvil touches a hand to the symbol of Sarenrae hanging around his neck, bidding Her quiet farewell. "Until tomorrow, my Lady," he murmurs, his voice quiet, yet also rich and weighty.

Entering the inn, Pious meets the stares of the local farmers with a clear-eyed, level gaze, then scans the room. Several figures all do not belong: two are, like him, heavily armoured and armed, while two others are less so, but appear equally unusual. One of them, a young man (though they were all young to Pious), waved him over.

Hearing the paladin speak, Pious draws out his copy of the letter, which he has kept safely tucked away in his belt. "Aye, lad, I have been. Your instincts do you credit. I am Pious Bronzeanvil, a servant of Sarenrae." His dwarven features grow grim. "I will be good to have companions in this matter; I fear it will not be a simple one."

When Konrad speaks, Pious bristles, but keeps calm. "Indeed it is not an adventure, and at my age one appreciates professionalism. But do keep in mind, lad, that we will be dealing with people who will be worried and frightened. It would be better to have some sympathy then."

[Firebeard]

Connor simply grimaced at Konrad's words. Fine, if the man was a mercenary, Connor had worked with their like before. In fact, it simplified things many times. "Fair enough, though I take every day as an adventure. It makes my travels more interesting, and keeps me alert. well met, then Konrad. I take it you won't have a problem if I pretend this is an adventure? That way I'll have a good story for the next fem bard I run into on my travels." He said this last with a smirk, and a slight twinkle in his eye. It looked as if there was going to be at least one source of entertainment in the days to come.

Turning to the dwarf, he said "And well met to you, Holy One of Sarenrae. I look forward to working with you as well on this endeavor. It is always a pleasure to meet one of the Dawnflower's children in the field."

[Bhaakon]

Salvatore sits in a dark corner of the common room, the lone occupant of a large circular table. A old, chipped mug of the inn's finest sits off the side, while a collection of silvered and gilded parts sits in front of him. For the perhaps the fifth time since sitting with his drink, he closes his eyes and sends his hands dancing over the the little pile of shiny scrap. As if by magic, a fully assembled flintlock appears in the shadow of his dextrous fingers. Rather than take it apart again, the hands spirit the gun away into its holster and draws the nearby drink to his mouth to drain the final few swallows.

"You may pretend whatever you wish, after the job is done." Salvatore continues, standing, "I'm sure that you can embellish a fine tale of derring-do to woo the nearest string-plucking harlot, just leave my name out of it."

His reproaches complete, Salvator walks over to Pious and extends a hand, "it is always good to meet a fellow professional. This follower of Pharasma has often found an ally in the Dawnflower's flock." As he bends to offer the dwarf his hand, a silver spiral pendant, symbol of the Lady of Graves, slips out from under his collar.

[Sthalor]

Ah, great. Religious folk.

The cloaked figure in the corner lets out a small sigh, slowly rotating his glass and watching the swill left in it slosh around. He quickly downs it, his dark hood falling back as he does so. The man is revealed to be a Half Orc, and a rather ugly one. His hair grows in scraggly, mostly black but with a large portion dominated by wiry grey hairs. What looks like a tattoo seems to spiral up his neck, landing just below his left cheek. His face jingles a bit as he gets up, the multiple piercings both ears and on his face hitting each other noisily. He wears simple dark blue robes, the sleeves hanging well past his hands.

The old Half Orc is hunched over, using a quarterstaff marred with various magical scars and carvings to keep himself up. You can clearly see the signs of age on his face and skin, which is a greyish-green hue that seems unhealthy. He slips the note out of his belt pouch, and turns to the group of men. "Well, gentlemen, it appears we'll all be working together." He turns to Konrad and adds, "I like your attitude, young man. Let's get our money and get the hell out of here, eh?" The Half Orc laughs, which devolves into a wheezing cough. He continues to cough as a small pipe floats into his hand, and he packs it with tobacco, still coughing horribly. Snapping his fingers, the tobacco lights up, and he takes a deep draw. The air fills with the smell of smoke and ozone as the Half Orc exhales.

While this is happening, a raven flies down, perching itself on the top of the quarterstaff. It looks around at everyone, then screeches out an awful language full of clicks and hisses. The old Half Orc replies in the same dialect, seemingly quite agitated with the bird. "Goddamn thing'll be the death of me... You can all just call me the Old Timer. Or just Old Timer."

[Firebeard]

And I thought paladins were supposed to be the sticks in the mud when it came to random groups of people working together for a common goal.

"Well, it would be hard not to leave your name out of it, since you haven't offered one, gunslinger. Perhaps by the time this job is over, you may realize that person doesn't have to walk around looking like they've been sucking on lemons to get the job done."

He turned to the half-orc. "Well met, old-timer." He held out his hand for the half-orc to shake, watching the raven warily.

"So, have any of you actually met this Burgomaster Indirovich before? "

[stack]

As you meet, the d the door swings open. A chill blast of air swirls about the room, causing the fire to leap and sputter. Every head turns to see who has arrived. A human male, varisian by his dress and brightly colored scarf, loudly stamps the mud off his boots in the doorway, then surveys the room. Seeing your group stand out, he strides confidently over.

He speaks in common, with a heavy varisian accent.“The village of Barovia is in need of heroes,” he says in a thick accent. “You’ll do as well as any. They are overrun by undead abominations. Please, ride a day to the west, though do so in the light, the Svalich Woods are not safe after dark.” Without another word, he turns to leave.

[RocketMan]

Konrad

"What the hell was that?" Konrad snarls as the man departs. He glares at the door for a moment, as if hoping for force the strange man back through sheer force of will. When this venture fails, he turns back to his companions.

"We're going to Barovia anyways for the job, so if he was from the village, I don't see the damn point of that little show," Konrad says, his tone less angry, but still bitter. "Still, it's helpful to know the town is full of undead." Konrad laughs darkly.

[Firebeard]

Ah, now I know why Old Deadeye sent me this way...or at least part of it. Undead, the scourge of the natural order. Connor's eyes gleamed with a righteous fervor as he contemplated the implications of undead in the village of Barovia. He thought, just for a moment, that he might have seen a similar gleam in the gunslinger's eyes...or maybe that was just his imagination.

"Undead? Well that explains a lot about this summons from the Burgomaster, and perhaps something about this 'wasting' curse on the lady Kolyana. It is good that we know the cause of some of the village's problems, and I for one am not willing to suffer the undead to walk. I wish that we did not have to wait until the morrow to set out, but perhaps the man was right in his warning. "

Connor thought for a moment then looked at Pious. "I imagine between the two of us we can prepare spells against undead that might help upon the morrow."

[Leviathan]

Pious' face, listening the the strange messenger's grim tidings, grows concerned. So quickly I am cast back into battle... But I do not think this one futile. It is my Lady's will, and that has never gone ill before. He stands abruptly, his armour clanking. "We must go at once, whatever the dangers. Every moment of delay may mean more death: if the town is overrun, I fear for the villagers." The priest's voice sounds urgent and serious, and one hand is clenched around the hilt of his scimitar.

"Trust in the Gods to ward us from evil and do not fear it! he implores his companions.

[Sthalor]

The Old Timer shakes Connor's hand, the Half Orc's scrawny and wrinkled in comparison. He begins to say something, but is interrupted by the man bursting in and imploring their help. The Old Timer continues to puff on his pipe as the others talk, and speaks up when silence falls. "Well, it appears this town of Barovia is in quite a bit of trouble." The raven speaks again, the same grating language that seems to be the verbal equivalent of nails on a chalkboard.

The Old Timer sighs as Pious speaks, taking a long drag from his pipe. The long wooden piece was nearly empty, and he quickly refilled it with more tobacco. "You're a devout one, aren't you there, Master Dwarf?" The Old Timer chuckles, coughing a bit again. "I believe that we take the terrified villager's advice and not traverse the forest tonight. I've been hunting witches in this area, and they're none too friendly. Besides..." He yawns, stretching his back and rising up to his full height before slouching down again. "I'm damn tired. And we're also in Ustalav. I'm a little new, but I thought the general rule was stay inside after dark."

[Bhaakon]

Connor's not mistaken, Salvatore's eyes gleam with the grin his stern mouth won't form, and unconsciously strokes the but of his pistol. With supreme effort, he masters the urge to follow the strange messenger out the door, "no, not at night. Don't fight them on their terms, I've made that mistake before."

The name is Salvatore, by the way."

[Firebeard]

At Salvatore's words about having made the mistake of fighting undead in the dark before, Connor cocked an eyebrow. There was a story there, though not one he thought he'd be able to wrangle out of the gunslinger this night.

He looked both relieved at not having to be the only one arguing against the cleric of Sarenae, and frustrated that they were going to have to leave the Barovians to their own wiles another night. Still, Both the Old One and the gunslinger - Salvatore, he reminded himself - were right. "Looks like we wait. And on the morrow, I shall ask Erastil for powers to aid against the undead."

He turned to the half-orc again, and firmly gripped the hand, backing off on the pressure before he hurt the old mage. "So, you've been hunting witches in the area, have you? Perhaps you can share some of what you know about the local customs and dangers with those of us who are relative newcomers here."

[RocketMan]

Konrad

"A strange man, with no explanation, tells you to do something and what do you all do? Trust him without question? Damn it, are you trying to get killed?" Konrad grimaces.

"Not that it matters much, we've got to go to Barovia as it is. But you're all damned stupid if you're not at least suspicious of that man!"

[Bhaakon]

Salvatore shrugs, "I was already heading there, so his veracity matters not a wit to my plans. We'll discover the truth of it soon enough."

[Firebeard]

"Likewise. What did he tell us that might have affected our plans? We were headeed to Barovia to answer the call of the Burgomaster anyways. We weren't planning on travelling at night originally. It wasn't until he mentioned undead that there was any discussion of setting out at night. And the mention of undead, if false, certainly isn't likely to change our preparations much, if any. I agree that it was suspicious behavior, but there is such a thing as too paranoid, neighbor."

[RocketMan]

Konrad

"Fine," Konrad grunts in response to Connor. "You think that. But I like not being dead." He turns to the rest of the assembled party. "I don't see it making much difference whether we leave now or later. The forest at night is certainly dangerous, but I'm not eager to take the advice of a mysterious stranger who could easily be luring us into a trap."

[Bhaakon]

"Yes, he could. Better, then, to come upon it in the daylight, when we have a chance to spot it beforehand." With that Salvatore goes to find the bald innkeeper and inquire after a room for the night.

[stack]

The night passes. The cold autumn wind whistles past the poorly hung windows, creating an unpleasant draft. You think you may have heard the howls of distant wolves, but you cannot be certain.

Your newly-formed group departs at first light, having made ready in the glow from the east. A quick cold breakfast set you for the road.

Old Svalich Road winds its way through the hills and valleys, farms and homestead growing infrequent until the fail entirely. You ride through ancient woods, the high bright sun often obscured, the trees stealing its comforting warmth.

Black pools of water stand like dark mirrors about the muddy roadway. A pall of thick, cold mist spreads over the ground despite the now-overcast sun. Giant tree trunks stand guard on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mists. In every direction the fog grows thicker and the forest seems more oppressive.

As the sun fails entirely and the darkness threatens to be complete, you see something ahead. Gray in the fog, high stone pillars loom up from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road. Huge iron gates hang from the stonework, dew clinging to their rusting bars. Standing before the pillars are two stone statues of armed guardians with wicked polearms. Their carved heads lie among the weeds at their feet, neatly broken from the stone shoulders.

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To keep things moving, I presume you stick to the road. If you want to do something else, let me know)

[Bhaakon]

Salvatore pulls up his horse and dismounts, handing the reins to one of the others. He approaches the gate with a wary eye for trouble--or guardsman--and moves to open it if neither is in sight.

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perception: (1d20+12)[17]

[stack]

The gate creaks open as Salvator approaches, no one visible on the other side, to challenge or greeting called out.

Peering in, you can see that mist blankets the village, smothering the streets and marooning the buildings, forming an archipelago of crumbling masonry in a gray, hopeless sea. At the village’s lonely edge, most structures are
abandoned, burnt-out hulks. Charcoal is thick on the air, but that choking odor can’t overpower the underlying, sickly sweet smell of carrion and spoilage. Claw marks rake some of the vacant homes, ominous not merely because of their presence, but because of the five-fingered, handlike shape they suggested.

Farther inward, as gaps in the mist show, most buildings survive. Doors are barricaded with tables, broken carts, and smashed furnishings. Windows are
shuttered and planked.Silence is thick in the fog-bound streets, as though from cotton stuffed into the ears. Nothing living stirred, nothing breathing walked the streets.

Then the air is pierced by the sounds of battle, faint in the distance ahead.

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please give a marching order and general plan of action. The street runs forward a short bit to an intersection, were you could go left, right, or straight.

[Firebeard]

Connor dismounted and drew his bow as the gates swung open. Eyes constantly moving, he scanned the surrounding area for any sign of danger. Concentrating, he attuned his mind to Nature's way, looking for evidence of any unnatural and evil auras nearby.

At the sound of battle, he nods to Salvatore, indicating that he heard it as well. He curbed his instinct to run to the fray, instead continuing to scan the area around them while the others dismounted.

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Perception (1d20-1)[4]

stack, not sure how you are doing the Paladin Detect Evil. Are you treating it as a radar - 60ft cone, see everything - or as a designated target? Let me know and I will adjust my posts and play accordingly.

[stack]

Connor:

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You detect no evil within 30' of the gate. (I assumed you went up to, but not through, the gate.)

The spell requires concentration, a standard action. I believe that the paladin ability also requires it. Just let me know when you want to use it, or if you want to keep it up for a time (losing standard actions until you say otherwise.

[Bhaakon]

Salvatore draws his pistol, uttering the command that makes the barrel glow a dull cherry red. "Lets head towards the sound of battle," he whispers to the others, leading the way through the streets.

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Salvatore is fine going first, since he has the best perception anyway.

[Firebeard]

In the same tone, Connor says "There are no undead, or creatures of evil intent in the immediate vicinity. If Salvatore is taking point, I will bring up the rear."

[Sthalor]

The Older Timer had remained rather quiet throughout the journey, making the odd comment and shouting in that same abrasive language to his raven, and smoking his pipe. He offered his Light spell to anyone who wanted it, but his own Orcish Darkvision let him remain without it. When the group approached the front gate, The Old Timer shivered, and his raven flew off into the sky, only to come perching pack on his shoulder, whispering into his ear.

"Careful, gentlemen," he mutters, slowly drawing arcane symbols in the air. Quickly, nigh invisible plates seem to float up from the ground and affix themselves around the body of The Old Timer.

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Casting Mage Armor, +4 to AC for 6 hours. I'll put an X next to the spells I've prepared on my character sheet.

[RocketMan]

Konrad

"Mother-of-Monsters," Konrad swears, letting out a low hiss as the ruined village emerges from the mists. In a flash, his greatsword is in his hands and his stormy eyes sweep suspiciously around.

"We had better keep moving. It sounds like someone is still alive in here. Follow me."

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Konrad will go first in the marching order.

[Leviathan]

Pious' eyes survey the ruined village. "Sarenrae preserve us," he murmurs, drawing his blade. "But come, we are not yet too late; some may live!" He swings his blade through the air experimentally, then adds with a grumble, "Not that I'll be hacking through the undead... Bloody sword arm."