The Mists of Ravenloft - Curse of Strahd: [IC]:

[Hattish Thing]

The Mists of Ravenloft - Curse of Strahd:

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A cold wind blows over the bleak Barovian landscape, it's howl like the mourn of some unfortunate widower through the marshes, bogs, and creaking, ruined houses. Though many regions throughout the land carry with them a morbid history, the mist-plagued land of Barovia is known throughout legends for it's unsettling past, and unwelcoming atmosphere. The rainy county is a particularly desolate, blasted area, devoid of pleasant tourist attractions or enjoyable weather. It's haunted hills meander from mountain to misty coast, their rocky slopes gradually shrouded by a mixture of stunted grasses and dense mosses strewn with eerie spiraling fairy rings.

The evergreen trees of the Svalich Woods climb the sides of the forbidding mountains that enclose the valley, the largest of these, Mount Baratok, soaring high up into the air, resembling from afar some long-forgotten titan grasping desperately towards the heavens, with its snow-covered cap and rugged slopes. It's smaller twin, bulging out of the mountain's side like some overgrown tumor, Mount Ghakis, is mostly bald with tufts of trees here and there, its forests haunted by lycanthropes and worse. Between these two mountains stands Lake Zarovich, fed by streams of ice-cold water pouring down the face of Mount Baratok.

Here, the very land itself seems to rot, and decay. The earth proves ill suited to farming, with most crops growing stunted or crooked. What few vegetables grow with any reliable success in Barovian soil possess bloated, strangely suggestive shapes when finally wrested from the spongy earth. The beasts of Barovia have long suffered from similar unwholesomeness, with wild animals and livestock alike falling victim to “phage,” a starving affliction distinguished by unnatural paleness, starved appearances, erratic violence, and horrifyingly deformed progeny— tumorous bodies, limbs akin to other species, and multiple heads proving most common.

On the south side of the lake rests the town of Vallaki, its downtrodden people barely eking forth a miserable existence within the mist, enclosed by a palisade. West of the two mountains, atop a leering hill, rises the ancient Abbey of Saint Markovia, around which a walled village called Krezk can be found, its peoples both insular and highly religious. Between Vallaki and Krezk lies the broken and battered ruins of Arygnvostholdt, the fallen bastion of a knightly order called the Order of the Silver Dragon, infamously wiped out centuries ago, every last crusader left impaled upon the battlefield. Now, it is a dark and haunted wasteland, a mass grave of legendary proportions.

East of the mountains lies the village of Barovia, the capital of the county, and sharer of its name, shrouded all in mist and bereft of walls and defenses. The dark silhouette of Castle Ravenloft looks down upon the village from its perch atop a thousand foot high column of rock, the Pillarstone. High in its countless spires, the legendary Strahd, dread lord of Barovia, watches over his kingdom of misery and woe. Despite Barovia's discouraging nature, the dozens of ancient ruins dotting the land's godsforsaken countryside manage to attract the bravest, or most foolish of adventurers, nevertheless. Infamously, however, Barovia itself is rarely found on purpose, and rarely ever escaped.


--

TO BEGIN:

--

To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring. However, given the exhausting nature of your previous expedition, and the fact that on the way to the village you were caught in a bitter rainstorm, the comfortable monotony of the tavern likely comes as a relief. Outside the window booth which you all currently inhabit, a fog lies over the town, the full moon partially obscured by a cloud bank, cold rain falling in sheets.

The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones, the fog chilling the bones and shivering the souls of anyone unlucky enough to be outside. Yet, inside these tavern walls, the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A comforting fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is a live with the tumbling voices of country folk. After a moment, a curious-looking woman approaches your booth, pulling up a chair. While attractive and full of figure, the woman is older in appearance and short in stature, with strong arms and a weathered face suggestive of a history of hard work.

Immediately recognizable as the barkeep herself, she rubs her hands upon her apron before clasping them together. She speaks, her voice low in tone and raspy. "Pardon the intrusion, but times are slow, and I find meself glancin' yer way. Yer not from round here, all o' ye, are ye? Can’t say ah recognize ye." Raising a hand in a showy sort of way, she laughs slightly before putting on a rather serious expression, fighting back a small smile as she introduces herself with an air of grace and importance, as if introducing royalty.

"Folk 'round these parts call me Madame Agnes! I own the place. What about yerselves?"

---

Spoiler: Madame Agnes:

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[Murkus]

Dinua looks up from a particularly attentive attack on a turkey leg and blinks. Not that anyone would be able to tell; with her mask lifted to allow for eating, her eyes are quite covered. The tall mountain girl smiles greasily and with good cheer at the barmaid. "Myself?" She says in a piping-high voice and a lilting, confused accent, "Why, I don't own this place. Or any place. I'm out of the north," she points with an 'unh' sound at the wall and takes another bite of turkey, just in case anyone was confused which direction was north. "Long, long ways from here."

Dinua is dressed in a black-and-white striped pelt, cut to fit as a poncho, a set of silk skirts torn down the sides, and a pair of very shiny brown boots. And of course, the mask. She wears a golden head of hair in two long, twisting braids that rest 'tween her shoulder blades.

"It's very nice to meet you Agnes. Madame Agnes. Yes," she affirms, setting down a stripped turkey bone and wiping her mouth. She decides to leave the mask up for now, show the thin line of her lips and the narrow shape of her jaw still. Affirming that there was still a person under the damned eerie second face seemed to help put people at ease. "Why slow? You cook such fine birds. And you think everyone would want out of that rain..." Dinua mimes a shiver.

[Arkhosia]

From a nearby seat Chessanna peers up, finishing a gentle sip from a tankard of cider. The foreign aspect is perhaps even more obvious since she's swathed in creamy white robes with dull golden trim that only seems to accentuate her dusky skin. "Salutations, my name is Chessanna, wayfaring priestess." She answers with a gentle yet cheery tone, a soft smile on her lips.

[Recaiden]

The rain had been nice and refreshing!
Maybe not so much for the others.

It's different in here, with all the candles. So...distracting.

"Yes, very nice, hello." says another piping-high accented voice.
Porcia is at the corner of the booth, scrunched against the wall, and waves to the madame from somewhere under her oversized hood-and-poncho. The others can introduce her if they must, though likely they won't see this woman again after the next day, and she won't even remember the names she was told.

[billtodamax]

Don't mind her, she's just tired from the road. I'm Repentance, and this is Porcia. Porcia will know that she can't get away without introducing herself when Repentance is around. It doesn't cost anything to be polite. I'm just happy there's somewhere we can get out of the weather, slow or not.

Repentance can't wear a hood! She has big dumb horns that get in the way so she is soaked to the bone. She's clad in some fairly basic chainmail over the top of even plainer clothes. The armour is well maintained if not particularly ornate, and she has a holy symbol tucked away under her tunic. There's a small pile of gear sitting next to her, including her glaive and her great sword, which is otherwise a real pain in the rear to carry around. Her skin is a bright purple, with her hair a shade or two darker, while her eyes are flat silver. She's currently halfway down her first pint and warming up to the idea of number 2.

Any news? She asks between drinks.

[Shadowcaller]

"And so a mysterious stranger approaches our heroes. Introductions are happening, is this the start of a new adventure? We shall soon see..." The woman with black graying hair will get up from her seat some distance from the table and walks up to Agnes and will attempt to put her arm on her shoulder. "Agnes! A fine name! Mine is Llys, Llyss'thajryn! The apostrophe indicating my last name of course." As if they could hear it.
She gestures ahead of them, towards the closest window, her grey eyes almost shining with eagerness. "A grand quest! That's what my companions are trying to say they are looking for!" Her gloved hand now points at the others in turn. "Can't you see it in their eyes? These are epic heroes in the making, madame! They will die, or reach absolute glory!"

[Hattish Thing]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

Chuckling slightly once Llys touches her shoulder, Agnes somewhat awkwardly shifts in her seat, adjusting her hat upon her head, knocked slightly to the side as the other woman jostles her somewhat in the process of wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Once she does so, she responds, taking special interest in the masked northerner, as well as the unusually attractive tiefling woman. Admiring her horns from afar, the woman responds to the group somewhat distracted. "Ah, well, don't get many folk travellin' through this part o' the world. Most folk in town keep to 'emselves, is why folk like you bring me no small amount of excitement! Cannae remember the last time I saw anyone like you..."

"So... exotic!"

Just as Agnes winks somewhat lecherously, her next sentence is abruptly interrupted by the cacophonous noise of several hooves clattering against the cobblestone outside. The cruel, high-pitched crack of a whip biting into wet flesh pierces the air, audible even above the cacophony. A sickening squelch follows the cracking of the whip, which itself is accompanied by a tortured shriek, clearly equine in nature. The screech echoes for several seconds, yet is quickly drowned out by the noise produced by the approaching creature's hooves, accentuated by rolling thunder.

Outside of the tavern, bursting out of the mist, a horse-drawn stagecoach storms ahead at a dangerous speed. The black stagecoach stops in front of the tavern, it's dark lace curtains obscuring the inside of the coach. A curious man hops off of the stagecoach onto the mud, before promptly swinging the tavern door open, causing a hush to fall over the room. Framed by the lamp-lit fog, the figure strides through the doorway, his curious gait accompanied by his heavy, booted footfalls as well as the jingling of his coins. His brightly colored clothes are draped in loose folds about him, and his wide-brimmed hat hangs askew, hiding his eyes in shadows.

Without hesitation, he walks up to your table and stands proudly in a wide stance with folded arms. In an unusually accented voice he says, “I haff been sent to you by Burgomaster Kolyan Indirovich, a most remarkable man, to deliver a message of great import! Zhe valley of Barovia is in need of adventurers! If you be creatures of honor, you vhill come to my master’s aid at first light.” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to all of you in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table.

“Take zhe Vhest Road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. Zhere you vhill find my master in Barovia, and you shall be revharded handsomely.” Amid the silent stares of the patronage, the curious figure barks a command to Agnes. “Fill zheir glasses, one and all. Zheir throats are obviously parched.” At that, he drops a purse heavy with gold upon your table.

He flashes a seductive smile to each of you, before beginning to step away.

[Shadowcaller]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

"Ah, no grand quests then?" Llys asks with smile as presses her fingers into the chest of her armor. "I suppose my sense for adventure aren't as sharp as my divine senses. But Agnes, perhaps I can tell you something interesting about the horns of your fancy then as I admire a woman that take the bull by the horns." She gestures at Repentance as Agnes is winking at her. "Among the traveling peoples they call tiefling horns 'handlebars', I don't think I have to tell you why." Llys chuckles softly when she is interrupted by the thundering hooves outside.

"Perhaps that is what my adventurous senses felt, hm? Haven't used them in so long they must be rusty." Llys let's go of Agnes and approaches the window, watching the stagecoach as it approaches and stops by the tavern. She peers at the man steps out. "A stagecoach thundering along a lonely road like the abyss all demons were chasing it, what could this hold in store for our heroes?"

As the man steps up to the table and introduces himself, Llys stays in the background for a moment to listen to what he has to say. She grins widely once it becomes clear just what his intentions are. "Well, you got a whole bunch of them right here, sir! All eager for glory! I don't suppose you could offer us a ride on the stagecoach? I'm Llys'thajryn by the way. Thajryn being my last name of course." She offers her armored hand to the man.

[Murkus]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

"Look, everyone, Llys is mad or a prophet," says Dinua, sitting up a bit abruptly and replacing her mask as she turns toward the newcomers. "Or both, aye, yes," she corrects in an agreeing tone, as though someone had spoken.

"Hold there, bondsman, o generous one," the masked woman calls out to the stranger. She reaches out to pluck at the string that ties the mouth of that plump gold-pouch, peering first at the gold and then at the messenger. "How have you heard of us? How did you find us?"

[billtodamax]

Llys you're the only one who ever calls them that. Repentance says, smiling at her antics. I'm glad we could liven up your night some. She tells Agnes.

When the cacophany outside the tavern begins she rises slightly, hand instinctively going to her great sword. She relaxes back into her seat when she sees the man come in, putting her greatsword back down. Not a robber then. After his little speech she speaks up. Llys, hold a moment. She quickly scans the letter before continuing. Why is your master even looking for adventurers? It sounds like what he needs is a doctor. Of course I'd be happy to help, but I'm not certain our skills are really what you're looking for here.

[Arkhosia]

Chessanna stifles a giggle behind her palm as Llys gets up to her antics. Handlebars? Well, certainly better than what I've been called. She attempts to jest. Mad or prophetic, she couldn't deny that she livened up the mood. The arrival of the stagecoach provokes some sympathetic cringes as the sound of a pained animal reaches her ears.
If they know our names, I doubt we have much of an option here. She comments suspiciously.

[Recaiden]

Our hooded friend offers a possible correction.
Reach absolute glory and die."

She pays no particular attention to the ominous newcomer. He'll explain himself soon, surely.
Just a glance at the minion of the most remarkable Burgomaster Kolyan Indirovich, voice crackling and jumping up and down.

"Not certain. But-
A strange request. But...
She takes out her coin pouch. Shakes it. Upends it. It is of course completely empty.
"This is Porcia. This is- a doctor."

[Hattish Thing]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

Agnes chuckles awkwardly towards Llys, her cheery mood somewhat dampened by the mysterious stranger. Glancing towards the pouch, her jaw drops slightly. After staring, mouth agape, towards the pouch, and then towards the highly attractive foreigner in the wide-brimmed cap, Agnes rises from her chair, nodding swiftly as she heads out to collect a number of tankards, as per the stranger's request.

The stranger, his back already turned away from the table, merely chuckles under his breath, cap lowered.

--

Rather than respond at all beyond his eerie laugh, the figure merely steps out into the rain, shutting the door behind him.

Seconds later, the stagecoach hurtles forward, vanishing once more into the mist.

[Shadowcaller]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

Llys shrugs and smiles at the rest of her party, not even bothering to look after the man as he leaves. "See, companions? Adventure must simply be accepted, you can't pull it apart and look at it like some machine. Never look a gift horse in the mouth I say, we must come to their aid at once!" She suddenly swipes the heavy coin pouch off the table and holds it up next to her head and grins as she lets it dangle in the air temptingly. "I mean, like Porchi just said, we are the best damn doctors this world have to offer." Not a direct quote it sounds like. "Besides our bird-lady of aid here, both Repentance and I got our amazing healing touch." Llys wiggles her other hand suggestively as she smiles encouragingly at the tiefling before she suddenly turns and points at Chessanna.

"And all I know what people call you after you heal them, a bloody saint, that's what!" She reaches into the pouch and pulls out a pair of gold coins which she throws to Agnes. "Can I get a praise be?" Llys asks as she makes a motion next to her ear as if listening to the barmaid.

Then she steps back and spreads her arms wide. "Hear that? Better get used to it as that's what the people of Barovia are going to sing years from now. So drink and get up, since for this much I'm more than willing to skip a night of sleep. I've already proven than I'm a prophet so dare you refuse this call of destiny?" Finally, going off her sudden speech, she points at Repentance again. "And I swear on my oath that's what they call them, and I ain't no liar." She snaps her fingers.

Spoiler: OOC Crunch

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That is a Inspiring Leader Speech so +5 temporary hit points to everyone.
Also, remove 2 gold coins from our loot stash.

[Murkus]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

Dinua seems to look slowly around herself, dreamlike, as though under the influence of some powerful narcotic.

Your companions are incredibly strange.
Like gathers to like as always, mm!
Llys is mad! A genuine softhead! Surely you aren't listening to this--
Look at that gold. Fat enough pouch to kill a man wit'.
And more. More, according to that letter! Not so much listening to the pretty spinster as we are the money, Dinua, the money...

Dinua glances over, not yet having looked at the message from the wealthy burgomaster. "I think our venerable skald there is right," says Dinua. Seeing how Chessana is next to her, she holds out a hand to the elf, and will try to raise them to their feet! "We can buy a wagon with this much gold! Keep us out of the rain. We could hitch up and leave tonight. If it is a trap, if there's some wicked intent, well, they won't expect us to arrive in the middle of the night."

She tries to haul Llys close as well and put an arm around each of the women, forming a little half-circle. "Come on, no fretting! If that dog and his master mean us harm, we'll split their bellies and smash their coffers! They'll pay as that slip there promises, one way or the other!" Dinua laughs a sincere belly-laugh, squeezing her friends around their middles.

[Recaiden]

[I'm not putting a location tag in a normal game where literally all the characters are together]

"Buy a wagon - in the middle of the night?" Porcia is skeptical.

She's going to go, of course. There is someone gravely injured who has requested their help.
Also the money. They can put it to better use than most. Probably unscrupulous types hoping to capitalize on misfortune will come crawling in as well - that man seemed to be spreading the call far and wide, in desperation.

The monk hops from her seat, and waves for Repentance to come along. Hurry, lest Llys drag you by the handlebars.

[Arkhosia]

Nameless Triple Multiplier

That brief, drugged look in Dinua's eyes earns a look that's somewhere between curiosity and concern from the dark elf. It might not be the most unusual thing to see her companion doing, but that doesn't stop it from provoking intrigue. Nor does this stop Chessanna from tentatively accepting her help up. "A saint is perhaps a little generous, Llys... but I appreciate the glowing praise." Pun fully intended, judging by that little smirk. "And you make a fair point, oh masked one! Besides, I do not see how anyone could deny a group as colorful as us."

[billtodamax]

It seems he's left us no choice in any case. Repentance says, quickly draining the rest of her mug. Give me a moment to load up here Llys. She slings her pack over her shoulder, buckling her weapons to their places about her person. I'm so sorry we have to rush out on you like this Agnes. She tells the barkeep with sincerity. Dinua, belly splitting is a last resort, understood? She'll head out with her party into the rain to pursue the stranger.

[Hattish Thing]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

Conversation within the tavern is not quite the same once the mysterious stranger vanishes once more into the mist, pitch black stagecoach hurtling forward, ever forward. Many of the residents appear to have been thoroughly spooked by the figure's appearance, as well as by the great showing of coin, more than most within the town have ever dreamt of.

Agnes, dumbfounded, merely nods, mouth still slightly agape as the traveler's swiftly exit the tavern once learning of the home of the one individual in town with a horse and wagon for sale.

--

Following a particularly heated conversation with the elderly man in possession of the horse and wagon, and the parting of an extraordinary sum of gold, the small gathering of adventurers rides off in the direction that the ominous stagecoach was last seen heading towards. Forty-five minutes pass, the workhorse charging forward through the night and through the rain, frothing at the mouth out of effort and wear. Conversation within the wagon is cheery at first, but over time, the monotonous beating of the heavy rain against the wagon-tarp causes the conversation to die down, until all is silent save the bumping of the road and the pattering of the rain.

A sudden cacophonous roar up ahead interrupts the silence as, down the path, stagecoach wheels slip and crack upon wet cobblestones just in the distance. A voice familiar to each of you calls out, though the exact exclamation is lost to the wind. A second later, the silheuette of a pitch black stagecoach comes into view, charging towards your own wagon. Atop the coach, the crazed driver whips his horses into a frenzy. A tall, wide-brimmed hat shrouds the man's face in shadows, and a bottle of brownish alcohol can be seen in the stranger's other hand. The coach rushes forward violently, threatening to run each of you down as the carriage storms through the crossing. As the stagecoach draws near, the madman cracks his whip and shouts down towards each of you, bloody phlegm and sour spit flying through the air.

"Zhe Count vhill haff you all! Bahahaha!"

Following the cry, there's a deafening crash as the stagecoach rams directly into the horsedrawn wagon, wood splintering and glass shattering, horses shrieking in pain as the driver swears loudly over the wind, madness in his voice. Each of you are knocked out of the wagon, some of you losing consciousness immediately, while others take several seconds to finally pass, skulls cracked against cobble.

Inevitably, all becomes dark.

---

[Old Svalich Woods - Barovia]

Hours pass, or minutes, before you each suddenly find yourselves jolted awake, startled by the howl of a great wolf in the distance. Immediately, you realize that you are no longer in your beds, but rather are crumpled upon the moist ground within a darkened grove. The woods all around you are tall, their branches oppressive, and the air is quite cold. Barely visible through the canopy, an enormous full moon can be seen, far larger than any you’ve witnessed before. A crackling fire at the center of the grove sputters as a low mist gathers around the edges of your apparent camp, growing closer every minute as the night wears on. The fog hangs thick in the air, turning the trees around you into gray ghosts, their needle-covered arms interlocking.

A single dirt path leads out of the woods, continuing on far out of sight.

Spoiler: Passive Perception 12+:

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For a brief moment you become very aware of the sounds of the woods. In the distance, the screech of a great horned owl echoes strangely, while enormous glistening webs watched over by fattened black spiders can be seen wrapped between branches. The most disturbing discovery, however, would be the sighting of an unusual wicker doll, suspended from a branch. Ominous runes have been carved into the puppet, which, you swiftly notice, possesses features which greatly resemble your own.

FIRST PC ONLY

--

Spoiler: The Path:

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[Shadowcaller]

[Nameless Tavern - Nameless Province - Nowhere]

Llys waves her finger in protest to Chessanna. "No, no, no. No more protests from you or I'll call you Saint Chesty for the rest of this adventure. And no more of that colorful talk either, we are perfectly normal heroes on a journey of great destiny. Just go with the flow, act cool." Then she gives the drow finger guns as she is willfully pulled along with the others, disappearing outside.

[Old Svalich Woods - Barovia]

The aged paladin groans. She was in pain, her whole body aching. It was a good ache though, not one of age but of genuine hurt.
As Llys gets up, she utters another groan however, her knees. Maybe it was a bit of age in that ache. Just a tiny bit.

But with an effort her body won't soon forgive, she forces herself standing and in a instant that pain was but a dull ache as she saw the world before her. A world of darkness, a world of mystery, a world of adventure.

Perfect.

"Get up people, you're all half my age. Some pain won't stop you!" She loudly declares before turning to see if her companions were truly alright. She had never heard of a hero getting seriously injured before even facing their first foe though, so she had felt she could assume as much.

However, as she is standing there looking over her companions she, as a safety measure, reaches to the holy symbol of Lathander she carries around her neck and let's her divine sense guide her to make sure nothing was truly amiss here.

Spoiler: OOC Crunch Stuff

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Llys is using divine sense, trying to detect if there is fey, undead, fiends, celestials, desecrate and/or consecrate places/objects within 60 feet of her.

Charges remaining: 4

[Recaiden]

Hmm. We seem to have been deceived dreaming more deeply than normal.
The mist of the scene around them is compounded by depicted mist. The wind is full of owls. But what else can one expect in such gratuitous moonlight?

In one smoothness, Porcia flips from lying sprawled on the ground to standing upright.
Is that-
It is.
A kenku doll, wicker and feathers from some poor flying thing.
She does to take it down from the tree, ignoring her companions.

Then she sees that she was wrong. It's not just a doll. It is unmistakably a Porcia doll.
Look at its little outfit! Look at the shape! Look at the intricately carved runes.
She puffs up, feathers on end.

This is the best and also least explicable thing to have happened in quite some time.
"Look"

[Murkus]

[Old Svalich Woods - Barovia]

Dinua wakes to a deafening cacophony of voices. She sits up, surrounded by spirits, having to will them away just to think. A camp? No, this was wrong... She had been driving, or at least sitting at the fore, and then came that man out of the dark again. Ugh, she had thought herself so clever. Clearly that fool had intended to attack them on their way to this Barovia all along. But why? And how had they ended up... here?

Dinua momentarily dwells upon a chilling thought. Perhaps they had all perished in the crash. Perhaps this was her just punishment... But before panic and woe can rise further than a tickle in her chest, she realizes that she wouldn't be seeing the spirits of the old folk around her as mere spirits if she were dead.

So still living, then. But far from home...

"I'm not hurt," she begins, waving off an invisible helping hand. She looks first to Llys and then Porcia. Then to the doll. "That thing looks evil."

[Arkhosia]

Old Svalich Woods

Shaking her head as if it would do anything to dispel the dull ache in her skull, Chessanna drags herself to her feet, dusting off her robes before gazing around in a somewhat dazed manner. "I-is everyone well?" She questions, retrieving a small stone from her bag and willing it to shine with a warm glow. Her eyes may be attuned to the dark, but the drow is unsure if her comrades are of similar nature.

The drow's attention is then drawn towards the peculiar facsimile. Studying the markings intently, she frowns. "I do not know magic well, but this reminds me of what a witch would do." Chessanna comments, attempting to discern what this thing is exactly.

Spoiler: OOC Rollstuffs

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Insight Check 22 (17+3 wis mod +2 Insight proficiency)

[billtodamax]

Repentence jerks, awake, seizing by instinct her sword and looking around wildly. This doesn't make sense. We were dead. She says, looking at the other members of her party. She was dead. What the hell was going on.

She quickly pulls herself to her feet, taking stock of the situation. Creepy doll, Porcia and Chess have that... handled. Surely. That howl though... She peers into the woods, trying to spot the threat before it's upon them.

Spoiler: rolls

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rolled 21 on perception to look for the bad dogs in the woods

[Shadowcaller]

Llys turns to look at the doll and points at it. "And that ladies and gentle- er, ladies, is a desecrated object. Which means we're obligated to destroy it I'm afraid, Porcia. It will only cause you harm. You should hand it to Saint Chesty so she cleanse it. Maybe she can hand it back once she's done." But at the same time she is mouthing "burn it" at Chessanna.

"But when you're done with that, we have a village to save and we certainly aren't dead yet. True heroes never die." Gesturing for them to follow her, Llys is starting to move towards what she believes to be the village below the castle.

Spoiler: OOC Crunch Stuff

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Rolling deception to hide the fact she is signaling Chessanna to turn the doll.

Result: 8

[Recaiden]

Porcia nods to Chess - very well, in fact - and then presses the cursed doll into her hands.
Do with it what you will, Saint.
We can't let extremely cute (if evil) cursed dolls weigh us down.

"Not dead. Just sleep." She chimes in, before getting on the road.
They surely can't stay in these woods until the wolves arrive, right?

[Murkus]

Dinua feels her way to her gear, peering 'round the clearing. She waves a hand in a low gesture at Chessanna. "Care with that light. Easy to spot, I'm being told," She looks to Llys. "Llys! There wasn't a thing in that letter about village saving! I know there wasn't! You had better not volunteer us for free work."

"I think we had better get our bearings a bit straighter," she says, starting along the path with halberd on one shoulder and pack hefted on the other. She turns to the side and shushes some invisible presence. "Shh, Auntie. Kinsblood, you are all being so annoying. Anyway. Bearings. How did we end up in that camp? You all remember the letter and the stranger, yes?"

Dinua's eyes examine the peculiar landscape. A bit somber, to be sure. It can be assumed she proceeds in the direction of the village unless their journey is interrupted.

[Hattish Thing]

[Down the Old Svalich Road]

Gray skies above grow steadily darker and darker the deeper down the road you travel, black pools of water standing like dark mirrors in and around the muddy roadway. Giant trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist. A lonely hour passes before finally, an unusual sensation comes over each of you, your hairs standing on end. About thirty minutes afterwards, something stirs within the underbrush. You call out and prepare your weapons, only to witness nothing more than some frightened, half-starved animal rush across the road.

Another few hours pass, the gloominess of the land darkening your moods and leaving each of you afflicted with somber thoughts as you trudge along the muddy path. Rain continues to fall in bitter-cold curtains as each of you draw closer to what one can assume would be civilization. Dim lantern light is just barely visible through the cold rain and thick fog. Details are difficult to make out, for the heavy rain obstructs vision beyond fifteen feet, and the thick gray fog causes the lights visible in the distance to appear muted and eerie, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.

Finally, the fog spills out of the forest on either side of you to swallow up the road behind you. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Enormous iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of titanic armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence. The full moon shines on overhead, but the gates themselves are dimly illuminated by a pair of large lanterns built into the sides.

Spoiler: Gates of Barovia:

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[Shadowcaller]

[Down the Old Svalich Road]

"Obviously there will be complications and in the end we have to destroy whatever monster that is causing the illness or has the cure which is also threatening the village itself. That's just how adventures work, and we'll end up being paid for all of it. Be assured!"

---

As those "few hours" pass, Llys seems increasingly restless. If they only hadn't lost that carriage. But what is an adventure without hardship? As to ease her eagerness, she occasionally narrates to herself about their path, in particular when they think they are about to be attacked.

But as they can finally gate in the distance, the paladin let's out a relived sigh. "Our destination beacons, friends. Glory waits just beyond that pass." She gestures at the headless statues and picks up the pace a bit.
As they come closer, she points at the lit lanterns by the gate.
"See? People live here, that means we can finally rest. I mean, if you can after all this excitement. Dark strangers carrying gold, mad coachmen, evil dolls and howling fiends. Yet something tells me it will pale in comparison to what awaits." But as she moves to knock on the door, alternatively open them if no one answers or they are open, she uses her divine sense once again.

Turning, she points at Chessana. "Hey! I can tell that doll is still evil, Chess! We can't just enter the village carrying cursed objects. I'm afraid you have to burn it if you can't cleanse it." She orders, not wanting to look bad in front of the villagers. Others could detect evil too!

Spoiler: OOC Stuff

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Llys uses divine sense, trying to detect if there is fey, undead, fiends, celestials, desecrate and/or consecrate places/objects within 60 feet of her.

Remaining uses: 3

[Recaiden]

This isn't so bad. Just you, your friends, a fog hiding the giant ominous sky and the horrors of the night.

Porcia looks at the fallen statue heads and shrugs.
This isn't going to go like a fairy tale, Llys.

She heads to the gates. Are they open at this hour?