Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

[RandomWombat]

The teenager locks up a bit at the hug, pressing his palms against Kellon's shell in embarrassment. "Hey, come on- not in front of everyone..." he sighs and scratches the back of his head afterwards. But there's conviction in his voice when he answers, "Of course I'll look after them. Always do."

[Prehysterical]

Kellon gives the self-conscious young man a knowing look. "Now now, boyo, don't be getting embarrassed at showing affection. The sun always rises tomorrow, but there's not guarantee that we'll live to see it. Life is a gift, Milivoj. Don't let anyone shame you out of living it."

Nodding farewell to the oldest orphan, Kellon makes his way to the door. "Blessings to you and all the little ones, Feddick. Sleep well and dream of sunny days."

When they are outside, Kellon looks to Sokol. "That's me all taken care of. Should we head to the inn and meet up with our priest?"

[RandomWombat]

The two regroup at the door, with Milivoj and the younger children waving and calling out farewells. Feddick gives them both an appreciative pat on the shoulder as they pass by him.

"Aye. Time to do what must be done," Sokol agrees resolutely. The two of them walk again across the quiet Barovian town. Father Donavich awaits outside of the Blue Water Inn's sauna, holding his scepter in both hands, eyes closed in silent prayer.

[Prehysterical]

As they leave, Kellon waves back to the children. Gods watch over them...

When they arrive at the inn, Kellon waits respectfully until the old man's prayer is concluded. "If you are ready, Father... it's time."

[RandomWombat]

After a pause for the Father to pray, he opens his eyes and meets Kellon's with a nod. The three of them fall into step together towards the eastern gate. Knowing where they are bound for makes it feel like a march into the jaws of Hell. The Barovians around them, for the first time in a long time wearing hope on their faces, look to the vampire killers like saviors come to free them from their pain.

"Stay safe out there, ay. Is getting dark," one of the guards at the east gate tells them in a friendly voice as they march out. After their late morning, the trip to the lake, and the walks across town, the sun has started to dip in the sky and the dreary faded light of day begins to give way to the night. Just the time one wants to visit the friendly neighborhood vampire lord for dinner.

The walk through the rolling hills and farmland outside of Vallaki is solemn, the silhouette of the windmill on the hill a reminder of the dangers of this land. It has already grown dark by the time they arrive in the little abandoned crossroads hamlet. Near the waysign marking the roads rests a familiar carriage of black and gold, pulled by horses streaming manes of ghastly smoke.

[Prehysterical]

As they soldier on, Kellon wonders if the townsfolk would be so cheerful if they knew where the trio were going... The guard's well-meaning warning only reinforces that point. If there was ever a time to be visiting that thrice-damned vampire in his own home, it definitely wasn't when night is about to fall! In his mind, though, they don't have a choice. They are already a day or two late with the invitation... There was no telling what had already happened to the girl, or what would happen if they delayed any longer...

The sight of the wagon makes Kellon's scales crawl, but it is time to put his foot into the beartrap. He climbs (albeit awkwardly) into the waiting coach.

[RandomWombat]

The floor of the old carriage creaks. The interior is lined with fine red carpet, and leather seats. The three climb in one at a time, doing their best to fit into the enclosed space. Kellon's bulky shell makes it difficult to sit in the seats properly, and he has to avoid bumping or jabbing anyone with his shell. It's not the most comfortable ride, despite the luxurious upholstery. It is not lit inside, and so Father Donavich recites a small incantation that lights up the head of his wooden scepter like a torch. Now seated across from the man, with time to sit and do little but look around idly, Kellon notices that the bottom of the scepter's wooden haft has been carved and whittled down to a sharp point since last they spoke. Little guess as to why.

No driver sits to pilot the carriage, and yet the horses begin to walk the moment the door is shut. They plod their way ponderously at first, then begin to pick up speed to a steady gallop. Manes of smoke stream behind from their smouldering hides, at times drifting uncomfortably into the cabin of the carriage and forcing the occupants to cough and wave the smoke away.

The road up to the great plateau is rough. Above them they can see the higher peaks upon which the foreboding castle looms in the darkness. Forests stretch below the rocky edifice upon which it rests, swirling with Mist that gives Kellon a chill as he feels it creeping through the trees like tendrils, a feeling almost as if it were creeping through the crevices of his own shell.

Through another old, abandoned checkpoint gate they pass. The wind howls through the opening, the wooden gates themselves long since gone, lost to time or to sabotage. Beyond the gates the road steepens further, leading up a narrow path.

As the party draws nearer to the castle, the weather takes a turn for the worse. Dismal rain begins to fall, becoming torrential within the hour. Lightning routinely streaks across the sky, the resultant peal of thunder causing the carriage to shudder. Yet the rain drowns out the smoking backs of the horses, sparing the passengers the petty annoyance. To any other, this weather may seem an ill omen. To Kellon, perhaps it is a sign that someone is watching over his quest after all.

At last they arrive at the peak where the trail evens out, and the horses slow their pace. From a grassy cliff, they begin to cross a stone bridge high above the misty forests below, two crumbling towers flanking it. At the other end is a smaller gatehouse, the steel portcullis raised and awaiting them.

Coming to a stop in the courtyard, the carriage's door opens on its own and the trio steps out. Thick, cold fog swirls in this courtyard. Sporadic flashes of lightning lance the weeping clouds overhead as thunder continues to shake the ground. Through the rain that quiets to a drizzle, Kellon sees torch flames fluttering on each side of the keep's open main doors. Warm light spills out of the entrance,
flooding the courtyard. High above the entrance is a round window with shards of broken glass lodged in its iron frame. To their right is an old gallows. Stone gargoyles rest upon the corner parapets of the castle, uncannily lifelike yet perfectly still, stone scythes resting upon their shoulders that Kellon can't tell are part of the statue or not.

Before them is a humanoid figure with sharp ears, long dark hair, and ashen skin. A formal coat of black, blue and gold hangs around his shoulders, the collar lined with a white wolf's fur. A thin, polite smile sits upon the elvish-looking man's lips. Father Donavich looks at the figure warily, while Sokol steps forward. "Are you Strahd?"

The smile doesn't break or waver as the man's eyes draw down and then back up, assessing the trio coldly. Kellon notices that the rain seems to part around him, his clothes and hair completely dry. When he opens his mouth, his voice is smooth and light, "I am Rahadin, chamberlain of Castle Ravenloft. Please refrain from referring to my liege in such... informal tones," the elf turns, arms folded behind his back and coat flipping in the wind to settle back down behind him. "Please follow me." He begins to walk inside.

[Prehysterical]

The lack of a driver confuses Kellon. He had thought that Arabelle's uncle would be the driver. Did Strahd have more than one wagon? Their ride makes Kellon long for a ship's deck in choppy waves, such is his discomfort! His eyes do not miss Donavich's improvised stake. Kellon can only assume that desperation or a sense of helplessness has provoked the old man into such a gesture. Only the familiar pounding of rain and cracking of thunder provide comfort provide any comfort for the caged tortle.

Castle Ravenloft is every bit as foreboding as Kellon feared, right down to the unflinchingly uncheerful servant greeting them at the door (though, ironically, the thunder is the least concerning). Kellon wonders if the elf was forcibly changed by Strahd or if he was a traitor to the dusk elves. As Rahadin bids them to enter, Kellon only gives Sokol a wary look before silently following behind the servant.

[RandomWombat]

The ornate outer doors of the castle hang open, flanked by fluttering torches in iron sconces. Twenty feet inside the castle is a second set of doors. The stone floor is decorated with a long-since faded set of heraldry, depicting a bird - likely a raven. Overhead, in the vaulted entry foyer, four statues of dragons glare down, their eyes flickering in the torchlight. Rahadin opens the second set of doors, revealing the grand hall, where the sound of an organ playing can be heard echoing through the halls.

Cobwebs stretch between the columns that support the vaulted ceiling of a great, dusty hall dimly lit by more torches in iron sconces that cast red firelight into the room. The torches conjure odd shadows across the faces of eight stone gargoyles squatting motionlessly on the rim of the domed ceiling. Cracked and faded ceiling frescoes are covered by decay.

Double doors of bronze stand closed to the east. To the north, a wide staircase climbs into darkness. A
lit hallway to the south contains another set of bronze doors, through which can be heard the sad and majestic organ tones rebounding off of the stonework. Rahadin steps over to a small hallway across from them.

"The master awaits in the dining hall, but your arrival was not at the expected time... and so, I must go to inform the cooks to make preparations. Please step inside and enjoy the music while you wait," he bows and swings an arm towards the bronze doors, before descending some stairs below and leaving the three unsupervised.

[Prehysterical]

Strahd's lair is every bit as decrepit and soaked in shadow as Kellon had imagined. After Rahadin excuses himself, Kellon looks at the other two significantly. "Do I even have to say anything about meals served in a vampire's castle?" Facing the bronze doors, Kellon resigns himself with a sigh. Gallivanting through the castle unsupervised would do more ill than good. He pushes them upon, expecting to look upon the source of the organ's music... and the castle's master.

[RandomWombat]

To the east, where Rahadin vanished, an arched hallway stretches for twenty feet, ending at a spiral staircase that goes up and down. Next to the hallway, a suit of armor, oiled and glistening, stands at attention in a shallow alcove. To the west, large double doors hang slightly open, and a steady bright light escapes through the opening. Swells of organ music come from behind the doors, spilling their melody of power and defeat into the hall. Kellon's claws clack against the bronze as he pushes the door open.

Three enormous crystal chandeliers brilliantly illuminate this magnificent chamber. Pillars of stone stand against dull white marble walls, supporting the ceiling. In the center of the room, a long, heavy table is covered with a fine white satin cloth. Places are set for each of the three with fine, delicate china and silver, as well as two places at the table unaccounted for - and of course Strahd's own tall, elegant chair at the end of the table opposite the door. At each place is a crystal goblet filled with an amber liquid with a delicate, tantalizing fragrance beneath which lurks a barely detectable scent of alcohol.

At the center of the far west wall, between floor-to-ceiling mirrors and sculptures of writhing souls reaching out to heaven for salvation, stands a massive organ. Its pipes blare out a thunderous melody that speaks in its tone of greatness and despair. Seated at the organ, facing away from Kellon, a single caped figure pounds the keys in raptured ecstasy.

The figure suddenly stops, and as a deep silence falls over the dining hall, it slowly turns toward them. The figure of a man, deceptively ordinary aside from the royal countenance of his long red cape and fine garb. A receding hairline of dark, black hair is combed back smoothly. "My honored guest. At last you make your appearance," remaining seated at the organ, Strahd (presumably) holds out his hands to either side, palm up and open.

"It is rare to have one so exotic here in my castle, so I do hope the music is to your liking. Do you have any requests?" turning casually around in his seat, the vampire stretches his arms and shakes his sleeves back out of his way, resting his hands silently upon the keys in expectation. "Go ahead, request anything - in my years, I have learned a long repertoire."

Beside Kellon on either side, Sokol's hands clench into fists, and Father Donavich stares across the room with an unintelligible expression.

[Prehysterical]

Every tale that Kellon had ever heard of vampires (minus the sea-faring ones) runs through his head as he enters the spider's parlor. The elegant finery, the dreary music and decoration, the mask of nobility over a heart colder than that of a shark... Kellon begins to feel like a worm on a hook as the master of the castle himself turns to greet him. Was this truly how Strahd looked, or did some dark magic cater to his vanity?

For a brief moment, Kellon debates telling the vampire to stuff that entire organ down his gullet. He decides against it, however. Much as he is loathe to play along with Strahd's dinner plans, Sokol's daughter would be the first recipient of the wretched man's displeasure. Kellon places a steadying hand on Sokol's shoulder and forces himself to keep an even voice as he proposes, "Don't suppose you've ever heard of Heart of the Locker?"

[RandomWombat]

Fluidly, Strahd's fingers fall to the keys, the beginning of the mournful melody. "Ah, a classic," the vampire declares in what sounds like approval. He soon falls into the music again, swaying with his hands as they work. He appears willfully oblivious to the three of them, boldly leaving his back exposed.

Carefully, Father Donavich steps inside and takes one of the chairs nearest to the door, clearly prepared for something to go wrong. Sokol's movement is more forced, barely constraining himself for the sake of his daughter's safety. The chair he pulls back across from Donavich grinds audibly across the floor. If the vampire cares, he does not show it, nor does it disrupt his performance upon the organ.

[Prehysterical]

Kellon wonders if Strahd even understands how comparable he is to the heartless captain in the song... Fortunately, everyone is playing it cool for now. Kellon moves to the seat of the guest of honor, directly opposite from Strahd's chair. If he does make any noise, it's due to awkwardness rather than deliberate scraping. The castle finery is not designed for one of his shape or size.

They were in the spider's web now... No, actually, Spider's web sounded infinitely more appealing than the chum-infested waters of the dining room. All they could do was play along.

[RandomWombat]

Taking a seat, Kellon awaits the inevitable shoe to drop. But Strahd does not seem keen on breaking this charade just yet, merely continuing to play. While they sit and listen to the music, there is another creak from the hinges of the door, in Kellon's blindspot where he cannot turn his head very easily to look past his shell. But Sokol's hands grip the edge of the table, as two more people round them on either side to take the two other places set at the table.

"Gertruda? Gertruda, is that you?!" Sokol asks in barely a whisper as a girl wearing a fine gothic dress passes his chair to take a seat. To the trio's relief, her skin is flush and healthy, and she looks at Sokol with a confused expression.

"Yes. Do I... know you?" she questions warily. With her being so young when he vanished, and his voice grown so ragged in undeath, the lack of recognition on her face is not odd. But it does cause Sokol to sink down into his chair in some mixture of relief, despair, and fear of startling the girl.

Meanwhile, the figure rounding the table on the other side, and the voice that greets Kellon, is just as troubling. "Kellon. It's good to see you well." The friendly greeting of Anton Burrel. Stepping up to the seat next to Father Donavich, he slides in. A pale pallor coats his face, and a gleaming redness in his eyes that was not there before tell everything that must be told of who is responsible for his 'resurrection'.

[Prehysterical]

It takes an effort of will not to heave a huge sigh of relief. Kellon had suffered dark imaginings of an enthralled Gertruda during the coach ride up. For whatever reason, Strahd's fangs had spared the girl.

Of course, it turns out that instead Kellon's darkest nightmares are brought back in a false semblance of life. How much of Anton Burrel the scholar is still behind those eyes is anyone's guess. Kellon suppresses a displeased hiss and clacks his beak shut to bite down a sarcastic retort. After a moment of forced calm, Kellon simply responds, "Sorry about the arm, lad. The house didn't exactly leave us much choice about staying or leaving."

[RandomWombat]

Looking down at a light blue cape draped over the stub of his arm, Anton pats the shoulder with his hand. "Twas, at least, not my dominant hand. And a cantrip serves just as well." With a small twist of his fingers, a glowing blue hand manifests in front of him and picks up the wine glass before him, from which he takes a drink in demonstration.

"My sincere thanks for dragging me out of that place. And please, do take the time to hear out the master of the castle, won't you?" the scholar asks with a smile, setting down a glass surely filled with a vintage of more than just wine.

"And what does the master have to say? Why is my daughter here in your castle?" Sokol demands angrily, pounding a fist into the table. Gertruda jumps a little, then her eyes go wide.

"Daughter? You don't mean..."

A single misplayed note resounds, and Strahd sits still at the organ, letting it howl out and drown whatever simmering might be left, before slowly lifting up his finger and letting the sound die out like a gasping breath.

"There is no need for slamming of fists."

Standing up from the organ, Strahd turns and walks regally to the table to join them at last, drawing back his tall gilded chair and taking his seat. With one hand, he motions to Gertruda next to him. "I'm certain you've heard all manner of terrible things of me. But I was taking a ride through the countryside, when I happened upon this poor girl lost and alone in the woods. And instead of... whatever it is you expect I've done, my guest whose name I do not yet know, I brought her safely to my castle." He meets Sokol's withering gaze with an easy calm.

"Indeed, she has been given use of the royal bedchambers - which I do not use, for it was the dominion of my mother and my father, rest their souls. And she has been provided with finer foods than she has ever seen in your quaint little village-"

"The village to which you ransom her," Sokol cuts him off, and the vampire pauses. "My name is Sokol Sokolov. And I have come to return my daughter home."

Remaining still, with one arm held up, Strahd casts an appraising gaze between his three guests. "By my right as King, I may take any woman I wish to be mine. So Lady Gertruda will remain here, and receive an education, and be lavished with finery until she comes of age, whereupon I shall make her mine. Unless... that is..." the vampire curls a hand around his wine glass casually, even as Sokol's fetid claws carve grooves into the wood of the table. "Tatyana. Is. Returned. To. Me." He takes a drink of his wine. "Do that... and you may take dear Gertuda back to your little dirt hovels, however much she may not wish to."

[Prehysterical]

Anton's smile makes Kellon's blood run even colder than usual. Said blood warms and heats simultaneously when Sokol loses his temper and demands an answer. As expected, Strahd is displeased with the outburst, but there is not the hissing of bared fangs and clash of thunder that Kellon expects. True to his reputation, Strahd maintains a cool demeanor masking his monstrousness.

Kellon is not fooled at all by Strahd's assertions of good intentions. Did Strahd really think that a fisherman by necessity wouldn't recognize bait when he sees it? Only a stone wall of expression meets the vampire's inquiry for a name. The tortle throws a quick glance Gertruda's way, after her father reveals his identity, to witness her reaction. When Strahd finally delivers his ultimatum, Kellon's restraint is tested to its absolute limit. His loose-fitting chair turns into a blessing as he surges to his feet, letting out a guttural hiss like that of a primordial reptile. Kellon glares at the vampire lord as his clawtips clutch at the fine wood, both out of anger and to keep himself from launching over the table. His blood is up like wind-blown sails, burning as hot as the scorching ocean sun.

The gall! The sheer gall! Baron, king, drown it all! The thought of this young girl being groomed into a vampire bride has Kellon fuming like a stirring volcano. A veritable litany of curses and insults worthy of a pirate's guidebook surges through his mind like a tidal wave, his beak grinding as Kellon struggles to keep the vitriol from bursting forth like a leak in a ship's hull. While he could not contain his initial outburst, Kellon has just enough sense left over to know that his words might damn more than just himself. Struggling to regain his composure, Kellon releases his death grip from the table and settles for clutching his claws into loose fists. The forced nasal sigh is more worthy of a breaching whale than a turtle-man containing a tantrum.

When he finally gains control of his tongue, Kellon answers in a calm but terse voice that does not disguise its heat. "Why do you keep calling her that? It's not her name and, if she somehow hasn't made herself abundantly clear, all the finery in this castle isn't payment enough for your cold bed!" His chitinous beak snaps derisively.

[RandomWombat]

Witnessing Kellon's reaction, Strahd at first maintains a perfect poker face. Then a glimmer of a smirk forms at the corner of his mouth, taking satisfaction at the tortle halted mid-rage by hesitation. Even Father Donavich stares at the vampire with a mixture of apprehension and dim embers of determination he is trying internally to stoke.

Gertruda looks at the man claiming to be her father uncertainly. "Papa? If that's you... where did you go, papa?" The girl asks, in and accusatory voice. She holds her hands together against her chest, tears forming in her eyes.

"Gertruda, I..." Sokol hesitates as well, to reveal to his daughter what he really is. "Some bad people, they lock me away. My friend her rescued me, and I came home to find you gone. Your mother and I, we are sick with worry..."

The girl shakes her head, long hair flying. "I'm not going back there! Like a bird in a little wooden cage... I'm going to be like in the stories, papa. A little peasant girl sponsored by a noble knight."


Leaving the two to their own discussion, Strahd answers Kellon confidently. "She is Tatyana. Though she may not know it, she is mine - her soul is mine. My wife. My star-crossed love." The man closes his eyes wistfully and raises the goblet to his lips, but this time does not drink. Merely feels the metal against his cold lips. "She will remember, in time."

Placing the goblet back in its place, Strahd opens his eyes once more. "Though I wish more than anything for Tatyana's return, that is not why I sent for you. Ah-" the door behind Kellon opens, Rahadin and two walking suits of armor carrying in several trays of food to lay upon the table. "Perfect timing, my faithful servant. Nothing lubricates diplomacy quite like good food. Please, eat - whatever you may think of me, the food is safe. I have my pride as a host."

In front of Kellon, Donavich and Gertruda, an array of cooked ham, bundles of fried batter with what smells like cheese and crab meat inside, spiced potatoes, and small desert cakes is set out. In front of Anton is placed a rare steak, still bloody, which he begins cutting into with a steak knife. And before Sokol is a strange mushy gruel. The host himself does not partake. Kellon can see Sokol eying the substance strangely, a bit of drool wetting his face scarf in spite of himself.

[Prehysterical]

That smug snake... He doesn't even the decency to be offended! What stings far worse, however, is seeing that Gertruda's welcome to her returned father is even colder than his walking corpse. Worst of all, there was nothing at all he could say to change her mind, not with her "beloved knight" standing right there.

Strahd remains cryptic as he refuses to elaborate on any potential history he has had with his "wife". Kellon blinks as Strahd dismisses her retrieval in favor of another matter. What could he possibly mean?

The food does smell really good... but Kellon would rather starve than take an easy meal from this tyrant. He crosses his arms defiantly and leaves his plate undisturbed. Like any good vampire hunter, Kellon decides to go right for the heart of the matter. "Why bother with all this charade, Strahd? 'Tis no secret that you only bring outsiders in to kill them. Are you just that bored?"

[RandomWombat]

Seemingly just as dumbstruck as Kellon, Sokol pushes his plate away and looks down at his lap, to avoid looking at his daughter, or at the strange and macabre meal placed before him. Father Donavich looks at Kellon, and seems to decide to follow his lead, leaning back in his chair and ignoring the food.

Neither Gertruda nor Anton seem so inclined, digging in happily. If Strahd is offended by the refusal to eat, he makes no mention or showing. "Bring outsiders to kill them?" the vampire asks, chuckling as though the notion were absurd. "I suppose in a roundabout way, it benefits my people when they do die... but no, I do not bring them here to kill them." One hand waves in the air, dismissing the notion.

"Most of them are my lapdogs' business, not mine. Sometimes I send out invitations for intellectual conversation, sometimes consorts, and on rare occasions such as this - a matter of succession!" with a grand sweeping gesture, he takes a drink of his tainted wine.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Father Donavich asks, though a tense face of silent anger.

"Exactly what I said, Father. For the time has come that Tatyana again is of the right age, a perfect picture of herself. And when we wed, my curse will at long last be broken. But to leave Barovia without a Lord? Folly," he explains, smile wide and toothy. "The land would soon vanish, and all within would go with it. Not much room for a life with my darling, should our little world end, is there? No. Another would need to take my place, become the Darklord, and with it become the land." A familiar phrase rings in Kellon's ears, from the Durst mansion.

He is the ancient. He is the land.

"For this purpose, I select particularly worthy individuals who happen into my realm. And you, shelled one, are such an individual," with a hand, Strahd reaches out towards Kellon. "Or so I believe. However, the transfer of power is a process that requires many difficult to acquire components. And therein lies my test of worthiness: their acquisition."

The vampire pauses for a moment, as if to gauge Kellon's interest.

[Prehysterical]

Despite Strahd's dismissal of his accusation, Kellon remains suspicious. The tale of the wizard's failed rebellion is still fresh in his mind. He is flummoxed, however, when Strahd reveals his desire to abdicate. A terrible picture begins to paint itself in Kellon's mind as the word "again" echoes in his ears. How many "Tatyanas" had there been over the years? And why was it necessary for there to be a Lord over this land? What sort of cosmic jest was that?

Kellon's claws hold up and ward off the vampire's offer before clutching at the beginnings of a headache. "I don't understand... How does that work? What does a title have to do with the existence of an entire realm? How does one become the land? One might as well become the sea or the stars!"

[RandomWombat]

"This plane we're in is... complicated," Strahd begins, seeming quite pleased not to have received an immediate refusal. "Isn't that right, Mr. Burrel?"

"Quite so. I've had the opportunity to read some of King Strahd's books, and the nature of this place is quite fascinating. Much like some realms are morphic - reacting to those within, and especially pliable to magic - this one reacts to the 'Darklord' that rules it." The scholar sets down his fork and knife, dabbing at his chin as he takes a pause from his bloody rare steak to explain.

"And yet they do not control everything. Just as you cannot fully control when you feel hungry, or when your eyes get dry. I cannot wave my hand and cause you to spontaneously combust," the vampire jests, making a wave of his hand and then laughing as he adds the conditional, "Not without the usual magic, in any case." Adjusting his position in his seat, he continues. "We are in a place that is part place, and part soul. A reflection of myself, hungry... shrouded in clouds... lonely," there is a hint of sorrow in his voice, real human sorrow. Or a very skilled approximation. "And it is no easy task to tame one's nature, is it? Particularly when it is ensnared in a curse..."

Kellon feels for a moment like Strahd's eyes are looking deep within him, and he feels the beast snarl and snap its jaws, the 'Wolf God' meeting the vampire's gaze through the connection of his lycanthropy.

[Prehysterical]

A realm that responded to the mental state of its ruler? No wonder this entire place was so twisted! It was literally a reflection of its dark sovereign!

Kellon himself bristles at Strahd's acknowledgement of his condition, though for a different reason than the Wolf. "There is more to fighting a curse than simply not succumbing.

I still don't understand. You like being king of this realm, so why give that up? And Tatyana is of age 'again'? How can that happen more than once?"

[RandomWombat]

"Perhaps if you bring Tatyana to me, I will do you both the benefit of a full explanation," the vampire answers dryly. His mouth forms a flat line, some of the novelty of the conversation perhaps wearing off. "Now, as I was saying, before we got sidetracked... the acquisition. We shall need three trophies taken from great Evils throughout Barovia-" he stops and waves a hand in the air. "Well. Technically great Goods would work just fine. But not so easy to find, and I imagine less appealing to hunt, yes?"

"Of course, if you do not wish to pursue this power, you could support me instead," Anton speaks up, smiling at Kellon. "There is more than one candidate, naturally. Our host was kind enough to offer me one more chance at this little competition after my untimely end. With the power of this place, a fortress no army could invade- I could use it to free my world, Kellon."

[Prehysterical]

Kellon is silent for a long moment, his stomach turning over when Anton announces his desire to compete whether Kellon does or not. The tips of his claws drum against the wooden surface of the table as his mind turns over which is the greater evil. He reluctantly speaks.

"All right, Strahd, I'll play along. What manner of fish are we to catch?"

[RandomWombat]

Father Donavich looks between Kellon and Sokol, trying to gauge the two on their attitudes towards this quest. Sokolov, however, has pushed the plate away from himself and is staring at the tablecloth, turning over the silverware and looking deep in thought, his mouth set in a frown. Provoking or defying Strahd openly is likely furthest from his mind, with his daughter in the line of fire. Father Donavich lets out a breath of resignation, loosening his grip on the wooden scepter in his hands.

Kellon's acquiescence, however, brings a good mood back to the vampire's face. "Well, as I hear it, you've already succeeded in slaying two of the Bonegrinder Coven. A trifling evil on their lonesome, hags, but the three Heartstones together could serve as one of the necessary trophies. Why don't you start by hunting down the missing piece of the set, hm? I'm sure no one here will complain about this land being free of their influence?" Holding up his hands, the vampire looks around at the other faces at the table. "Wonderful. As for the rest, I'm sure you'll find quarry for your quest in abundance in Barovia. Enjoy your meal, if you wish, then away - my carriage shall carry you safely back down the slopes."

Recalling the Heartstones, Kellon knows that Father Donavich has one, and Ismark is carrying a second. The third hag escaped, her location unknown. But vengeance no doubt on her mind - she may save Kellon the trouble of hunting her, if left alone. But what damage could she wreak in the meantime?

[Prehysterical]

Kellon nods in agreement. "For once, we are on the same page." He decides to omit the part where Strahd knew that his own citizens were being preyed upon and did nothing. This "Darklord" needed to abdicate at the earliest possibly opportunity...

He pointedly pushes his chair backward to signal his interest in the conversation is over. "Then away shall I go." If nothing should stop him, Kellon begins making his way back to the entrance.

[RandomWombat]

Pushing out their chairs, Kellon's companions follow behind him. Sokol stops to look back at Gertruda one last time, fists clenched at his sides while she dines on the food Strahd has laid out for her. The vampire folds his hands in front of him and taps his foot against the stone floor. "Gertruda. Your father came all this way to see you. The least you could offer is a goodbye."

The girl stops and puts her fork down, staring at the plate for a moment before glancing up. "Goodbye, father... safe travels."

"I will be back." Sokol at last pulls his eyes away and walks out of the door.

"Fare well, Kellon. I quite hope prejudices have not soured things between us. I shall see you on the trail of our quarries, my friend!" Anton calls behind as they leave. Turning from the dining hall door, they follow the path back outside.

"I have prepared your carriage," Rahadin's voice speaks beside them as they leave the keep, startling them. He appears to have vanished from the dining hall at some point, the carriage now facing the opposite direction before them, spectral horses prepared to ferry them out the gates.

[Prehysterical]

As much as hearing Anton's farewell rankles Kellon, he cannot begin to imagine how Sokol must feel in that moment. She simply didn't understand that he was stolen away, not a deadbeat...

After the initial spook of Rahadin's appearance, Kellon continues on to the carriage without much acknowledgement. Strangely, the carriage seems like a refuge at this point, an escape from this horrid den of undeath.

Once they are inside and afforded the privacy of a closed door, Kellon places a claw on Sokol's shoulder and looks him in the eye in shared misery. All Kellon can muster is a crestfallen apology. "...I'm sorry." Determination firms his voice as he continues, "But we are not done yet. Strahd was right about that."