10th January - Time to Say Goodbye to Vallaki
Map of Barovia
General Summary
Lars, Marcus, and Aeli awoke in the soft, unfamiliar embrace of their rooms at the Blue Water Inn. The light of the setting sun filtered through the shutters, painting streaks of dim orange across the walls. The sharp clarity of the present was at odds with the jagged, fragmented memories that lingered in their minds. They remembered Strahd—the fierce battle, the overwhelming power, the moment they were certain of death. And yet, here they were, alive and whole.
Marcus sat up first, his hands instinctively brushing over his chest and arms, searching for wounds that should have been there. Aeli stared at her hands, flexing her fingers as if to confirm they were real. Lars moved with deliberate slowness, testing limbs he expected to ache and finding no trace of soreness. The absence of pain was as jarring as the presence of life itself.
Their steps were hesitant as they descended the staircase into the common room, the smells of freshly baked bread and spiced cider mingling with the low hum of morning conversation. Danika, the innkeeper’s wife, caught sight of them from behind the bar, her eyes widening with a mix of relief and surprise. She abandoned her task, rushing over to meet them, her hands fluttering as though she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if she should.
“You’re awake!” Danika exclaimed, her voice warm but tinged with worry. “By the Morninglord’s grace, I didn’t think you’d be on your feet so soon.”
The three exchanged uncertain glances before Aeli spoke, her voice rough with unspoken questions.
Danika’s expression softened into something almost maternal. “Kasimir brought you back,” she said gently. “He carried each of you through that door and up those stairs, as careful as if you were glass. He wouldn’t say much, only that you needed rest and time to heal.”
Aeli frowned, her mind racing to piece together the missing fragments. “And Vidar? Sorrow?” she asked, her voice quieter, as though she feared the answer.
Danika’s brow furrowed. “They left not long after Kasimir brought you in. Vidar handed me this.” She reached into her apron and produced a folded piece of parchment, its edges crisp and unblemished. “He said to give it to you when you woke.”
Marcus took the letter, his fingers lingering on the seal before breaking it open. The parchment bore handwriting that he recognised.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. Why had Vidar and Sorrow left? What had truly happened in that church? And most pressing of all—why had Strahd spared them?
They were still piecing together fragments of their fractured memories when Ireena arrived, breathless and overcome with relief. Her presence lit a quiet corner of the Blue Water Inn, her words spilling out in a torrent while fawning over Lars. She described how she had followed them to the church earlier that day. There, she’d watched in awe as Kasimir had charged in, his magic blazing against Strahd. But the vampire lord had only laughed, his form dissipating into a swirling mist before retreating into the shadows.
Ireena’s voice grew quieter as she leaned closer, her expression clouded with doubt. “There’s something off about Vidar and Sorrow,” she confessed, her tone laced with unease. “They separate from the group so often. I can’t help but wonder—what are they hiding?”
Her concern hung in the air as Lars, Marcus, and Aeli exchanged uneasy glances. They shifted the conversation toward the future, weighing their next steps. Before deciding, they headed outside to check the wagon that had carried them this far, ensuring it was still roadworthy. Lars inspected it closely, his hand brushing against the wood of the wagon’s interior. A subtle hollow sound caught his attention, and he soon uncovered a hidden compartment.
Inside, he found something invaluable: a detailed map of Barovia. At last, they had a way to navigate this cursed land. But as he unfolded it, the back of the map revealed a chilling warning scrawled in hasty script: “Do not say his name!”
Marcus’s brow furrowed, a shadow crossing his face. “It’s true,” he murmured. “Through my studies, I’ve learned of spells—powerful, dangerous spells—that allow someone to find any creature who utters their name. If Strahd wields such magic...”
The group’s relief at the map’s discovery soured into dread. They returned inside the inn, where Kasimir greeted them with cautious optimism. The Dusk Elf’s gaze lingered on each of them, his tone measured as he spoke of the pact he had made with Vidar and Sorrow. “I agreed to face Strahd by their side,” he admitted. “But only after they help me free my sister’s soul from her torment. The Amber Temple holds the answers, just as Madam Eva foretold.”
The mention of the Amber Temple sent a ripple of unease through the group, but it also awakened a flicker of resolve. Despite the warnings of the dark powers that lay within, they agreed to accompany Kasimir. The temple might hold not only answers for him but for themselves as well.
As night fell, they retired to their shared room. Lars had suggested the precaution, uneasy at the thought of splitting up. But as they entered, Aeli froze in the doorway, her gaze fixed on an empty spot in the corner. “The wooden throne,” she said, her voice tinged with confusion. “It’s gone.”
The others joined her, taking stock of their possessions. The throne was the only item missing; the gold and treasures they’d collected remained untouched. It didn’t fit. Sorrow’s skills as a thief were precise—why take the throne and leave the rest?
Their musings were interrupted by a high-pitched screech that cut through the night. Marcus rushed to the window, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness. A great black mass moved against the sky—a colony of bats, their shapes silhouetted by the pale light of the moon. They circled above the town like a storm brewing in the heavens, their presence a stark reminder of the shadow looming over Barovia.
“Did we say his name too many times?” Aeli whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Perhaps,” Marcus replied, though doubt laced his words.
The decision was made quickly: they couldn’t stay in Vallaki. They prepared to leave at once, intent on meeting Rictavio at his tower by the lake. As Lars and Marcus hitched the horses to the wagon, Aeli discovered a surprise waiting for them in the back. A basket sat neatly on the floorboards, filled with bread, cheese, rations, and a few health potions. But nestled among the provisions was something more curious—a vial of blood.
A note was attached, written in an all-too-familiar hand. It was from Sorrow and Vidar, a thinly veiled peace offering—or perhaps a challenge. Aeli turned the vial over in her hands, frowning at the riddle it posed. Marcus’s gaze lingered on it, suspicion darkening his features.
Their departure was almost thwarted before it began. At the city gates, the guards stopped their wagon, citing a lockdown ordered by the Burgomaster in the wake of the day’s tragedies. Lars leaned forward, his words smooth and persuasive as he claimed they were tasked with a perimeter check by Izek and the Baron themselves. Reluctantly, the guards relented, and the wagon rolled out into the night.
The journey to Rictavio’s tower began under a shroud of clouds, the moonlight offering only faint glimpses of the road ahead. But even amidst the darkness, the group felt a sliver of hope. The Amber Temple loomed on their horizon, its secrets beckoning like a dark flame. And though fear and uncertainty clung to them, they pressed forward, their fates entwined with the cursed land of Barovia.
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