Journal of Lord Wachter

I trudged through the snow against the wind, dark clouds glaring down at me. Behind me lay all of Barovia, my family in Vallaki, and years spent studying the arcane arts. As I approached the temple, two gargoyles loomed ahead of me, icicles hanging from their gaping mouths like rivulets of saliva. If only I could discover Strahd’s secret - then he could be defeated. How did he attain immortality?

It was not so difficult to convince the unliving protectors of the Amber Temple to let me aside. I always pride myself on my ability to convince others. I will not return - yet. I need outside help to depose Strahd. In the tomes, they talked about the Imperial College of the Holmgardian Empire. They could help me hone my talents, surely. I will then return, defeat Strahd, and rule my people with an enlightened hand. And this fragment - this amber shard. Within it is a fragment of the being who created Strahd. Surely his secret lies within.
Disappointment. The Empire is shadow of what it once was. The mages are mere conjurers of cheap tricks. The inhabitants worship a heathen god like savages, sacrificing farm animals in exchange for imaginary favor. The plan must adapt. And the shard speaks to me. At first I ignored it, shut it out. But what it says rings true in my heart.
Foolishness. These peasants would fall like flies before the Lord Strahd. No - I have gained a new appreciation for Him. With the power of the Inquisition and the shard, I will fashion the world in the image of Barovia. The Great Mother will return to her rightful place.