15th August 2025 - The Amber Temple's Perils

The silence after the battle was worse than the fire.

The party stood amidst the charred remains of the flaming skulls, smoke curling lazily upward from the cracked stone. The scent of scorched dust and old bone clung to the air, acrid and wrong. The oppressive weight of the Amber Temple pressed in around them, its whispers gnawing at the edges of thought.

“Totally fine,” Lars said at last, mace resting on his shoulder. His tone, however, suggested the exact opposite.

“Not very good,” Aeli muttered, pressing a hand to her side. Blood seeped between her fingers. Her voice was calm, but her eyes told the truth: she was wavering.

Marcus exhaled slowly, always the pragmatist. “We need a short rest. Barricade a room. Heal. Because if another one of those skulls shows up, we’re ash.”

The nearest chamber would have to do. Together they hauled the ladder that clung to the bookshelves and pressed it against the door. The barricade was crude, but desperation lent it strength.

“Stay alive, idiots,” Aeli said as she Rallied, her voice rough but steady, threads of magic bolstering Lars and Marcus.

Marcus and Athun settled into the quiet to attune their staves, strange energies humming like barely caged storms. Aeli cracked open Strahd’s notes, flipping through the delicate script. “Mage Hand. Prestidigitation. Ray of Frost…” Her brow furrowed. “Huh. The big bad vampire lord really likes utility spells.”

“Practical,” Marcus said. “Evil, but practical.”

Their reprieve didn’t last. The whisper of power stirred. Then, green fire flared back to life.

The skulls were not finished.

A blast rattled the barricade. Flames roared outside the chamber, rattling the walls themselves.

“Oh no you don’t,” Marcus hissed, words of Counterspell slicing the air, unravelling the magic mid-chant.

The pounding on every door grew frantic, desperate. They were boxed in.

Lars gritted his teeth, hefting his mace. “No way out but through.” He ripped open the door.

The battle erupted. Fireballs detonated in the confined space, heat sucking the air from their lungs. Aeli lunged forward, her blade singing with radiant light, carving through a skull’s defenses. Lars followed, hammering bone into ash.

Athun raised his vampiric staff, power thrumming, siphoning life from one of the flaming horrors. Energy surged through him, and with it, madness. His voice cracked into whispers, muttering feverishly. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

The last skull shrieked as it fell, scattering into fragments of molten bone. Silence reigned once more, broken only by Athun’s compulsive muttering.

Their victory was fleeting.

In the shadow of the colossal statue in the main hall, the void rippled. A firebolt emerged, the Arcanaloth was back.

Lars didn’t think, he grabbed Athun, dragging him back into cover. Marcus’s mind raced. With a snap of his staff, a Wall of Ice erupted, slamming into place, shielding them from the monster’s sight.

“We’re outmatched,” Marcus whispered, breath ragged. “We need to leave.”

“Finally, something we agree on,” Lars said.

Aeli lingered, eyes drawn back to the temple’s hidden doors, its shadows, its promises. “The secrets here could help us against Strahd.”

The choice burned between them, but survival won out. They ran.

The storm lashed the mountain as they descended. The bridge at Tsolenka loomed, its stones slick with ice. Then, wings.

A shriek split the air. A monstrous Roc descended, its wings blotting out the sky.

Marcus’s eyes went wide. “Oh no.” The talons struck, seizing him.

Athun roared and leapt, arms locking around Marcus’s waist. Muscles strained, pulling him free just as the beast tried to drag him skyward.

“I owe you one,” Marcus gasped, stumbling back.

Ice storm winds swirled as Marcus retaliated, shards of frozen power slicing into the Roc’s wings. The beast screeched in fury, pulling away, circling, waiting.

They sprinted for the abandoned tower at the bridge’s edge, hearts hammering, the Roc’s shadow never far. Inside, the walls were cold, the stones damp with old rain but it was shelter.

As dusk fell, Aeli and Marcus patrolled the upper levels. That’s when they saw them: ravens. They swooped down, wings rippling, until feathers melted into flesh.

Were-ravens. The Keepers of the Feather.

Their leader wasted no time. “Irina and Kasimir are safe. In Vallaki, waiting for you.”

The words struck relief through the group, heavy as a battle won.

“There’s more,” the raven-man went on to share that the flame skulls can only be destroyed with holy water. He suggested that to move south, they could dispel the magic that gave breath to the Wall of Flame to the south. "And the Roc? Hungry. Offer it meat, and it may leave you be.”

Night fell. The storm raged. Marcus conjured a shimmering dome of arcane protection, the Hut enclosing them in safety’s fragile embrace.

They sat together in the flickering glow. Their choices lay heavy: Return to the Amber Temple, risking madness and skulls. Wait for Irina and Kasimir, and pray the Roc stayed away. Or cross the Wall of Flame, stepping into the unknown.

The storm howled against the tower walls. The Roc cried from the mountains above.

Aeli sat apart, Van Richten’s journal open across her knees, her eyes darting across cramped script. Secrets whispered from its pages.

Vampires

Entry Dated: 12th of Baroviar, in the Year of the Raven

Vampires are the apex predators of Barovia, and none more so than Strahd von Zarovich himself. They are creatures of cunning and malice, their powers far exceeding their physical strength. However, they are not without weaknesses. Sunlight burns their flesh and saps their strength, rendering them vulnerable. Holy symbols wielded by the faithful can repel them, and they cannot cross a threshold without invitation.

Vampire spawn, while dangerous, are bound to their master's will. Destroy the master, and the spawn lose their cohesion, becoming little more than feral beasts. Fire and running water are also effective tools against them, as they cannot regenerate damage dealt by these elements.

Beware their charm, a vampire's gaze can ensnare the mind, turning friend against friend. Always fight in numbers, and never let your guard down. A wooden stake through the heart will paralyze them, but only decapitation and burning will ensure their final destruction.

And in the fragile silence within the dome, the party prepared for whatever came next.