Vallaki

4th of Octyavr, 737 BC     Town of Vallaki, Barovia    

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    The Old Svalich Road meandered into a valley watched over by dark, brooding mountains to the north and south.   The woods receded, revealing a sullen mountain burg surrounded by a wooden palisade. Thick fog pressed up against this wall, as though looking for a way inside, hoping to catch the town aslumber.   The road ended at a set of sturdy iron gates with a pair of shadowy figures standing behind them. Planted in the ground and flanking the road outside the gates were a half-dozen pikes with wolves’ heads impaled on them.   A raven's caw sounded from atop the palisade. It was the same raven the group had encountered in the crossroad not far from Vallaki.   Back at the crossroad, the raven didn't caw or flutter when they first saw it. It simply watched, its head cocked as if listening to the group's heartbeats, its gaze unnervingly intelligent. The raven seemed to weigh and measure each of them before it took to flight in the same direction they were traveling.   “Halt!” bellowed a guard from behind the iron gates. He held in his hands a weapon unfamiliar to any in the group save Ireena. “Present yourself, and state your business in Vallaki!”   As everyone approached the iron gates, the guard, an older man with a dark beard, remarked to his companion in a bored and slowed voice, “Erin, have you ever seen a lot as sorry as this?”         “Not since my first days on guard duty, Yintav,” answered the other guard, a blonde-haired young man. He, too, carried the same weapon. “They are practically disheveled.”   Yintav smirked at Heymadood. “And look at that posture, Erin! Morninglord’s light!”   “They will definitely suffer from spinal pain in the grim future,” agrees Erin. “It is how my father went.”   “Your father died of cholera,” Yintav said.   Erin shrugged his broad shoulders and produced a wooden board with a sheet of paper on it. Yintav began to read off a checklist of questions to the impatient adventurers, while Erin wrote down their responses.   After the string of questions was asked, Yintav insisted everyone be given the "Wolfsbane Test" as he called it. Erin produced a silvered dagger and nicked each traveler. Yintav claimed that if any one of the travelers were a werewolf, they would react to the silvered dagger.   Having passed the test, the weary travelers were allowed into Vallaki.   As Duncan stated that their business in Vallaki was to meet with Father Petrovich, the guards gave them directions to the Church of St. Andral, as well as directions to The Blue Water Inn, where they could find accommodations.   Before leaving, the guards reminded the travelers to obey all of Baron Vallakovich's rules while they were in Vallaki.   Both guards then stretched their lips into a wide, painful-looking smile; a rictus of forced joy. "All will be well," they stated in unison, their voices a monotone drone that was at odds with the manic grins.   The forced cheers from the two guards were unsettling, a clear and creepy performance for an unseen master.           The church grounds of St. Andral were suffused with a quiet confidence.   Though a thin fog hung in the air, everyone could feel a warmth. There was peace here; the grounds were tended to, the weeds were missing, and a plum tree overlooked the cemetery.   Entering the church, the group felt that quiet confidence exhale. Fading daylight filtered in through stained-glass windows that depicted a radiant sun and white-robed saints.   At the altar knelt a priest well past his prime. Finishing his prayer, he turned to the group. His eyes were full of life, light, and trust. His smile was soft and warm. The deep canyons in his face were carved not by scowls but laughter.   “Welcome to Saint Andral’s. You are not of my flock—not yet, it seems. I am Father Lucian Petrovich, and this house, the House of the Morninglord, is yours.”           Next to him stood a young boy, about 10 years of age. "Father, are these people sent by the Morninglord?"   The priest smiled and said, “Perhaps they were.”   After introductions were made, Ireena spoke to Father Lucian.   “Father,” she said, “I must admit that we—I—bring ill tidings. For too long now, I have been hunted by a creature of the night. A creature most terrible. This… this monster preyed upon my home and sent my father to an early grave. It is only by luck and loyalty that I have made it this far.”   Clasping her hands together, Ireena pleaded, “Father, I require sanctuary on hallowed ground. Please, will you accept me?”   Father Lucian took Ireena’s hands. With a paternal smile, he said, “My child, all are welcome to sanctuary. Stay as long as you need and worry no longer, for you are in a house of the Morninglord.”   Father Lucian then suddenly took a step back and studied Ireena’s face. His brow furrowed, but then his eyes softened.   “It can’t be,” he murmured. “It can’t. We thought you were dead.”   Ireena blinked at the priest. “What?”   “Yasmine… It can’t be.” “Father?”   Ireena gives the priest a scathing look. “Are… are you all right, father?”   Father Lucian shook his head. “I read your last rites.”   “Yasmine, my dear… Twenty years and I could not forget your mother’s eyes.”   Confused, the others asked the priest how he knew Ireena, or Yasmine, as he kept calling her.   Father Lucian went on to explain Ireena’s past.   She was born as Yasmine Strazni to two loving parents, Hans and Ruxandra. Hans and his brother, Radu, took Ireena/Yasmine and her brother fishing at Lake Zarovich. A dire wolf attacked them, ripping off her brother’s arm. While Hans rushed Yasmine's brother to safety, Ireena's uncle, Radu, gave his life to distract the beast.   Ireena was never found.   Her parents succumbed to their grief.   Ireena, for her part, was troubled. She remembered only fragments of her childhood. She admitted, however, that this explained her phobia of wolves.   To the others, it wasn't clear whether Ireena believed Father Lucian or not.   Ireena said, “I am the adopted daughter of Kolyan Indirovich, the deceased burgomaster of the town of Barovia, may he rest in peace. And my brother is Ismark, who insisted I travel to Vallaki to seek sanctuary here.”   She asked Father Lucian about her real brother.   “He, too, is gone,” Father Lucian said quickly.   "What was his name?" Ireena asked.   Father Lucian seemed to stumble with an answer, but finally said, “Boris."   Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Ireena turned to bid farewell to the others, giving each one a hug and heartfelt thanks for seeing her safely to Vallaki.   However, a palpable hesitation hung over the adventurers. The Church of St. Andral, with its high ceilings and scent of old incense, should have felt like a sanctuary, but in the oppressive gloom of Vallaki, no place felt truly safe.   Leaving Ireena, their solemn charge, felt like a dereliction of duty.   Father Lucian, however, spoke with a gentle but firm conviction, his kind eyes promising protection and his faith a palpable shield. He vowed that the consecrated ground of St. Andral's church was the safest place for her within the town's walls.   Weighing their options and knowing they couldn't stand guard indefinitely without rest, the party reluctantly acquiesced.   Before leaving the church, Duncan knelt, catching the eye of the young altar boy, Yeska.   Pressing a gleaming gold coin into the boy’s palm, he spoke in a low, urgent voice, "If Father Lucian needs help, if Ireena is in any danger at all, you run to the Blue Water Inn and find us. Don't hesitate."   Wide-eyed at the coin and the gravity of the task, Yeska clutched the gold tightly and gave a firm, determined nod of agreement.   With a final, lingering glance at Ireena and Father Lucian and a thankful nod to Yeska, the adventurers turned and left, their heavy steps echoing as they headed through the dreary streets toward the flickering lights of the Blue Water Inn.             Gray smoke issued from the chimney of this large, two-story wooden building with a stone foundation and sagging tile roof, upon which several ravens have perched. A painted wooden sign hanging above the main entrance depicted a blue waterfall.   The door of the Blue Water Inn groaned open, offering a brief respite from the oppressive gloom of Vallaki's streets. Inside, the warmth and smell of roasted meat and wine washed over them. Obor, the towering goliath barbarian, had to duck his head to clear the frame, his presence immediately drawing the eyes of the other patrons. He was followed by the more flamboyantly dressed bard, Heymadood, and the steel-clad paladin, Duncan, whose hand rarely strayed far from his sword. The innkeeper, a weary-looking but sharp-eyed man named Urwin Martikov, offered a curt nod of greeting.   "Rations are for the road," Obor boomed, his voice rumbling through the common room as he slapped a heavy purse on the table he went to. "We'll have one of everything on your menu. And keep the drinks coming."   After securing lodgings for the night, a parade of dishes soon crowded their table—from hot beet soup to venison steak roasted in garlic sauce—which the goliath attacked with a wolfish hunger, happily sharing with his companions.   As they ate, the door opened again to admit a man with a sharp, ornate-style vest, a magnificent mustache, and a small, capuchin monkey perched on his shoulder. The man, a well-known performer named Rictavio, gave a theatrical bow to the room.   His eyes landed on the ornate fiddle resting across Heymadood's back. "A fellow musician!" he declared. "You must join me in a small contest I call 'Vallaki's Got Talent'!"   "All will be well!" Urwin announced in a boisterous voice.   As if on cue, the patrons of the inn raised their mugs in a joyless toast. "All will be well!" they exclaimed in a hollow, practiced chorus.   Immediately after, every head in the common room swiveled toward the adventurers' table. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken pressure, their collective, watchful gaze a clear and unnerving test to see if the outsiders would parrot the town's mandatory, desperate motto.   Feeling the weight of every eye upon them, the companions exchanged uneasy glances. Obor managed a low, unconvincing rumble of the words, while Heymadood forced a weak smile and said the phrase into his ale. Duncan, his jaw tight, echoed the motto out loud with a stiff, dutiful tone that held none of the required cheer.   However, to the delight of the dour crowd, Heymadood accepted Rictavio's challenge, his lively and soulful tunes easily outshining Rictavio's more practiced, but less passionate, performance.   A good sport, Rictavio joined the travelers at their table and ordered a round of drinks. The monkey, Piccolo, chittered and snatched a piece of bread and played with Obor, who seemed delighted by the monkey's company.   After telling a harrowing tale of a father forced to destroy his own son who had risen as an undead, Rictavio leaned in close, his cheerful facade dissolving. "The world is darker than most imagine," he whispered, his voice dropping. "My name is not Rictavio. It is Rudolph van Richten."   The name hung in the air. Duncan, recovering first, explained how they had found his tower and had left their ailing companion, Drakthar, in the care of his apprentice, Ezmerelda.   "Perhaps you might know," Duncan began. "The ravens. We've seen them everywhere. On the rooftops of the Blue Water Inn, perched on the town walls, following us on the road. It's unnatural."   Rudolph van Richten paused from sipping his glass of wine, his gaze sharp and serious. He set the glass down carefully on the table. "Unnatural? Or perhaps the only true sentinels this cursed place has left," he says, his voice a low rumble. "You are wise to notice them. They are indeed more than simple birds."   He leans in, his expression conspiratorial. "I believe they are the town's guardians. Some may be servants of a higher power, bound to watch over this valley. Others," he adds, lowering his voice further, "could be something more. Shapechangers. Wereravens."   "Something as small as a raven can transform into a full-sized human being?" Heymadood asked, disbelieving.   Rudolph nodded. "I believe them to be a part of a secret society, an ancient order dedicated to opposing the darkness here. They call themselves the Keepers of the Feather." He picked up the glass of wine again, gesturing vaguely to the innkeeper, Urwin, at the bar. "The Martikov family, who run the Blue Water? I suspect they are among them. The birds, you see, are their eyes and ears. They watch over the people of Vallaki and, at times, travelers like yourselves, offering silent warnings and guarding from the shadows."   The group further revealed their purpose in Vallaki: ensuring the safety of Ireena Kolyana, whom they had just left at the Church of St. Andral, and purchasing much-needed supplies to help find the Sunsword, a weapon Ezmerelda said could be found somewhere on Mount Ghakis.   At this, a shadow of genuine alarm crossed van Richten's face. "The church?" he pressed, his voice tight with concern. "Father Lucian is a good man, but he is naive. I have learned that the holy relic that protects the church, the bones of St. Andral himself, were stolen from their crypt over a week ago."   The adventurers froze, the meal forgotten.   The sanctuary they had left Ireena in was a hollow shell, its protection a lie. Without another word, they threw coins on the table, scraped their chairs back as they rose in unison, and bolted out the door, racing back through the dreary night toward the now-vulnerable church.           The adventurers’ urgent tapping on the window to Ireen's bedroom at the church shattered the night's silence.   Moments later, a bewildered Father Lucian, clad in a simple nightshirt, eventually unbarred the entrance, with a surprised Ireena peering from behind him.   Ignoring the priest's confused questions, Duncan stepped forward, his expression grim. "The bones of St. Andral," he stated, his voice low and intense. "We know they're gone."   The color drained from Father Lucian's face. The priest's shoulders sagged in defeat, his gaze falling to the stone floor. In a voice choked with shame and fear, he confessed, "It is true. They were stolen more than a week ago. I... I have failed this church. I have failed you all."   Father Lucian turned away from the group and walked back inside the church. The group entered the church, closing the door behind them.   In the gloom, he looked haggard, skeletal even. Without seeing the hope in his eyes, the priest became just a tired, old man in the twilight of his life.   “There has been a terrible theft,” the priest admitted. “And I fear that I am responsible. That which sanctified this otherwise rocky soil has been stolen… and with it, the Morninglord’s protection. So great was his devotion, so fierce his conviction, Saint Andral’s very skeleton managed to purge these grounds of evil and kept away the creatures of the night.”   Father Lucian turned to everyone. The laugh lines of his face, which the group so appreciated earlier, were now like deep canyons, and his eyes were full of worry. “It is a secret I have kept from this church's flock—and I have failed them. The bones are gone, and with them, Vallaki’s only place of worship. You must find them for me—for the good of the land, for the sake of the laity. Saint Andral’s Church is but one of the last few torches in this dark and dismal land.”   The flickering candlelight held by Father Lucian cast long, dancing shadows across the church.   A chilling realization settled over the group.   They had unknowingly left Ireena in a trap, not a sanctuary.