#ireena is just having the WORST time

[raviollies]

Your character and your art are breathtaking! I don't think that cos community minds the memes, so bring it in! Have you met the bbe-stalker? How was it? I hope your party survives in these cursed lands!

Thank you very much! I'll keep that in mind if I share some more memes :~)

As for the Barovia Boyboss...

We certainly did meet him (in fact we summoned him like Beetlejuice because our DM just had us roll for an encounter without telling us what it was)

It wasn't a super lengthy exchange (though it did have the dialogue reversal trope, my beloved)

TLDR: He came in, was a little saucy, failed charming Ireena & then couldn't retry because Blythe SUCESSFULLY (poggers) charmed Ireena, took the L and left.

[im-your-mommy-now]

This may be extremely obvious but I just have to say that Eldermourne is so queer.

Of course it’s queer! Fia and Ireena are girlfriends. But but BUT every element of their story is a metaphor for queerness, especially queerness being forbidden by the church.

Fia grew up the daughter of a priest of The Reaper and in a town full of Reaper zealots. Every time she was caught doing Trickster magic with Ireena she was punished. Usually her father would take her back home and teach her the “right way” to do magic, which he believed was Reaper magic. Even though Fia had no belief in The Reaper she was still able to perform Reaper magic. This, of course, would make her father very proud but she would still go back to Ireena and learn magic from her. The worst of it was the final time Fia was caught doing Trickster magic with Ireena. Fia’s father decides he is going to take Ireena and judge her on the scales (a literal death sentence) and he is going to have Fia be sent away to a convent where she can learn to accept The Reaper and repeat her old ways. Fia and Ireena end up switching places in an effort to save each other’s lives. Ireena is taken away and removed from Fia’s life for many years. Fia is then on the scales in Ireena’s place because she believes that her father would never kill his own daughter…but no. Her sins are two great and she is judged anyway. At the last moment she is saved by Batilda (the queer role model she needed) Batilda then takes her in and teaches her Trickster magic and allows Fia to be her full self. But then one day Batilda is gone. She is in a tough line of work. It’s hard to be someone like Batilda. Many people are after you when you live like that. And Fia is left with only an animated book. The book that Ireena awakened for her all those years ago. Fia is left to wait until any of her loved ones return. Then when things start to pick up in her life it turns out her girlhood friend is in great danger. Ireena is not in control of her powers. She saw someone getting judged on the scales and in a fit of rage and demigod power she killed everyone at the scene…everyone except the person being judged. Fia goes on a world saving, queer pining quest to get her love back. And once again at the last moment Moxaura shows up adorned like The Reaper to once again keep Fia and Ireena apart. Moxaura convinces a scared Ireena that Fia doesn’t even love her. I mean she literally asked her friends if Ireena was worth all this loss. Was this one little life worth all this pain and suffering? But once Moxaura is defeated and all is well they are able to get on a boat together and go wherever they want. They are finally allowed to be themselves on their terms and surround themselves with people who appreciate them for who they are.

God I love Eldermourne

[vampire-chokehold]

i felt like sharing a snippet of last week's dnd session because the conversation i had with strahd was absolutely bonkers. i still can't believe he let me talk to him that way, the audacity! anyways, if you like it, i might start translating the rest of the story for you, so leave me nice comments pleaseeeee

context: i had just turned into a vampire and strahd took me to rest while he terrorised the party (yep, the one i used to be a member of!)

“Are you leaving just like that? I still have many questions.” I tried to hide my hurt tone, but it was far too difficult. I could feel everything so intensely. 

Lord of his castle, sovereign of Barovia, an enemy to many. Strahd wasn’t used to anyone questioning him. His word was definitive. He was the Land and no one dared even to doubt it. But I couldn’t accept that, especially not after all I had lost because of him. We were equals, after all.

“It’s time for you to let me in on your plans. I want to know everything. I want to know what really happened to Tatyana, to Ireena. Are there others living in this castle? I need to know I’m the only one because I’ve lost everything for you, I gave up my whole life for you. What’s going to happen to me now? How does one live after death? To be a vampire… how does one live as a vampire?”

The questions came stumbling out of my mouth, leaving me out of breath. As I kept talking, my voice grew harsher, frustration and fear taking hold of me. Strahd was looking at me with such patience, waiting for me to finish. He looked amused as if my existential crisis was funny to him, even endearing. I was expecting his anger, but when I stopped and silence took over the room, he put his hands over my shoulders and lowered his face to mine.

“Vepharlim, you are the only one. You are the first one to overcome the ritual and that’s simply because you’re the most horrible and heartless creature I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He raised my chin with his hand, making me look into his eyes. “Together we’re going to rule not only over Barovia, but the whole world. Don’t you want that? Wouldn’t you want to reign over the world with me?

His words were like sweet honey to my ears, but I wouldn’t let him seduce me again with his empty promises. We both ended up here by being the worst people of all, blazing past everything and everyone. To lie was like breathing for Strahd. But it was like that for me too.

“I survived the ritual but no thanks to you. What did you do?” I brushed his hands away from me and I stepped back, my face red and hot from anger.

His face turned dark very quickly, his eyes glistening in threatening darkness. He took a small step towards me and put a finger ever so softly over my lips. His nail, sharp as an animal's claw, began to sink into my skin.

“Don’t forget yourself, my dearest. Do you really believe all of this is yours? That I didn’t do anything? I created you. All that darkness in you, I gave it to you.” with the same finger, he pointed to my heart. “Relentlessly, I fed the fiendishness you believe yours. Don’t fool yourself. You’re my best creation.”

“How can I trust you, Strahd? How can I know that you’re not going to use and betray me?” I took his hand and pressed it to my chest, trying to alleviate the situation. I needed certainty. 

“I would never dare.” his expression and words seemed, for once, honest.

“I don’t know if you’re a man of your word.”

“We have all eternity for you to learn to trust me.”

[tea-with-eleni]

Meanwhile, in Barovia

From Ludmilla's POV.

Ireena jerked in response to something I couldn’t see, then grabbed my arm. “Strahd is coming,” she said. “The boys and Volenta fought him, I think. They sent a message. We have to get out of here. Now.” If I were human, her grasp would have been painful. She was white as a corpse. I heard her heart pounding. “Where can we go?”

I stood, pulling her up with me. “I’m glad I wore something sensible if we’re going to be running. Let’s go back to the brazier room. It’ll get us started. Try to act natural, in case we run into anyone. If you got a message, assume Strahd sent one to Rahadin.” I hoped he would send one to me. If he sent one to me, I could buy us time. Most likely, though, he would not send anything to anyone. Most likely, if he saw Volenta, if he fought Volenta, he would waste no time. He would kill me. He would try to turn Ireena. He would fail, and she would die. She would have no allies waiting in her next life and the cycle would continue.

We had to run.

We hurried down, down, down into the basement. When we reached the braziers, we had a choice. “Our options aren’t good,” I told Ireena. “We can go to Krezk — if there’s anything left of it, which seems unlikely — or Vallaki or Tsolenka Pass. Possibly we can go to the Amber Temple. I’m inclined to go to Vallaki, because it’s closest to the northern borders. I think I might be able to get us somewhere Strahd can’t follow… but it’s going to be a risk.”

“Where?” she asked.

I grimaced a little. “That’s the worst part. I don’t remember the full details. I know that, maybe two hundred, three hundred years ago, there was a war. I don’t remember with who, but I know Strahd sent me in his stead for part of it, because he can’t leave Barovia.”

“How can you — nevermind.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Stupid magic, probably.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. “If you think it’s too big a risk, the Amber Temple would be my next preference for places to hide. Strahd will still probably find us, but at least we might be able to release something horrible to slow him down.”

“If you think we might be able to head north and actually escape him, I’ll try it,” she said. “Ladies, I’ll try just about anything to stop him.”

“If you think they’re listening, a prayer is worth a chance,” I said. I lit the brazier.

We went to Vallaki.

[astral-dragons]

HAHAHA THE ABBOT FIGHT WENT GREAT Y'ALL--

So while Fenro was busy getting his eyes stolen by the Abbot, Sylviel spent some time with Victor and attempted to teach him to cast Dimension Door; as a bard teaching a wizard, it went about as well as expected.

Afterward, they went to look for Fenro, and found him in the Abbey's operating room with the Abbot. Fenro was paralyzed on the table still, but the Abbot tried his best to explain the situation. Luckily Sylviel was able to distract him long enough for the paralyzation effect to wear off on Fenro, and he attacked the Abbot while he wasn't looking.

A fight breaks out, the Abbot reveals his true form to the party and things quickly take a turn for the worst. Though Dimitry joins the fray after the first few rounds, the Abbot manages to knock Sylviel unconcious, and continues attacking them while reminding Fenro that this is a fight they can avoid.

When the Abbot is on his last legs, Fenro relents, telling the Abbot that he'll give him his eyes. While this is all well and good, Sylviel still has to make their death save (having already failed 2) and rolls a 2. Dimitry tries to rush to Sylviel's aid, but without a diamond to cast Revifify, there isn't much they can do.

Fenro follows through on his promise regardless, and allows the Abbot to take his eyes, replacing them with "better" ones.

After Fenro awakes, the Abbot informs him that he now must quickly transfer the eyes for Vasilka, as Strahd will soon be arriving to see her.

Fenro rushes downstairs, running into Ireena on the way who has a million questions on what happened. While she's trying to get answers out of Fenro, there is a knock at the Abbey doors; Strahd is here.

I am literally SO excited for our next session. Cannot wait to cause some more chaos >:)

Bonus quotes:

"You gender eyes??"

"That's right, bury his ass!"

"Strahd is a bitch ass baby"

"He's just a lover boi, not a fighter boi :((("

"The desire for angst is strong ngl"

[windsroad]

Tumblr plays Ravenloft - update 4

(50)

(this one's long, so we're doing a read more and seeing how polls handle those)

The girl—Ireena Kolyana—tells you that you have entered Barovia, a village under the control of the counts von Zarovich, who have long resided in Ravenloft, the huge castle in the mountains at the other end of Barovia. The latest count, named Strahd, has ruled for a long time—an unnaturally long time. “Perhaps he will rule forever,” Ireena says.

“But how can that be?” you ask, puzzled. “He's human—isn't he?”

“Once, perhaps. But no longer.” She watches as you stare at her in astonishment. “Now… he is something else.”

“Something else? What is he, then?”

“I—I don’t know. He's something that will not die. Strahd has been up there in Ravenloft for years and years and years. And in that time, Barovia has turned from a happy land to a place of fear and darkness and suspicion. People go into the castle… and simply disappear. Sometimes they even disappear from the village. We find their bodies later, pale and drained of blood.

“Worst of all” —she bursts into tears again— “some of them, women particularly, just gradually seem to fade away. He comes to them in the night, and the next morning we find them lying limp and fevered, with strange marks on their necks. Each morning they awake with less energy, less interest in the real world. This goes on for several nights until finally, one morning, we find them gone.”

“But—but where do they go?” you ask.

“To Ravenloft, I think. They go there to live with the Master. But they don't really live. They are like him—dead, but not dead.”

Ireena shudders and buries her face in her hands. “I—I don't want to be like that!”

“But why should you be?” 

“Because I am becoming one of those women. Two nights now—nights of which I remember nothing!—I have awakened in the morning to find myself like that—limp, feverish, and—” She throws her lustrous dark hair back, revealing two deep, bruised wounds on the side of her neck.

This time it is your turn to shudder.

“After I was attacked, my adopted father, the burgomaster of Barovia, fell into a fever of despair and finally died of grief, certain that nothing could be done to stop Count Strahd.” She shakes her head sadly and adds, “Father was once a strong person, but as Strahd von Zarovich became more and more powerful, Father seemed to lose hope. Then, when the count came after me, he had no strength left to fight. His heart broke.” She gives a sob of anguish.

Your own heart goes out to her. You sense that perhaps this was the reason the gods sent you into Barovia. They have chosen you to help relieve this sad village of the evil that hangs over it.

You say a silent prayer of thanks to your gods for sending you and ask them for their help in what you are about to do. Then you blurt out, “I will put a stop to the evil of Ravenloft once and for all!”

Ireena seems to sense that you are indeed serious and that you really are a high-level paladin with great fighting skills and the power of the gods behind you. Her eyes begin to shine with hope.

“I have heard tales of others who have gone to Ravenloft to try to put an end to Count Strahd,” she says after a long moment. “Most have disappeared forever, but a few have managed to escape. My father found out that some of them had left items behind in Ravenloft, items that if we could find them would be of great help against Strahd.” 

You heard only one word. “We?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

A strong resolve comes over Ireena's face, and she says, “My father collected all the information he could about Ravenloft, and he passed it on to me. There is no way you could defeat Strahd in his own castle without me, let alone find the objects that might be of help in destroying him!” You look at her face with its fragile beauty, despite the smudges of tiredness evident in her eyes, and you want desperately to protect her. “Please, Ireena, stay here where you'll be safe. Let me fight Strahd alone.”

A look of fierce determination comes into her face. “I would rather die trying to end the count's evil than merely sit by waiting to be turned into one of those… vampires!”

The same word had been flitting through your mind as you listened to Ireena's strange tale, but your mind had refused to accept it. Now you can ignore it no longer.

“Strahd is a vampire?” you ask, knowing the answer.

“There can be no doubt.”

“Then I have no choice,” you say resolutely. “The gods must have sent me here to destroy the Master of Ravenloft… or die trying!”

After trying once more to convince Ireena to stay behind, you finally accept the fact that she has the right to fight for her own life.

“But you must promise that if we should meet any… trouble, you will let me handle it.”

She hesitates a moment, then replies, “Agreed. But what if something attacks me… or if you yourself need help?” You decide to give her one of your most useful magical weapons, a Wand of Magic Missiles. “But please,” you explain, “use it only when I ask you to.”

Ireena quietly agrees. You keep to yourself your fear that she has been weakened so much by the nighttime attacks that the quest may finish her. Silently, you promise yourself that that must not be!

You've been discussing your plans for several minutes when you ask if there is anything else Ireena knows that might be helpful.

She hesitates and then says, “I don't know if this means anything, but Father was always puzzled by the fact that Strahd had all the ponds in Barovia filled in—even if it meant the stock had to suffer. It's as if—as if the count were afraid of water.”

Puzzled, too, you put that thought at the back of your mind. Ireena can think of nothing else to suggest.

If you managed to get the bat off Ireena back on the road, turn to 41. If you failed, turn to 109.

(we failed, so we'll be turning to 109 next time!)

[noblehcart]

fangs + reverse, inej & vampire au.

send " fangs + reverse " to have your muse bite / mark my muse. @bastardstill

"you're hungry. feed." her words were spoken low in the crackling light of their camp for the night.

it wasn't their first argument about this nor would it be the last. of that she knew. somehow she had convinced him to help the girl who's brother begged for protection of ketterdam's worst. he risked the journey from barovia to ketterdam to ask of it of the barrel's worst. a burgomaster begging in secrecy for the help of the likes of dirtyhands. she knew he was desperate. kaz knew it was a waste of time and effort. but all inej could see was a vulnerable girl at the mercy and threat of a creature much older and stronger than her. that craved not her, but lied in her veins- embedded in her soul itself. already she had sworn herself to helping ireena kolyana. if positions were- no.

once upon a time she was in such a position, but in being bought by tante heleen, a woman vying for a vampire's immortality sold her out night after night to vampires to feed on. for other humans and elves to seek their pleasures. no one helped her when her soul and freedom were on the line, but she would help ireena. someone had to stop the suffering of women at the hands of powerful men. it was when ismark kolyanovich said who it was perusing his sister that she knew kaz would find his own reasons of profiting off this endeavor. for now they had to keep the girl on the move. protect her. shield her from the very being that ruled the land. strahd von zarovich. he had many names. in whispers around the barrel and ketterdam they called him the darkling among other things. she didn't know what sort of being he was that commanded the powers he did, nor did she want to know aside from how to kill him. another task they sought to complete.

-that is if kaz didn't collapse himself from hunger. she knew little of how he became a vampire spawn himself, but knew enough to know that it was a horrific history best left in the recesses of his mind. a mind she wished would listen to reason at times rather than his schemes. sometimes she could swear he did when she spoke. other times like now, all she saw was that insufferable resilience and stubbornness. luckily she had just the same as the two whispered in argument as their charge slept curled by the fire which lit her crimson hair alight in oranges and reds. somehow he agreed and she saw the struggle in those eyes she knew so well. the agony in the decision. the aching hunger behind as she moved to sit closer.

"its not easy for me either." she admitted feeling how he hovered. how he lingered at the curve of her ear. the tickle of his breath against damp skin from the heat of the fire. it was just as much a struggle in so many ways. to not turn her head and kiss him. to not flinch at the feel of his mouth on her skin when the time came because he was not the first vampire to feed on her. the scars remained across her body as a haunting reminder and part of her naively hoped that somehow- some way that his would be different. that it'd wipe away that history which tore at her chest in ways all those teeth marks did in her throat.

even still she held perfectly still waiting. because this wasn't about her. it wasn't about how she felt or wanted. kaz needed to feed. he had to carry on with them. with her. he needed her. so she dared to turn her head slightly to meet his red eyes just a faction of a hair's breadth from hers as she quietly whispered. "go on."

because she wanted to see his blue eyes again. because she needed this as much as him. because this was as close as he'd let her get and she'd take it. she'd take his hand every time. and she waited as she felt him brush against her before that first sensation of his hesitating breath before lips pressed to her skin and she could've sworn it felt apologetic.

but it was brief, brief as the kiss melted in a moment from pressure to stinging to pain, a familiar yet different one than what she knew. dark eyes fluttering shut as she focused on remaining still, on not making a sound though a noise threatened to escape as burning stinging pain melted again into something else she dared not name. because he was so close and if she let herself feel this moment she was afraid she'd feel the full weight of his hand on her and she'd allow herself to be weak and let that noise escape. that she'd be weak and when he pulled away that she'd kiss him.

not now. not now. she pleaded with the seldarine for strength. for mercy because she knew she was damned. she knew he was just as well. she didn't want to think of whether the damned could find happiness together. but there was no happiness in the land of barovia. and they still had a task. he had to feed. she had to protect this girl. they had to go on. but for tonight. just for tonight she let her straight shoulders relax a little beneath the weight of him against her as he fed. just for tonight she could pretend it was just them. and only them.

[afolderfullofstories]

Whumptober 2023: Day 4

Note: I know its supposed to be Aric’s turn next but I’m so upset and annoyed with myself and Elyndria. We both made decisions that proved to be the worst decision you could make in Curse of Strahd. And listen I wrote these stories as character studies, what if things happen. And I have planned so many possibilities in my head to be ready how Elyndria would react when the  time comes. I DID NOT PREDICT THS!!!!!!! I don’t even know how she’ll react or how other characters would react. I’m so upset. But damn it. It’s been a long time since I felt like this for anything. I’m upset but its a good kind of upset y’know? Like I feel something. Or it could be just a dopamine hit. Who knows. 

Note 2: While the stories are not linked on anything I tried to do them in some vague chronological order to understand character relationships/development etc. This is not. This is cemented right at the back. I just needed to get it out. 

Elyndria watches as the last of the werewolves falls, her eyes darting around, checking if the party needs healing. Ismark walks up to them and she sees there’s not a scratch on him. And for a moment she can breathe. She was worrying about nothing. Ismark could hold his own in battle. She didn’t need to protect him. 

She smiles as Ismark hugs Ireena, a pang of jealousy in her heart. Was this what brothers were supposed to be like? From the first moment she’s met Ismark, the gentle and caring way he treated his sister had caught her attention, drawn her to him. She hadn’t known then if she was attracted to him or desperately wanted him to be her brother but now she knew for sure she was in love. She’s finally admitted it. Damn it. 

Ismark approaches her and lifts her arm where the wolf had bitten through her arm. “Are you alright, my love?” 

Elyndria blushes, her eyes darting down. She was still not used to that. “I’m fine. I’ll heal it later.” She wraps her arm around his and leans against it. She doesn’t let anything else distract her. She’s content, happy. And for a moment, she allows herself to dream about her future. For a moment, it’s as if all the pieces have fallen into place. She’s found someone who cares for her, loves her. And she hadn’t realized how much she needed it until it was there, right in front of her. 

They make their way to Krezk without any incidents. Ireena stops walking. Ismark asks his sister what was wrong and they turn to see Ireena staring off into the distance. And then she bolts down the road. They quickly follow to see Ireena by the lake. Elyndria runs up to her and startles at seeing a man under the water. He calls Ireena ‘Tatiana’ and Ireena responds to it, as if possessed. Ireena reaches out towards the water and Elyndria grabs her wrist. Was this possession? 

Elyndria’s eyes widen as a physical hand reaches out from the lake surface. Ireena reaches out for the hand. Elyndria couldn’t help but feel something bad would happen if their hands met. She pulls Ireena back harder, away from the lake. Ireena fights her but Elyndria holds her back as tightly as she can. “Come on Ireena, fight this.” She tries to dispel the magic, but she’s too busy holding Ireena back. 

“NO!” The scream is horrifying as it echos through the area. Elyndria is sure she’s made the right choice, keeping Ireena back. And then an earth shattering boom. Elyndria is sent down to the ground, but she keeps a hold of Ireena’s hand tight. She’s afraid of what will happen if she let’s go. She doesn’t know where Ismark is and fear fills her. Is he alright? Is everyone alright? She sees the Artificer on the ground as well. She doesn’t know what else to do except hold tight to Ireena’s hand. .

A bright light filled the sky.

Elyndria’s body arches before she even feels the pain. Her body contracts and her hands tighten their grip on Ireena reflexively. The pain is blinding, she can’t even scream. She feels her insides sizzle and burn. Her body feels like its going to twist itself apart. And then the pain is gone. And its quiet, too quiet. She feels her muscles twitch as the remnants of lighting spark through her. She sits up.

And she can’t breathe.

Her hands were still clasping Ireena’s hand, charred, blackened, burnt. Her eyes dart to Ireena’s chest, still and unmoving. This couldn’t be happening. She pulled Ireena back. She just wanted to protect her. Ireena’s hand is limp in hers. This couldn’t be happening.

And there’s a scream. A horrifying, heart-wrenching, anguished scream that twists Elyndria’s insides. And she never wants to hear such a sound again. Not from Ismark. And Elyndria’s chest tightens. This was her fault. She did this. Elyndria feels Ireena’s hand heavy in hers, heavy, suffocating. She did this.

Ismark runs towards Ireena, holding her, cradling her. “Sister, please open your eyes.” Ireena’s hand is pulled out of hers but she still feels a ghost of the hand, heavy, suffocating. Elyndria’s eyes darts up to Ismark. He is not going to forgive her for this. “Sister, please.” 

“I didn’t mean… I thought… I wanted to…” 

Ismark’s eyes darts towards her and the hate in his eyes chills her. 

“Ismark, please. I didn’t mean…” 

“You did this.” 

She wants to scream that she was just trying to save Ireena. But she fucked up. Ireena is dead because of her. She did this. She killed Ireena. “I…” 

Ismark weeps into Ireena’s hair. The sobs tear through her soul. Elyndria can’t breathe. Guilt twists her insides, choking her. She did this. Everything in her wants to push forward to comfort Ismark but she can’t move. She just sat there staring at Ireena’s still body. 

Blood drips down Ismark’s ear. Elyndria can do nothing but send a healing spell towards him. 

“Don’t.” And Ismark’s eyes meet hers once more, once gentle, full of love, were now filled with hate.

Elyndria can’t breathe. Those eyes, same as her brother’s, hating her, blaming her for the death of a sibling. But this time it really was her fault. Her choice, her mistake. Nausea burns in her gut and it takes all her self control not to throw up. 

[oh-atlas]

two weeks of manifesting paid off and i've gotten completely destroyed thank u for ur support in manifestation here's my play by play from the ophelia / ireena big homo scene from today as best as i can remember bc i get POSSESSED when i'm doing emotional scenes in dnd and forget what i even say LMAO. it was so tense and tender and i'm not going to stop thinking about this ever wah.

Ophelia left all of her belongings, her mask, and her coat in her room and left to knock on Ireena's door with only the flask of wolf's blood she secretly collected last session. Ireena told her to come in and was standing by the window in a beautiful red nightgown on (AND NOT MUCH ELSE, IS WHAT MY DM SAID), and described how beautiful ireena was but how something about, even though ophelia's never had the money for nice clothes like what ireena's wearing, it fills her with a pang of homesickness. (🗡️🗡️🗡️)

Obviously in a little bit of gay panic, Ophelia tells her that they need to talk about earlier today, and she knows it isn't the best time, but she feels like it can't wait. Ireena looks a little bit wary but Ophelia continues and says she knows about what Ireena did with her blood. And Ireena tries to lie, I roll an 18 insight check and pick up. that Ireena's terrified. and she's scared of Ophelia

so ophelia backs off a little bit (FEELING TERRIBLE) and tells Ireena that she has no intention of hurting her and she's sorry that she's scared. and says. i think we have more in common in this situation than you think. and ophelia unbuttons the top buttons of her shirt and walks a little bit closer to show ireena her bite scar (and it also shows. a bit of the burn scar. and her necklace.)

EDIT: IN MY ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS I FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT HOMO MOMENT. AND I QUOTE FROM MY DM: "She blushes terribly and turns her gaze, and then she can't look away - and then can't look away for a different reason" (tfw u get to see titties and its only after that u process SCARS)

anyways ireena comes closer and reaches out a hand and asks ophelia 'may i' and ophelia nods and is. trembling. and ireena gently touches the bite mark, and then reaches to lift ophelia's necklace. and looks at the burn scar and is obviously upset and sad and says "how long have you been doing this to yourself?"

and ophelia steps back so they're not touching anymore and says "it's fine." ireena says "can't you wear it over your shirt?" ophelia replies "it's right where it needs to be."

ophelia transitions them back into vampire talk, expertly deflecting like a champ. she's a champ at this. and ireena tells her that she's so relieved that when ophelia was testing which ireena was real, she didn't react to holy water. but she also wanted to know what it tasted like. in case she did change. to know if she could handle it. and the worst part was that she liked the taste. and ophelia nods. and just gives her the flask and tells her that if she needs it, it's there. and if she feels like she's changing, ophelia's there for her. they just. need to be careful. ophelia hasn't told anyone she's a vampire and she doesn't want to.

and ireena thanks her and hugs her 😭 and ophelia lets her, and she's warm and it feels good to be touched like this, but ophelia's trembling again and trying so so hard to keep it together because all of this is terrifying to her, the vulnerability and the touch, and her feelings about it.

and ireena pulls back and puts her hands on ophelia's biceps and squeezes a bit and tells her "i'll keep your secret. we'll take care of each other."

and ophelia just. voice cracking because she cannot keep her emotions in check says "OkaY" and LEAVES. BEELINES FOR THE EXIT.

she def went back to her room and had a sob. and post session my dm and i were like "oh yeah she and ireena were both up for at least another hour having gay panic moments simultaneously"

tldr;

[rahadaddy]

Hi yes can I have uhhhh... Ireena and Ez for the character bingo, if you're still doing those? Absolutely love the insights AND the rants honestly, never stop.

Ireena is done SO DIRTY by canon and fans alike. I used to spend an inordinate amount of time on Re.d.d.it and because canon can't be assed to give her a statblock/about page/personality, so many DMs whine that their players don't like Ireena, want to leave her behind, want to give her to Strahd, etc. It's your job as the DM to make her likable enough for the party to want or need. I can't stress that enough. Nine times out of ten, if your party doesn't like Ireena or doesn't have a stake in her plot, that's your fault as the DM. At worst she's a McGuffin with a personality and at best, she's a dynamic part of your team. Either way, it's your JOB as the DM to bring something to her and if you can't, there are a bunch of really cool templates the likes of MandyMod, DragnaCarta, LBH, and others have put forward.

Another way the fans have done her dirty: whitewashing her. The book art uses a woman of color for Ireena and I've seen a lot of fanart of her that's really beautiful but that isn't IReena because it's a white woman and it leaves me conflicted. I don't know when I should speak up and when I shouldn't on this issue as a White Latina. I actually feel that as someone who walks in both the White world and the Mexican/Chicana/Latina one, I'm in a perfect position to call people out for this because I like to think I have the sensitivity to say what needs to be said without being cruel as well as the social positionality to be "an authority" on erasure. Representation matters and whether you play Ireena as the demure, Disney princess or the sword-slinging badass, it might be a woman of color's turn to get to inhabit roles that we so often give to white heroines. The only real problematic thing with that is, you know, being preyed on by a vampire because marginalized women are already preyed on by men in power so it's not exactly escapist fantasy.

(Bear with me, I just woke up to take my dog to the vet and I haven't had my morning round of caffeine).

I think a lot of this is canon's fault at the end of the day for, as I said, not giving DMs as much to work with for Ireena as they do for other characters. I think we know more about Piddlewick II than we do Ireena. How fucked is that? By inferencing based on her circumstances, the demands of the plot, the characterization of Ismark, and the characterization of Strahd, a determined DM should be able to piece together an idea of who and what Ireena is.

I've heard interesting theories about Ireena/Tatyana from different DMs over the years and have seen her importance to campaigns wax and wane over the years. However, I saw a good rule of thumb for RAW campaigns and campaigns that follow more traditional modules: If you don't know how Ireena feels about a situation, you don't know how your PCs feel about it either. In many ways, Ireena is the heart of CoS, the closest thing to a protagonist we are given besides the PCs, and a good barometer of how the plot is going. In my Saturday/Remix game, she shed Tatyana's soul for a chance at a life with her (now) husband, Dorinn, our fighter, so it's been less central that I know how she's feeling at all times, but you can bet your ass I try to pulse check her every story beat and it really does give a read on the PCs. Like... right now they've teamed up with Strahd (temporarily?) to fight Patrina Velikovna. She's only willing because Patrina is Dorinn's crazy aunt, but she very much does NOT want to go to Ravenloft and pretend everything is okay. This is the place she was going to be imprisoned for life, this is the place she watched her brother die once (he got better!). They are working with the man who tormented her family so much her father died! She's apprehensive and putting the party's needs ahead of her own, but I guarantee that when she has a moment alone with her husband, she'll tell him how stricken she feels about going to Ravenloft and seeing Strahd again. I think she's overdue in my game for a blow up or break down that they're getting along with Strahd.

But that's the thing, right? She has emotions! She should! She should serve in some ways as the DM's moral center for the game and the reminder to the PCs about why they're doing what they're doing, even after the threat of Tatyana's soul has passed. And it's on me if I forget to do that. And I think like, you have to be comfortable as the DM to claim that success or failure and the make sure your Ireena is successful by giving her what canon doesn't. As much as I've seen DMs fail her, I've seen some amazing DMs flesh her out and make her the heart and soul of their campaigns. I've seen others make her badass support to their amazing parties. I've seen DMs take 20+ sessions to know what they're doing with Ireena before deciding she needs to matter to the players. It's a wild spectrum and I think it depends on how comfortable the DM is with adding to RAW and playing a female character.

That's why I said nothing I like about her is technically canon. Ireena Kolyana is a tabula rasa. The successful ones that I've played with, played as, and have witnessed in other games succeed on different merits. My Monday Ireena is a Disney Princess. She is the heart of the party, giving most of them the love and support none of them got in the Material Plane. My Saturday Ireena is a total Herbo who is terrifying in battle because she has nothing to fear but Strahd himself. The best DMs I've gotten to play with give her stakes in her own story, a personality, a drive. And somehow, when a DM does that for her, it's inevitable that a PC (and your players) will fall in love with Ireena!

I have a lot of feelings about Ez, even though I didn't fill out a lot on the card. Weird, I know, but bear with me. We'll start with how the fans have done her dirty: the whitewashing. I went on my spiel about it for Ireena, but even if you can dig your heels in and say that since Ireena is a redhead "it makes more sense" weh weh weh (which isn't an excuse to whitewash her. There are natural redheads who are black and brown and even if there weren't, what a weird line to draw in the sand in a world with dragons and vampires), the Vistani (and thus Ez) are explicitly written to be people of color. Please respect!! I've also seen some DMs be shitty about Ez's disability which is so gross! My mom is disabled and she's still a badass who got her PhD at 60 and hasn't let anything stop or slow her down over the years. Why would Ez be any different? C'mon.

That aside, I feel like Ez is (rightly) a fan favorite and I love her so much. What was... hard? for me was the slow-burn falling in love with Ez. She had been my party's ally in a previous game where I was a player and my Paladin had been the only person to talk to her and fold her into the group. The DM had been a good guy but never gave Ez the wow factor Ez demands as per her stat block, preferring to give us, the PCs, the limelight, which is very kind! But as a result, no one really LOVED Ez in that adventuring party the way she deserved. I thought about making her my Saturday party's ally, but stuff happened and they ended up with Ireena and Rahadin as allies and I felt like Ez would be Overkill. I also was so intimidated by Ze Frech Accent I had given her that I was scared to make her a permanent member of the party in any way, even as I fell in love with the character and gave her all of my miserable wanderlust, even as our cleric fell in love with her and Lucian both, even as it occurred to me that Ez would consider staying for her found family, friends, and lovers... Even as I realized I'd done something potentially FASCINATING with her and Lucian as two sides of the same coin for their lover, Urlstra to the point that I think I gave them the same soul, split in twain, which is why one can't stay still and the other can't stop moving and why they both have interesting callbacks to St. Andral in my game. I knew that when she left the party, her return to them would have to be a Big Moment and even though @morpheoussilvercreature technically knows where her girlfriend is (lol) she agreed to hold off the Sending spell until later for my sake as her DM. I am eager for the party to reunite with Ez and for Ez to blurt out how much she loves Urlstra and how sorry she is she has spent most of the game being coy with her when she should have said it from the word "go" and how stupid her DM is for not realizing that Ceremony can be for like, up to eight creatures, because otherwise, Urlstra would have a husband and a wife.

Anyway.

Ez is also such a badass. She can hold her own in a fight and help out greatly when it comes to magic and damage dealing - is probably one of THE BEST allies in RAW. I didn't realize how lacking in buff/healing spells she is until Urlstra almost died when they were alone and Strahd attacked them. I think that's weird since Van Richten is ALL cleric spells. You'd think she would have picked up a thing or two spellwork-wise from him. Actually, I would really like to see more done about Van Richten and Ez. I know part of that is my fault as a DM for not giving that moment the gravity it deserved. I'd say it's never too late, but I kinda have thoughts about where Van Richten and Ez are so maybe that's closure my Saturday Remix won't get. It's such a nice change from sibling relationships and romances that are seeded throughout the book.

Another thing that I love is that VRGtR confirmed she/they NB Ez, who I was already playing as bisexual. I usually use "she" as the pronoun for Ez when I'm talking about her alone, "they" when talking about them and their girlfriend, and alternate between the two in larger group settings, depending on the grammatical structure of my sentence to avoid "Who's on First?" situations. I don't think this addition to the module atones WotC's racism towards Vistani, but I think it signifies good things for the future of the company and later modules.

I mentioned that I do project a little onto Ez. I project a little onto to all the NPCs, I think, but with Ez I can very clearly see a couple issues that I'm like "Haha, that's mine" including, but not limited to: loving my father as much as I wanna kick him in the shins, making gallows humor jokes about my disabilities, an inability to stay in one place for more than five years, being scared of how deeply I love, picking fights with strangers to feel alive, being stubborn and bossy af, believing a badass coat makes up from the rest of my outfit, not being able to shut up when I have a sarcastic comment, tarot reading as a coping strategy, and low-key overpreparing for everything. Also the whole being a queer icon thing or whatever. XD

So, yeah. I love Ez and I've always known I would, I just never really realized that I'd love her as much as I do and I certainly didn't realize that I would feel this crummy about my long-term plans for her, not because they aren't galaxy-brain, narratively appropriate takes, but because I put my beloved in mortal peril, oops. And I may owe her GF (and mine) an apology for that. Ooops?

EDIT: @interstellardragon pointed out that Ez uses “she/her” pronouns RAW in VRGtR and I had to see if I had a virtual copy to check. They are correct! I run with a gang of DMs in the lawless land of mild homebrew where, like, five of us saw the more androgynous preferred name of “Ez” as tacit permission from WotC to make Ez nonbinary. I’m sorry it’s not RAW, sorry for the confusion, but not at all sorry for playing her as a bisexual she/they at my table. Ez is a delight. Despite this, that does not qualify her for a “everything I like about them is not canon” or w/e the bingo square is because RAW did a lot right with Ez that I wish they’d done for some of the other potential party allies. Cheers!

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

-

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash. 

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her. 

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry." 

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw. 

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..." 

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.' 

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand." 

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...' 

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan." 

There is a soft chuckle in her mind. 

"What's so funny? You love plans." 

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile. 

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.' 

-

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable. 

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last. 

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow. 

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view. 

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--" 

"You've done what?" 

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--" 

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..." 

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe." 

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword." 

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to." 

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm. 

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that." 

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave. 

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight. 

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things." 

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.' 

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now." 

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.' 

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...' 

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

-

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in. 

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd." 

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours. 

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

-

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing. 

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to. 

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

-

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago. 

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you." 

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again." 

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..." 

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool." 

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead." 

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--" 

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--" 

"You're no family of mine." 

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet." 

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you." 

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat. 

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?" 

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays." 

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?' 

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

-

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think." 

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..." 

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her. 

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today." 

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail. 

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write. 

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts 

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk. 

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

-

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this... 

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company. 

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair. 

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case. 

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner. 

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.' 

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.' 

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely. 

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.' 

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man." 

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.' 

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace. 

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say. 

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives. 

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

[doycetopia]

Ravenloft Ironsworn, Session 17, Sojourn

Well, it’s been a minute since I’ve been able to find time to play, but luckily I can read all my lovely game notes and get caught right back up.

The google doc where I’m saving everything is 96 pages at this point, which makes it exactly three times longer than the original Ravenloft I6 module. Nice.

Okay!

Brigitte sleeps for seventeen hours. Gets up, sees to her necessaries, eats, and goes back to sleep for another six hours, which puts us close to 24 hours since our merry band staggered back into down. Probably enough time for Gertruda to do something stupid, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now.

What I should be worried about is what the Qashida are up to. I realized after wrapping up last session that my failed Gather Information probably gave the Qashida (the Threat attached to one of my Vows) an opportunity to get up to shenanigans, so let’s see if they take advantage of it.

Okay, so they’re basically working the shadows, sneaking up on me and I mark a second menace on that threat. Fiiiine.

So I’m a bit demoralized (down by 2 in spirit) and my supplies could be better. I’m back in town, which is exactly what the Sojourn move is FOR, so I’m going to do that. There’s a lot going on in this move, so buckle in.

Okay. That first bit is pretty straightforward. Roll +heart, and I do have a bond with the village, thankyouverymuch, so I’ll be having that +1.

Oh, cheese and crackers, seriously? Ugh.

Fine.

I’m focusing on the stuff in the Recover section, and since I share a bond with the town, I still get to choose two things.

So, rolling heart a couple more times, both with a +1 from the bond. You’ll have to trust me on these, since I’m not going to copy-paste in two more rolls for the same move.

(This is a VERY roll-y move – if I was in a group of three players and got a strong hit here, that’s 7 or eight rolls at the table before the whole thing is wrapped up. Crazy. It’s worth noting that Starforged does this differently now – there’s just the one roll at the top, and then all the selected recovery actions are assumed to have succeeded at a similar level, basically. Much faster and cleaner, without the Mouseguard-like messiness of “oh, I screwed up all my recovery phase rolls, so now I’m worse off than I was.”)

Anyway: In Ironsworn, I still have to roll, and on my rolls I get a 9 against a 6,5 and an 8 against a 4,3 (I’m quite happy to have prioritized Heart when rolling up Brigitte) so that’s two Strong hits for Consort (+2 spirit), and Provision (+2 supply), which maxes me out. The Strong hits give me 2 additional points of both spirit and supply recovery, but that does nothing for me in this case – I’m already maxed out. It’s a good problem to have.

I envision this as a pretty chill day spent around the town. Word gets out that I and Ismark and Ireena braved the Castle and returned alive and basically unharmed, which is pretty much unheard of in living memory when it comes to outsiders who decide to mix it up with the Baron. Ismark embellishes some of the heroics a bit, and the mood in the village lightens considerably during the day, especially when Gertruda and Mary are seen at the front door of their home. It’s just a generally upbeat day of smiles and nods and a lot of hopeful faces.

Brigitte will happily take it, though she turns down any offers of free dinner and bunks down in the chapel again, reasoning that right now it’s probably the safest place in town if Strahd decides to make a move. (Hooray for a high concentration of major holy artifacts.)

So. One good day. Let’s see if we can ruin it by asking awkward questions the next day.

“What can you tell me of a cult called the Qashida, shopkeep?” She asks, not so casually, the next morning.

That’s a natural six on my action die, plus the bonus from my bond with the village. Hot dice tonight.

On a strong hit, +2 momentum (bringing me to 10), but more importantly the path I must follow is made clear.

I’m going to ask the oracle about the next step, because I’d like to see if it gives me an interesting twist.

The shopkeep’s eyelids lower, and he shoots a glance at the door to the street, but the only people within earshot are Ismark and Ireena. He seems to relax.

My first roll on the “Character Goals” oracle was “roll twice”, and I followed that up with Protect a Person, and Create and Items.

“They are sworn to the Count,” whispers the man, his lips barely moving beneath a bushy mustache. “Generations, they have been his willing lapdogs, as bad as the worst Vistani.” He spits to the side.

“Why?”

“Power, why else?” The man’s face looks sour. “The baron has been alive for centuries. The knowledge he has – the secrets he knows – they want them. Rumors say there is some unholy phylactery they would assemble, if only they possessed the final puzzle pieces. They think if they can keep the baron beholden to them long enough, they will have it.

The words chill me, because I think I know what it is the old man speaks of.

And I know now I must return to the castle as soon as I can.

original post

[cinnstuff]

1-7 Makda, 18, 30, and 31 for Mania, 50 for Redacted, 21-27 Melusine, 26, 32, and 45 for Snapdragon

Makda

1. What is your character's biggest fear? becoming a monster, or losing control of themselves.

2. What is your character's favorite memory?When Makda was 9 years old, there was a giant snowstorm in Rezzig. They remember curling up by the fireplace with their mom, drinking hot chocolate as she told them stories of a far off city she’d never seen before. Later that day, Sanamin had braved the snow and come all the way to see if they were alright, and had stayed for dinner, and told Makda all about fighting a Roc. At the end, he’d handed her a wooden sword, one they used for props in their performances, and she’d spent the next three snowed-in days running around the house pretending she was an adventuring fighting off giant monsters.

3.What is your character's least favorite memory? Currently a toss up between the memory of nearly drowning as a child when their crush and bullies decided to be awful, and the time they basically died and went brain dead. 

4. Does anyone have a crush on your character? Is your character aware of this? I am assuming their girlfriend Ireena, who yes, they are aware of. Other than that they are not aware of other crushes, though I have been informed that several villagers in Vallaki are crushing hard. Other than that I do not know.

5. Describe your character's dream date. Just a really nice evening, probably a walk somewhere pretty, and stargazing, and pointing out constellations and the moon and things, and watching the sunrise with their girlfriend that has never seen a sunrise and--

6.What is your character's sexual orientation? demisexual, but their preference is definitely women.

7.How does your character feel about their name? Their mother gave it to them. They don’t know its origins, but they haven’t really felt badly about it. It’s their name, and that’s all it really is to them.

Mania

18.How would your character feel about having their life recorded? HAHAHAHA I would be dead if they found out. Unless the only thing recorded was all the dope shit they did in life. 

30.Would your character have any hobbies?Currently? The only hobby outside of “offing baddies in the glorious revolution” is collecting ridiculous clothing that they can somehow pull off.

31.What social media would your character use? Instagram, 100%

Redacted

50. What is your favorite thing about your character? She’s just utterly ruthless. It makes her a wonderful antagonist and a really nuanced antihero in the AUs where she discovers the power of friendship? Like she has a very strict set of morals that she would never cross, and she does some really good and important things, but she also is ambitious and has plans that she refuses to back down from and she will take out those she needs to do see them fulfilled. 

Melusine

21.Is your character flexible? Physically? Hell yeah. XD But yes, she is also good with changing plans if she needs to, when something else happens. She can adapt to situations fairly easily, because she has lived long enough to realize that carefully laid plans rarely work. 

27.What would be the worst way for your character to die? in chains

Snapdragon

26.What is your favorite headcanon for your character? That when she was younger at court she was a super big flirt and a charming socialite who then fell for the poor farmboy and a wandering minstrel and it caused QUITE the stir at court. 

32.What does your character look like? Tall and elegant pink/purple tiefling lady.

45.What would your character change about themselves? The fact that when she was younger she focused her magic on celestial bodies. If she’d known how to heal back then, or knew more protective magic...her family would be alive right now. 

[dndeviants]

Attack on the Burgomaster

Linda, Ruki, and Grindle followed Ismark through the misty streets southward. The night was dark, with only the light of a leering yellow moon to guide them. There was no firelight from within the houses they passed, nor any streetlamps. Never before had Linda been in a village that was so... dark. 

But there was one building that had a light within... a two-story mansion that rested on the southern portion of the village, a weary-looking estate that seemed to want to hide behind the rusty iron gate that enclosed the property. Overgrown weeds spilled through the fence and obscured the grass, but it seemed that a path to the door had been stomped down... but unusually, the door was open, bearing scratch marks on it.

Ismark stopped suddenly, looking with worry, “Why is the door open? That can’t be good. Father...?” He called out. Silence. Then again he cried, “Father!” opening the gate hastily, and rushing up the path, pushing the door wide open.

Ruki stared at the scratch marks with concern. She knew better than anyone that those claw marks belonged to wolves, but why would wolves be clawing at the door? She ran after Ismark, and Linda followed her. When she entered the house, she saw an older man with a graying blond head of hair and beard, gasping for breath on the floor, clutching his chest in pain.

Linda looked at the man. She could tell that he was certainly Ismark’s father, and from the looks of it, he was in the midst of cardiac arrest, "Quick, he's having a heart attack!" Linda rushed forward and fell to her knees, placing her hands on top of the man’s chest.

Ismark panicked, “What do I do?”

“The Burgomaster!“ Ruki scanned the room quickly, but decided that helping Linda with the burgomaster was the best course of action. 

She knelt next to Linda and observed her compressing his chest with her hands. She then reached out her psychic senses to the burgomaster... his life was leaving him. It’s not going to be enough, she thought. She placed her hands on top of the Burgomaster’s head, and began to mend the internal wounds of his trauma, restoring bloodflow to his brain and easing the heart back into beating.

He stopped shaking, and there was a great uncertainty hanging over the room until they saw his chest rise and fall slowly. Everyone sighed in relief as the man fluttered slowly back into consciousness. He would need much rest.

Ismark tended to his father, tears welled up in his eyes, “Thank you!” was all that he could say.

Linda sighed, and rose from the ground, giving Ismark a pat of comfort on his shoulder, “Well, then. He's going to need some space and some rest. Though I would watch over him for a bit to make sure he has stabilized.”

The Burgomaster became suddenly fitful, and grabbed Ismark, "Ireena..." his voice was hoarse, "Ireena's in danger..."

Linda leaned over and placed a hand on the man to ease him back down. He’d send himself into another heart attack with this stress, "Just relax,” she said, “It's fine. Why is Ireena in danger?”

Ruki muttered to herself, "I am curious to know why wolves attacked..," she rose from the ground and walked over to the door. She gently touched the claw marks on the door and concentrated. Her eyes flashed silver before she began to get images in her mind. 

There was a feeling of panic, both from the wolves and the Burgomaster... Wolves clawed at the door, trying to get in at something... They burst through. The Burgomaster saw the wolves leap in. Shadows... shadows slither around the house... then envelope the burgomaster... he fell unconscious... the wolves growled at the shadows and chased them. A scream pierced out from upstairs... then silence.

Ruki reawakened in the present, turning to the burgomaster as the vision ended.

“The Devil...“ he managed to breathe out before passing out on the floor.

Ismark rose shakily, unnerved, "I have to go upstairs, check on my sister, she should be down here!"

Linda rose quickly, unholstering her pistol, "I'll come with you!"

She followed Ismark upstairs. He frantically knocked on the door, “Ireena? Ireena!” He struggled to open the door. It was locked tight. He turned to Linda, “It’s locked, and she’s not answering!”

Ruki joined the group upstairs, deep in thought.

“Calm yourself,“ Linda instructed Ismark, and gently pulled him aside, “and take a step back.“ She kicked at the door once. It trembled but did not open. She kicked it again, this time with more vigor. The door flew off its hinges.

There on the bed was the crumpled figure of a girl in a nightdress. She laid motionless. Ruki looked in on the scene. Linda entered the room, fearing the worst... but the girl’s chest rose and fell. She was alive... Linda pulled her hair back from her throat and felt her blood run cold. Two puncture wounds in the neck. The mark of a vampire attack...

But even more startling was the girl’s own features. She could be my sister... Linda thought. She snapped herself back to action, “Someone go get water and some food,” she leaned next to the girl, holstered her pistol, and shook her gently, “Hey...”

Ismark ran to go get things for his sister.

Ruki silently fumed at the scene. She grounded herself and reached out to her father, You have been framed, my lord. The Burgomaster has been attacked. He survived but the wolves were at the door trying to get to run off a shadowy figure. The Burgomaster claimed it was 'The Devil'...

She waited for a moment, before she felt Strahd’s presence in her mind, That is... inconvenient. I was only there for a short time.

With malicious intent? Ruki nearly seethed. Old habits died hard it seemed.

He protested, No, never! I was going to save Tatayana from her curse...

Ruki let Strahd see through her eyes, Was this your intent?

Strahd was silent and observed for a while. He surveyed Ireena and Linda, and affirmed to Ruki, The only way I can save her is to turn her, before it is too late. 

His emotions clouded his judgement. He was falling into the same trap he always did. Ruki tried to get him to see reason, This recklessness will now have the newcomers looking for you, my lord.

She had gotten through to him. He could not disguise his uncertainty from her, Perhaps... I will be more careful. I don't want to injure the relationship with the newcomers already... I'll hold off for the time being, you have my word.

It was the best she could hope for. Ruki threw her attention back at the present.

Ireena moaned faintly. Linda looked to the door as Ismark brought in a pitcher of water and a glass. He looked over to his sister with concern.

“Is she going to be alright?“

Linda reached for the pitcher, and Ismark handed it to her. She took it in her hand, “She should be...” she tilted the girl’s head forward and gently opened her lips, pouring a small amount of water in them.

Ireena shuddered and swallowed the water. She looked up to the strangers in her room, “Who... who are you?”

Linda tilted her head forward in a brief nod, “I’m Linda.”

Ismark offered information to his sister, “These people are our friends, Ireena. They helped save Father.”

Ireena looked to Ismark with worry, “What happened to Father? Is he going to be alright-?” she struggled to sit up.

Linda put an arm under her for support and helped her reach a sitting position, “He’s fine. He had a heart attack, but he is stable now,” Linda put a hand on her back, “You should take it easy too though.”

Ismark took the pitcher of water and poured a small amount in the glass. He offered it to Ireena. She took it gratefully and drank a sip on her own. 

“Thank you...“ she touched her neck, and felt the bite marks there. She closed her eyes, and looked up at Linda fully for the first time, and gasped, dropping the glass and spilling water on the floor. 

Linda was uncertain at this reaction, but Ireena reached over to her curiously.

“You look like me... almost!“

Linda nodded, “I noticed it too. I think we look like sisters...”

Ismark looked between the two of them, “Oh gods,” he exclaimed, “you do...” Ismark noticed the bites on Ireena for the first time, and moaned, “No... Ireena... what happened?”

"She was bit by a vampire..." Linda looked over to Ireena.

She nodded and closed her eyes, "By... by Strahd. This is the second time."

Ruki thought to herself, The second bite already? My lord was too impatient...

"Second time? Why?" Linda was confused. Normally, a vampire would either kill its victim outright and turn them into spawn, or drain a person for a meal and be on their way... repeat attacks were unusual.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Ismark gripped the post of the bed, holding in his frustration.

Ireena touched the marks on her throat, "I didn't want to worry anyone... I thought it may have been a dream... I don't- I don't remember anything that happened! I just know that it was him."

Ruki spoke suddenly, “Did he offer anything in return?”

Ireena furrowed her brow in concentration, "I don't remember anything. As hard as I try, I just can't. All that is there is a fog..."

 "The more I find out about this Strahd character, the better. I am so confused...” Linda stood up and began to pace, “None of this makes sense- and why in Lathander's name do we look so much alike?" 

This stuff just keeps getting weirder... She thought. This is going to test everything I know about vampires and monsters. And if Ireena and I look so much alike... what does that mean for me? I don’t need to draw attention to myself- not when I have a mission to fulfill, and Timothy to rescue. The less people who know I am a monster hunter, the better. Linda put her hands into her pockets, deep in thought.

Ruki knelt in front of Ireena and placed her hands on the girl’s temples. She reached into the mind of Ireena, looking to clear the fog she spoke of.

Ruki began to see the visions unfold...

Strahd revealed himself to Ireena, showing himself as he was: a vampire. He asked her, “Are you alright?” He put a hand gently to her throat as she nodded. He affirmed his intentions, “I am going to protect you from your curse...”

 Ruki heard a voice coming from Ireena, but it was distorted in the memory... it sounded like Ireena, but it was more sinister somehow.

"Yes, Strahd. I don't want to die forever. I am tired of dying..."

Strahd leaned forward to take her blood... the room faded to black...

Ruki jolted back to the present, clearly disturbed. She sounded perplexed, “This is.. beyond my comprehension. I must report back to Lord Vasili about these events."

Linda stared at Ruki, "What?"

Ireena looked to Ruki confusedly.

"I am a Vistana,” Ruki explained, “My clan is known for our powerful Mystics. We are very gifted with the Sight."

Ireena measured Ruki’s response and sighed, "Alright... take care."

Ireena reached for the side table, searching for the glass, but realized that she had dropped it on the floor. Ismark walked over to pick up the glass for his sister.

Linda watched over Ireena, then turned to Ruki, "I'm sure you know what you are doing Ruki. I just don't understand any of it."

Linda looked to the glass, and then back to Ireena, "Let's go downstairs and get you some more water," she stood and held out her hand to Ireena.

Ireena took her hands and weakly stood up. Linda guided the girl gently down the stairs. Ireena reached the bottom of the stairs and saw her father and Grindle talking in the living room. She tilted her head in curiosity at the old gnome.

Linda asks, “Where’s the kitchen?” she watched as Ireena indicated the back corner. Linda nodded, “Alright. I’ll get you more water.”

She guided Ireena to a seat and poured some water for her, before sitting herself next to her almost-doppelganger.

“Thank you,“ Ireena sipped at her water, “I usually don’t feel so weak. I wish we could have met under... better circumstances. But thank you for helping our father... and I assume you helped Ismark home too?“

Linda smirked, "I did."

"Thank you for that too. Usually him being out late wouldn't be a problem... but the curfew, the undead... everything Strahd has done... has made it difficult to live here."

"If I can help while I'm here, I will," Linda vowed.

Ruki thought to herself, The newcomers will be safe here. I am sure the Burgomaster would not mind offering a room to our guests. I will also have the wolves watch the Burgomaster's estate for added security.... at a distance.

Ruki bowed respectfully to the members of the household, before taking her staff and walking briskly into the night. There would be much discussion with Strahd tonight.

[madslogo]

dear ireena,

when you think about him, you’re going to think about the one moment- there’s always one. you know, where he was sweet and kind and so caring, so considerate! i have one, too- the time he tucked me into bed at night, whispering sweet nothings and filling my room with lavender.

when you remember that story, don’t forget everything that came before it. don’t forget the hours he spent forcing your eyes open, saying “just a few more minutes, i just want to talk to you, don’t you care about me more than whatever you have to do tomorrow?” don’t forget how it was only when the conversation switched to something you were interested in was it that he finally let you go to sleep. don’t forget what that feels like- to have to ask permission to do something as simple as sleep when you are exhausted.

this isn’t love, brilliant woman. it’s control. it’s sugar over seized chocolate. he has done you wrong. when sweet and darling and thinking of marry him one day like it is the prison cell you are damned to make your skin crawl, know this is his sin. he has committed a crime against you. this is the important part- you didn’t deserve this. you don’t owe your life and your freedom and your will to him. when asks you to jump, you have every right to spit in his face and hiss, “no. you jump.”

you need to remember your strength, you incredible person you. i know how your mind slips over the worst of what he did to you. even if it would break you to remember what he did to you in the aching clarity of the morning after, you survived it. you are still standing here today. he may have hurt you, but you are still whole. you are still here. that’s what matters.

you have a say, wonderful one. you can say no. you can fight back. you can run away and never look back, if you so choose! this is your life, not his! it doesn’t matter what he wants or what he plans. you have every right to dream every dream, to fight for a better future, to create a life where you are happy. your joy matters. your opinion matters. that feeling you feel when he makes a choice for you, that slow slide into accepting defeat? fight it. fight like hell. he will never decide for you again.

this one’s a little tricky to make stick, but you must promise to me you’ll work on this one- you are a person, ireena. you have a mind of your own- wickedly sharp, incredibly resilient, and all your own. your heart is beating in a chest that belongs to you. you are not a puppet that crumples under cut strings, a ballerina twirling in a music box, a prize, an object, or a doll. you are person. you are a human being. you are worth so, so much. i know how hard that is to remember sometimes- i know how hard he has fought to try to convince you of otherwise. do not let him.

i love you. you can do this. you can do anything.

and you deserve better than this. 

love, the last girl in your shoes

[spoopysammymoose]

So... my tiefling character is deciding to act out like a teenager, since she never really had the chance growing up...

DM: The chapel seems to still be a wreck, rubble is strewn about and the pillars still show damage from Argynvost's assault. But the stained glass has been replaced and repaired. On it a stunning depiction of Tatanya ascending into the sky. Sergei is there but an ugly smear of red obscures his image, the red runs down to the frame. In the distance Ithil can hear the sound of an organ.

Ithil: In the back of her mind, Ithil wonders who would have had this made, as she was sure Strahd would not have had Sergei included at all. She looks for a moment at the image of Tatanya with a smile, glad that she really was gone from this place. Ithil continues on, heading towards the sound of the organ.

DM: The organ music gets louder as she wanders down the main corridor leading to the front door. The music seems to flow from an open door to the left, a decayed dining hall last you knew. The music is somber but fast, like a melancholy waltz.

Ithil: She continues to head towards the sound, having not heard this sort of music before. It was.... sad... but deep and beautiful.

DM: You walk past the main junction without incident, the grand stair case lies empty and the front door is closed tight. You stand before the room with the music, the doors closed. You can smell the sickening mix of delicious food, rot, and dust.

Ithil: Ithil goes towards the doors, pausing with her hand near the handle for a moment before opening it. She opens it slowly, not wanting to disturb the sanctity of the playing.

DM: The music washes over you, making you feel almost warm. But that warmth is quickly replaced by a chill of fear as your eyes unwrap the scene before you. The table is set for a small dinner, five figures sit at the table in various states of decay, their dinner rotting before them. The candles of the table are brightly lit, illuminating their demise. One was speared by an arrow through the eye. Another seems to have had their heart ripped out. A third lies face first in a bowl. A forth lies chained to their chair, their whole figure wilted and thin. and a fifth still struggles in their chair. Iron straps bind him to the chair. At the head of the table a figure sits with his back to you, his black cape hiding much of his figure. He plays the organ with vigor, pouring his whole body into the music. The music ends with a flourish of his hands, leaving you in deafening silence. For a moment, all is still, then with a sweep of his cape he stands and turns to you. His face contorted in fury. Strahd Von Zarovich.

Ithil: Having been noticed, she feels her mouth break into a nervous grin and she fully enters the room, looking around at the gore. "Love what you've done with the place..."

DM: His face seems to calm a bit, and he silently walks to his bound prisoner, placing his hands on the vampire's shoulders. "Much has changed about this place, but it seems your meddling has not, Ithil." "My servants lie dead and a soon to be bride has gone missing, I can only assume your hand was the cause of this." You notice despite his calm voice and inviting expression, his nails dig deep into the vampires shoulders.

Ithil: Her smile brightens and she begins to shrug off her layers of cloaks onto a nearby chair. She gives a bit of a shrug and finds a bit of the table to lean on. "Ah, it seems you do know my name afterall. We never really talked the last time that I was here." She studied the wall a bit. "At that time though I'll admit I was quite a bit weaker and stupid... well, you could say I'm stupid for being where I am right now after what I've done but.... I don't regret it." Ithil's eyes wander over to the organ. "You play beautifully, that was something I did not know."

DM: Strahd: "I make a point of learning all about those that have killed me. As for your intelligence I can only assume you're cunning, at best, an imbecile at worst. Whether luck or skill has influenced your deeds, only time will tell." He glances at the discarded cloaks with a disinterested gaze. "The music is something I have been working on for years now, a tribute to Tatanya. But I fear it will never be perfect."

Ithil: Her eyebrow raises at that. "Music will never be perfect, as nothing ever is, but we take things as they are and enjoy them while we can. So... you really did love her." She pauses for a heavy moment. "I don't blame you for that, I was even moved when her soul appeared. She was beautiful and gentle... I wish I had known her. We knew Ireena but... she was definitely different."

DM: "She, WAS perfect. The music, and Ireena were only a pale reflection. As well as Marina, Vela, and the rest." He releases the vampires shoulders, leaving deep claw marks. "She was mine, and mine alone. And you took her from me; for that I will destroy you piece by piece." He looks up at you, anger deep in his eyes. "But you know that, so why are you here? Have you given up all hope of escape this time? Surely you would at least put up a fight."

Ithil: She hisses, her own claws digging into the table and her eyes snapping over to him. "Don't think me a coward or a lunatic! For those I am neither. You would be gravely mistaken if you think I am not holding back fear or a desire to start firing off my spells. Those are natural impulses and I could definitely entertain you with a fight if you wanted. But I am not here for that." She takes the Staff of Power and throws it next to her cloaks. "Fighting you on my own would be an instant death, though apparently many of your servants were not so much of a challenge." Ithil actually laughs out loud. "The one in the dungeons mocking the wizard with the one he had killed, he was already seized by the prisoner by the time I showed up and I stood right in the open. He didn't even see me there." She steps away from the table and crosses her arms, a snarl still on her face. "My original plans were only to help my party's friend when I came here, however I got tripped up on how many innocents had already been captured by this place. If I let them be, then I likely would face elimination by my own allies." Her eyes close for a brief moment and she attempts to relax herself. "Sometimes I hate the part of me that is a demon, usually its whispers don't take hold of me so readily but this time it has. My first time being trapped here broke a major part of my teachings though I shouldn't be so surprised. I didn't have the best Master. The scars on my back are proof enough of that." Her blank eyes open once again. "But that doesn't matter, what matters to me is that because of this place, my beliefs on vampires and the undead are confused. I should hate them, but I don't. My confusion keeps leading me here."

DM: Strahd puts a hand to his chin, pondering. He slowly begins to circle the table. "So, here you stand. Weapons discarded but my servants humiliated and my play things escaped. Your teachings muddled and your curiosity... " Strahd picks up a rotten apple. "... Ravenous." Strahd lets the apple tip out of his hand, it hits the ground with a sour squish. "It is strange that Exethanther cannot quench your confusion, instead you have sought out me... your captor, your lord, your undoing. If I were a less patient man I would be satisfied with snapping your neck here and now, or even turning you, finally becoming a monster so much of the world thinks your kind was born to be. Perhaps that's what you desire..."

Ithil: Instead of revealing any form of fear or distaste, her lips curled upwards in a devilish grin. "Ah but just simply killing me now would be.... so boring." Absentmindedly, she approached the table again and began to flick something on one of the corpses. "I have sought Exethanther near three times now. The dark gods have their appeals but... even some my other half finds horrific. We recently have slain a broken man there whom had accepted every gift the gods put forth. His mind was lost, it's not something I desire. His own profession lies in necromancy, and while he amuses me, I understand him. It's the vampires I can't figure out. Escher seeming to have been completely bound to you and now out there with that other group, also being led by our lost companion." She smirks. "And to think my group hated her so for practically doing what I am now."

DM: "She was a fool, then and now. Kept safe solely by means beyond even me. Escher... " His lips curl in disgust. "A coward seeking only the lavish things he desired in life. He will rot in a prison of his own making, I will see to that." He waves his hand away, dismissing the thought, Strahd sets his eyes on Ithil gesturing at her with his outstretched hand. "Ironic that you, of all people think vampires difficult to understand while you stand defenseless before me. I struggle to understand your intentions Ithil, you argue against lunacy yet I can assure you that you will not leave my castle alive." He circles closer, lifting up the dead figure in the bowl for effect. He drops the head, its impact shattering the bowl. "Killing you outright would be terribly boring and a disgrace for how much strife you have caused me... perhaps I should have you brought before your allies and kill you there."

Ithil: She watches him, her eyes bored. "I have no intentions of fleeing either, for I know what happened last time, even though I am uncertain if Bucephalus has indeed returned to you." Her head tilts onto her shoulder, "I'd apologize for some of my previous discretions except I desired a bit of revenge. I did not have many blows against you in that final battle and I must say I carried quite a bit of anger for my last moments almost being a fish.... flying through the air." Ithil's expression becomes unamused for a moment before she shakes her head and brushes it away. "I'm willing to trade.... some information in return for some answers. Whatever you decide to do to me afterwards.... or before...." she sighs sadly, "I honestly do not care what happens to me. But I have to warn you... do not underestimate my allies." Her gaze is steady. "I spent all of last night in one of the north towers, undisturbed and left to be well-rested. Security could be... better here." Ithil holds back a small giggle. "Afterall I guess my presence here and my activities over the last day have shown some obvious weaknesses here. I don't want to be so bored."

DM: Strahd laughs. "Your life in return for an... interview? I must say I am surprised, but this has held my interest. As for the castle, most dare not venture here and those that do often have my invitation." He has finally circled around to Ithil, standing between her equipment and her. "I will tell you all you want to know Ithil and perhaps you might do a better job at defending my castle from intruders..." His eyes seem to spark, inviting you in. Give me a wisdom saving throw.

Ithil: 11

DM: The eyes fill you with peace and you feel yourself relax next to him. Strahd smirks and turns away and takes a seat at the head of the table. He steeples his fingers and looks at Ithil. "Ask me whatever you desire, Ithil."

Ithil: She blinks a couple of times, and feels inclined to walk towards him. One of her feet takes a step. "My questions may make no sense to you or any who hear them but they will satisfy my own curiosity and that is fine with me." Her bright eyes find his dark ones once again. "The soul of the one you chased. You loved her, truly, I can see that and my words mean no offense. I must ask, over the hundreds of years, did you ever try anything different from just making her one of the undead?"

DM: Strahd stares at you, his expression unreadable as he ponders the question. When he speaks it is with a grave seriousness. "I loved her truly. She could never accept me for what I am, not for the reasons that you might think. This land that is my prison and my kingdom... is against me. I attempted to court her when Berez was once prosperous... Patrina was her name then... dark hair that desperately wanted to curl but I could see the beauty within her." Strahd's gaze drifts upward, lost in the past. "The villagers feared me, so to did the Elves. I won her hand, true then, but it was not to be. The Dusk Elves, in their great wisdom, stoned her to death, to prevent me my prize I had strived so much for. They feared her a vampire." A flash of anger passes of Strahd's face "I tore their village from the earth, cursed every member, and left them to the snakes. For the Dusk Elves... they would never see a child again, as I'm sure your aware."

Ithil: Her expression remains blank except for her mouth momentarily popping open. "It's true of the curse... none of us were willing to listen before but the dark ones have been the actual source of this curse since the start. Feeding on misery and intervening to cause more of it." She almost laughed. "I see our fates were of being naïve. We deserved to be brought back here for our actions in haste." She shakes her head to stop herself from rambling on more about it, and puts a hand to her face. "Maybe things could have been different at one point, this much time having been passed if they didn't disturb the outcomes. When.... or did you actually become aware that the dark gods you made a pact with are continuing to feed off of your emotions?"

DM: Strahd gestures vaguely to the air. "I knew from the moment I became Vampyre, a stalker of the night. They are not without a sense of humor though, near the edges of Yester Hill, when the sun rises, my homeland can be seen in all its shimmering glory..." Strahd's voice becomes wistful, enjoying the sight of it in his mind. "But I know it cannot be... it lies so far away from Barovia yet its there. They must give me hope, or I am worthless to them. They are gleeful in their torment of me, I know that now."

Ithil: She cocks her head like a bird, curiosity spiking again. "Homeland? I believed Barovia to be that for you." A couple more thoughts came to mind. "And it seems they have given you a few more things to chase, with the hag and that soldier that I've heard have been causing problems."

DM: "No, I came to this land as a conqueror, dispelling my enemies as easily as I do now. Armies fell before my might and they fled to this place. After their slaughter I made it my home." Strahd cocks his head at mention of the hag and soldier. "I created them, dragged to Barovia through hubris and theft. Without strife, the Dark Powers would discard me." "A queen sent her armies to me, now they wallow in this land, slowly being whittled away, day by day, year by year."

Ithil: Ithil nods. "Her I met, angry woman, very rash. I didn't much care for her." She waved her hand, "Anyways she's not too important herself.... So the gods would discard you? How would that take place?"

DM: Strahd smiles. "I'm afraid that information is beyond even me. The gods are ever mysterious and cruel. For all I know they plot me another bride."

Ithil: She looks down at her hands. "I have no more to ask, I thought I was confused when in fact I was merely lacking very basic information in the first place." Her shoulders begin to shake, but when she looks up, she is just laughing with tears stinging at her eyes. "The world of people, of humans, I should have stayed well away from it. The jester gave me hope but he was just like the others, gone, whenever I needed him the most. 10 years of looking. I guess in perspective of time that's nothing. 10 years of trying to do good and I manage to continue to jump blindly into situations without weighing out all sides of them. Meant to hate you while we support Exethanther as he hunts down humans to use in his own projects. Killing a Beholder that was trying to run a government by controlling people but unleashing riots that may have killed more people than we tried to save. Last time I was here, I personally turned over the wizard that helped us during the battle to the lich..." Ithil's voice trails off. "I deserve this fate laid before me, this much I know and I accept it." Her face turns to him. "I think I know why I couldn't seem to leave this place." She wouldn't let her face betray it, but despite all that she said and all that her mind tried to scream at her, she felt bad for this monster in front of her, though perhaps it was merely a side-effect of the charm.

DM: The monster in front of her smiled, humored by Ithil's ramblings. He rises from his chair and begins to approach her, calm and confident. "You need not bother worrying about the past, the adventures you've had, the people who have suffered, it doesn't matter. This land is a land of trades, what you get you must sacrifice for. You have done so much for this world and its people. It's time to start doing things for yourself. " Strahd brushes the hair from Ithil's forhead, his hand trailing to her neck. "We are not monsters, simply those cursed to rise above the weak. I offer you that gift, to rise above, Ithil. Accept my lineage..."

Ithil: She felt her body burning, from embarrassment at the closeness of the vampire and anger at herself for all the thoughts that crossed her mind. Every ounce of sense left in her mind screamed at her to run, back away, just say no. But none of that was what bubbled to the surface. Ithil wanted an escape, even if it was mostly from herself. "Y....yes....." With those words she couldn't bear to look at him, she had fallen to exactly what he wanted.

DM: Strahd leans in close, his presence like ice. He can feel her heart beating faster as he pulls her closer into his embrace. The hold is gentle, for there is no escape now. He brushes the hair away from her neck, savoring the moment of victory. His fangs sink into Ithil's neck with ease and a faint tremble runs through her. Heat rises within Ithil as her blood is drained away, her senses fading. The room seems to spin, the rotting feast, the dead guests, the restrained vampire, all a blur. Darkness tinges her vision but before she faded she felt dripping on her lips, blood, from Strahd's wrist. He had stopped drinking and she had not even noticed. Her last image before her vision fades is Strahd's cold eyes and his smile, as blood runs down his mouth.