Chapter Text
Dungeon Master
A biting wind whips around you as you crest the rise, the air thick with the clinging tendrils of mist. Below you sprawls the township of Barovia, a sprawl of dark, timbered buildings huddled together like frightened sheep. Smoke curls listlessly from chimneys, failing to pierce the oppressive blanket of gray clouds that hangs low overhead.
The valley floor seems to swallow the town whole, ringed by the looming foothills of Mountains. Their jagged peaks pierce the sky, their slopes shrouded in an endless, swirling mist that seems to writhe with an unseen malice. Even from this distance, a sense of oppressive gloom clings to the land.
But it's not just the oppressive atmosphere that chills you to the bone. Dominating the landscape across the valley, a colossal edifice of black stone rises from a spur of rock. It casts a long, jagged shadow that seems to stretch towards Barovia like a grasping claw. Its dark spires pierce the clouds like malevolent fingers, a constant reminder of the dread power that hangs over this land.
You may be able to reach the town before night is too imposing. A vast lake still separates you from the town. Going around it will waste much time.
Finn, action: I scan the closest parts for any signs of a ferry or establishments in the outskirts.
Dungeon Master
Pushing through the last fringe of the dense woods, you emerge into a clearing bathed in the dim, filtered light of the ever-present mist. A plume of smoke rises in the distance, beckoning like a lonely finger against the gray canvas of the sky. As you draw closer, tantalizing aromas begin to fill your nostrils – the earthy warmth of roasting meat mingled with the exotic sting of unfamiliar spices. It's the unmistakable scent of a human encampment.
Pressing your ear to the ground, or cupping your hand to the wind, you might be able to discern faint sounds drifting through the air. A snatch of a melody, perhaps, or the rhythmic thump of a drumbeat. Signs of life, a welcome change from the oppressive silence that often hangs heavy in the air of Barovia. What do you do? Will you cautiously approach the encampment, or continue on your path with a wary eye on the source of the enticing smells and sounds?
Grum : Aaaah man boss I'm still so hungry. We ain't had naught but gruel for days. Let's see if they'll have us. Our luck is bound too change being so sh*tty so long.
Finn : Hmmmm. Perhaps we are due for some respite. People who still have a heart for singing and dancing in such a dreary place may be more welcoming. We're running out of sunlight fast and I don't think anyone's likely to welcome strangers at night in a place with vampires. I'll try not to kill any relatives this time. Don't steal anything.
Grum : Only an extra leg of whatever they're cooking I promise.
Dungeon Master
The road gradually disappears and is replaced by a twisted, muddy path through the trees. Deep ruts in the earth are evidence of the comings and goings of wagons.
The canopy of mist and branches suddenly gives way to black clouds boiling far above. There is a clearing here, next to a river that widens to form a small lake several hundred feet across. Five colorful round tents, each ten feet in diameter, are pitched outside a ring of four barrel-topped wagons. A much larger tent stands near the shore of the lake, its sagging form lit from within. Near this tent, eight unbridled horses drink from the river.
The mournful strains of an accordion clash with the singing of several brightly clad figures around bonfire. A footpath continues beyond this encampment, meandering north between the river and the forest's edge.
Finn, action : Lets make our introduction. We approach cautiously trying to announce and carry ourselves as though we mean no harm.
Dungeon Master
A dozen men and women, their skin a shade darker than most you've encountered, gather around the flames. Their jet-black hair gleams with hidden highlights, and their clothing is a feast for the eyes. Vibrant silks and cottons shimmer in jewel tones, adorned with intricate embroidery and flamboyant flourishes. Laughter spills into the air, punctuated by the rhythmic strum of a lute and the rich tones of a woman's voice weaving a captivating melody.
As you cautiously approach, a commotion erupts near the edge of the clearing. A figure bursts from behind a thicket of bushes, a tangle of limbs and booming laughter. He stumbles into your path, barely catching himself with a wide, drunken grin. His build is broad and imposing, muscles straining beneath a flamboyant waistcoat that clashes gloriously with his crimson trousers. He throws his head back and bellows a greeting, his voice laced with good humor and a hint of something wilder.
Luvash : Well met, travelers! Lost your way in the mists, have you? Don't worry, you've stumbled upon the finest company in all the land - or at least, that's what Luvash the Raven himself would tell you!
Finn : Well met indeed. May we join your company by the fire. We are worn and weary.
Luvash : But of course. You are expected.
Finn : (eye narrow suspiciously) We are not acquainted with anyone of this land.
Grum : Except for that Priest Bonabitch.
Luvash : Donavich? Bah. That old bore. Foolish peasant like the rest. Come. Come. EVERYONE LOOK WHO'S HERE. SHE WAS RIGHT AGAIN.
Dungeon Master
As Luvash's booming laughter fills the clearing, the lively scene around the fire takes notice. Heads swivel your way, a kaleidoscope of brightly colored clothing and vibrant faces turning in unison. A woman's song falters for a beat, the lute player's fingers stilling on the strings. A curious mix of amusem*nt and something more guarded flickers in their eyes.
One by one, they raise their drinks - tankards of ale, intricately carved wooden cups, even a delicate porcelain goblet held by a slender woman with silver rings adorning her fingers. Luvash, still grinning ear to ear, extends his own drink towards you in a grand gesture.
Luvash : Don't be shy, friends! Join the merriment! We Vistani always welcome newcomers, especially those with stories to share. Come. Come. Help yourself to our roast and a mug by the fire.
Grum : Don't mind if I do.
Action: Runs to the tankard sloshes out a drink without care.
Finn : (sighs) Very well.
Dungeon Master
For a time, the Vistani seem content to leave you to yourselves. With a silent nod from Luvash, the boisterous greeting subsides, replaced by a comfortable hum of conversation and laughter. The aroma of roasting meat and unfamiliar spices wafts towards you, a tempting invitation after your travels. A platter piled high with sizzling sausages, skewered vegetables, and a golden roasted bird makes its way around the circle, offered with warm smiles and gestures. Hunger pangs gnaw at your bellies, and the Vistani's hospitality is hard to resist.
As you settle down to eat, the fire crackles merrily, casting dancing shadows on the faces around you. The woman who sang earlier picks up her lute once more, her fingers weaving a gentle melody that blends with the steady beat of a drum. The rhythmic sounds wash over you, a soothing balm after the hardships you've faced. The tension that had coiled in your shoulders begins to ease, replaced by a sense of strange peace.
Across the fire, a group of women rise, their brightly colored skirts a tornado of swirling motion as they begin a dance. Their laughter mingles with the music, their joy infectious. Watching them twirl and spin with such abandon, a forgotten freedom stirs within you. For a stolen moment, the weight of the world seems to lift, replaced by the simple pleasure of being present in the moment. The music, the dancing, the scent of the fire - it all creates a surreal oasis of carefree revelry amidst the grimness of Barovia.
Grum. You may test to recover a point of sanity at normal advantage.
- Grum tests as described: Success.
Luvash : So what was it this time? You fell asleep in an enchanted forest? Took an unfamiliar road on a misty night?
Finn : We were shipwrecked.
Luvash : A SHIPWREEEECK. How novel. We've a swashbuckling pirate amongst us.
Finn : Not at all. I am an honest sellsword.
Luvash : Indeed. Indeed. No doubt with generous letters of mark for some privateering.
Finn : Nothing of the sort. Being on the ship was incidental. I'm inexperienced with the maritime trades. I was merely assigned to my captains personal security detail. We were enroute to pursue new contracts in the west.
Luvash : A bodyguard? So young you are to win such trust.
Grum : Hey don't go bad mouthing boss. Don't matter how old he is. He's been through more than some vets 3 times his age. Cut down more than a few masters already.
Luvash : Did he now? We have a prodigy among us then?
Finn : (Glaring at Grum for messing up my chance at playing coy) People have noted I have some talent. But then they didn't like when I observed their lack of discipline. I've only knowingly dueled one sword master. He was mildly inebriated at the time and I barely survived before I saw an opening. He underestimated me because of my age. It's not an advantage I can rely on much longer.
Luvash : And he's humble. Lovely.
Finn : You all make camp in the outdoors? If Donavich was any representative of the beliefs of this land, then most would consider camping a dangerous pastime. We had a near deadly encounter with the wildlife shortly after washing ashore. What's more, your attitude toward security seems (gestures towards drunken festivities), somewhat lax.
Luvash : HA. Never fear. Guests of the Vistani are always safe in the lands of Lord Strahd.
Finn : You've... Some manner of arrangement with this... Strahd?
Luvash : No. No arrangements. An understanding. One that is open to any of the land that take heed.
Finn : That is?
Luvash : To behave.
Finn : An authoritarian then is he? Well. That's not necessarily terrible. I didn't climb through the ranks being a disorderly lout. I do wonder though if he's... proportional in his administrations. I would know if I'm in the dominion of a sad*st. An authoritarian can at least be trusted to be predictable, where a sad*st's lusts can be tortuously whimsical.
Luvash : Watch your tongue boy. You are on his land and therefore subject. He knows all and sees all, for he is the land. And he will know if you are yet another malcontent outsider.
Finn : (Narrows eyes) I think I take your meaning sir. No offense meant. I am an uncouth soldier you'll remember. My profession is not known for it's manners.
Luvash : I suggest you amend that. You may soon have less forgiving hosts.
Dungeon Master
The slender woman adorned with silver rings from early gracefully rises from the fire. The music softens as the others respectfully fall silent around her as she passes. Her age is a mystery, her face timeless. With measured steps that hint at wisdom, she bypasses Luvash and ascends the grandest wagon's steps, her gaze fixed on you, Finn.
Woman : I would speak with you.
Finn : I would know who is speaking.
Luvash : (hissing) You would dare disres-
Woman : Peace fool. You do not dare disrespect me by choosing where to take offense in my stead. I am Madame Eva soldier. I am the matriarch of these families and soothsayer to it's people. If you would choose not to avail yourself of my counsel, then more fool you, but it was I who foresaw your coming (she goes into her wagon).
Finn : Mind your manners Grum. (To Luvash) I take no offense if you need to enforce his manners.
Luvash : Risky business keeping prickly company, but if his hands are fast enough to steal from us we're all the more deserving to lose what he takes. We mind our own purses.
Grum : Sounds like a challenge.
Finn : Mind. Your. Manners. Grum.
Action: I follow.
Dungeon Master
Stepping through the ornately carved double doors, you find yourself in a world apart from the boisterous Vistani camp outside. The air is thick with the scent of exotic incense and aged parchment. Dim light filters through silken drapes hung across a single window, casting an otherworldly glow over the richly furnished interior.
Furs and tapestries in vibrant jewel tones cover the floor, their textures a plush invitation underfoot. Scattered around the room are intriguing objects – a silver telescope pointed towards the unseen night sky, a weathered globe etched with constellations you don't recognize, and vials filled with shimmering liquids that seem to hold secrets within their depths. Each one whispers of forgotten lore and arcane knowledge, an aura of power clinging to them.
At the far end of the wagon, a low table draped in what appears to be crimson velvet beckons you closer. Behind it sits a woman, her ageless face etched with wisdom. Her eyes, the color of deep pools of moonlight, meet yours with a gentle intensity.
As you approach the table, the velvet beneath your fingertips feels cool and strangely comforting. A sense of anticipation hangs heavy in the air, a feeling that within these walls, your fates may take a momentous turn.
Madame Eva : Please, take a seat. There is much to discuss.
Finn, action : I oblige her. Taking a seat and waiting for her to continue.
Madame Eva : You have questions. Questions I have heard many times, from many like you. Ask the stupidest if you truly feel you must, although you've likely put many of the pieces together already.
Finn : What is this place? How came we here.
Madame Eva : Hmmm. You didn't disappoint for asking the stupidest ones first. This is the land of Barovia, and you came by boat if I'm not mistaken. I know that isn't what you mean of course. I didn't used to have an answer to that question. You might as well ask a fish what water is, and how come gravity lead you to it falling off a seaside cliff. Slowly, with more and more visitors, and the odd tome they tumbled in here with, I came to understand. Your wizards have a word for it. Demiplane. Not an all together accurate comparison though. I've read of rituals, complex in their way for certain, but manageable. Rituals that can transport one from your world to its hells, even it's heavens, primal domains of fire and water. I've attempted many, all for naught. This is a place between places where many rules from your plane simply will not apply. A place no one has found safe passage from on entering. A domain of dread, ruled by her master.
Finn : Strahd.
Madame Eva : Yeeees. Strahd Von Zarovich. Lord of Castle Ravenloft.
Finn : And you serve him. That blithering idiot Luvash was all to obvious plying me for my history to report to the great lord, sniveling rat that he is.
Madame Eva : Our privileges have their costs. Yes. We are permitted something of a blessed life on his lands in comparison to his more formal subjects.
Finn : Suppose I wish to attempt my escape of these lands. If he should stand in my way? I suppose I'd be wise to cut down his spies and informants.
Madame Eva : You think he would bar your attempts? Why would he ever care where you come or go, so long as you have no intentions against his rule here.
Finn : No one has been able to leave here before, including the greatest wizard of my land Mordenkainen. He rebelled against your ruler, and I don't imagine him wishing to stay anywhere but in the world he was most loved and respected. He intuited something about the nature of your ruler and was struck down for it. If there is something mystical barring flight from this plane, he is at the crux of it.
Madame Eva : That is a great deal of supposition. In any case. Do you wish to leave?
Finn : (Pauses). I have been a soldier all my life. I am used to being regimented, in a controlled environment, with few freedoms. I earned everything I valued dearest from that way of life and the people who raised me in it. My sword, strength, discipline, and honor. I would see them again if possible, but a warrior also knows better than to cling to the delusion of a past that can never return. I'll offer my trades as I see fit if that's the case. There's more than just a few freedoms lacking here, though. This is a prison. That is plain. Both ours, and his.
Madame Eva : And yet you're being so candid to an alleged informant and spy.
Finn : I can still kill you, but I sense you are not as detestable as that idiot Luvash. You have a different purpose. One I feel compelled to see revealed.
Madame Eva : Heh heh heh. You're following your instincts. Perhaps they will serve you better than that wizard's vast intellect. That certainly inflated his ego, and got in his own way.
Finn : Your people are divided against Strahd then? You wish to see his downfall?
Madame Eva : You are right in your observations of Luvash. He is not the only one brought so low to be made a pathetic servant of the great lord. We were a proud people once. We've retained much of our vitality and love of life even in as terrible a place as this. Yet, as you say the prison is both his, and ours. Our children hear our stories of free wanderings and the concept is ever more foreign to their spirits. I would have them remember that spirit, not just enjoy some petty privileges at the beck and call of a greater power. So, I tell Strahd what I must, traffic in what I can, tell him my measure of the newcomers and their intentions, but I do what I can to aid them. It's not much, but it's all I have to give in these troubled times.
Finn : What do you offer?
Dungeon Master
A faint tremor runs through Madame Eva's hand as she reaches for the crimson velvet cloth draped across the table. Her movements are deliberate, each step measured as if the weight of ages presses upon her. With careful reverence, she begins to lift the fabric, revealing a glimpse of polished wood beneath.
The air itself seems to crackle with anticipation as the cloth slides back entirely. Beneath it lies a deck of cards, unlike any you've ever seen. The card backs are etched with swirling symbols that seem to writhe and twist in the dim light, their colors an unsettling blend of twilight hues. An aura of power emanates from the deck, a tangible energy that sets the hairs on your arms on edge.
Madame Eva's gaze flickers to you for a fleeting moment, her eyes like pools of moonlight searching yours. Then, with a sigh that carries the weight of countless stories, speaks.
Madame Eva : Cut the deck
Finn, action : I do so
Madame Eva, action : Spreads the cards out in a perfect line in a practiced flourish in front on her.
Dialogue: Pick a card, and place it here (points to a space before the player). This card will tell of history. Knowledge of the Ancient will help you understand your enemy.
Finn does so.
Aaah. The tax collector. I see a missing child. She holds the key to a treasure's release. Another card. Here.
Finn does so.
This card tells of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope. I see it is the priest. You will find what you seek in the castle, amid the ruins of a place of supplication. Another. Here.
Finn does so.
This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance, a sword of sunlight. Here we have the Torturer. There is a town where all is not well. There you will find a house of corruption, and within, a dark room full of still ghosts. Again. Here.
Finn does so.
This card sheds light on one who will help you greatly in the battle against darkness. You've drawn the Marionette. What horror is this? I see a man made by a man. Ageless and alone, it haunts the towers of the castle. One last card. Here.
Finn does so.
Your enemy is a creature of darkness, whose powers are beyond mortality. This card will lead you to him. Lastly, you've drawn the Horseman. He lurks in the one place to which he must return-a place of death.
Dungeon Master
As the final card is revealed, a heavy silence descends upon the wagon. The air, previously thick with incense and anticipation, seems to crackle with a newfound energy. Madame Eva studies the layout before you, her expression unreadable. But you, despite the warmth of the furs beneath your feet, feel a sudden, inexplicable chill crawl up your spine. A faint breeze seems to whisper through the wagon, carrying with it not the scent of exotic spices, but the cold breath of the unknown. It's a subtle sensation, yet it carries an undeniable weight, pressing down on you with the import of what has just transpired. One thing is certain: your journey through Barovia has taken an irrevocable turn.
Finn : I sense the import of what has just passed. Significant as it is I'm, a pragmatic man. I still must wonder if the aid outweighs the risk of allowing your people to take measure of me and report to him.
Madame Eva : Then allow me to be blunt with you. Kill us, any of us, and you will have announced yourself as enemy to the Lord Strahd for certain. It's not only that we traffic in information for him. He is something of a sentimental soul. Part of why he made his arrangements with us, is that we aided him when he was nearly struck down during his campaigns as a mortal many decades ago. He was a good man once, and we can be a charitable people to those of ill fortune destiny places in our path. His favor of us is his way of honoring our service to him when many of his own people were ready to forget and discard him. Lay a single finger on us with ill intent, and he will see it as a declaration of war. Are you truly ready for that? Truly? I think not.
What's more, able swordsman though you certainly are, we are not without our own defenses. I'm at your mercy, but even if you could escape this encampment, our deaths can haunt and nuissance our assailants for many years... or even lifetimes. So consider yourself warned stupid bristling pup.
Finn : (Stares for some long time, then smiles relaxing). Indeed. You're right. Quite foolish. I see I've overstepped my station and apologize. I thank you for that explanation too however. There too may be a chink in his armor. Sentiment. He's not an unknowable monster then. He is still a man, and all men can be defeated.
Madame Eva : (Smiles). There may be hope for you yet boy. Many outsiders came here brimming with knowledge of wonders, magics, and histories. Few brought wisdom. Go now. Rest. You'll need it.
Dungeon Master (to the readers)
Meanwhile, our dynamic duo was split. Grum was left to his own devices for the span of Madam Eva's reading. What shenanigans did this simple creature get up to?
(to Grum)
You're beloved boss has left you alone to enjoy the party Grum. What do you do?
Grum, action : What's there to do?
Dungeon Master
Over on the outskirts of the dancing throng, a group of men and women have gathered around a weathered wooden table. Laughter spills from their lips as they cast brightly colored dice across the worn surface, their faces alight with the thrill of the game. Do you feel a tug of competitiveness, a whisper of chance urging you to try your luck?
Meanwhile, the central clearing has become a whirlwind of swirling skirts and joyous leaps. Men and women, young and old, have thrown themselves into the dance with uninhibited abandon. Their laughter mingles with the music, a vibrant symphony of life that seems to defy the oppressive gloom that hangs over Barovia. Perhaps a moment of carefree revelry is just what you need to lift your spirits?
Just across from the dancers, a lone figure hunches over a large, ornately carved wagon. He meticulously sorts through a dazzling array of trinkets and wares – polished gemstones glint like captured stars, intricate bone carvings whisper of forgotten tales, and vials filled with shimmering liquids promise secrets yet to be unraveled. The man glances up, his eyes catching yours. A hint of a smile plays on his lips, a silent invitation to peruse his collection. Do you have a thirst for treasure, or perhaps a need for a peculiar tool to aid you on your journey?
Grum, action : Luck is good to me tonight already taking me to a great meal. Gobs know you have to go for it when luck's on your side. Plus we're strapped of cash, we could use a shot at some more funds.
Dungeon Master
A glint of mischief lights up your eyes as you decide to test your luck. As you head towards the boisterous table, a familiar roar erupts from across the clearing. It's Luvash, the Vistani you met earlier, his grin stretched wide enough to split his face.
Luvash : Well met again, friend! Come, come! Join the festivities! There's always room for another at Luvash's table! Now, what shall we play? Raven's bones? The Carcosa Gambit? Perhaps something a little more...unorthodox?
Action: He winks, then pulls out a set of beautifully carved bone dominoes decorated with swirling glyphs you can't quite decipher.
Dungeon Master
Before you can respond, a wave of good-natured ribbing washes over you from the other players. "Don't let Luvash fool you, friend," a woman with fiery red hair warns, a playful glint in her eyes. "He may be all bluster, but his luck is legendary!"
A man with a long, braided beard leans forward, a sly grin twisting his lips. "Aye, be warned! One roll of the dice with Luvash, and you might end up singing opera with the ravens by sunrise!"
Grum : Luck is easy. Don't care bout his luck. Ain't no skill in it. Anywho, can't play cards nor tile thingys. Don't know my numbers past my hands. Need me dice.
Luvash : Oh Ho. And what pray tell manner of game might there be with dice as needs skill.
Grum : No skill to be had with the dice is true, but there's skill when tryin not to show'em. I wonder. How good you is at lying.
Luvash : Lying you say (rubs chin). Liars dice?
Grum : (grins wide) yeaaaaa.
Luvash : (returns the smile) So it is.
Action: Throws 2 cups before himself and Grum tossing some dice with a minor flourish.
Dialogue: Your bet?
Grum : 5 silvers.
Luvash : So stingy he is. Does not fortune favor the bold?
Grum : 5 silvers.
Luvash : Very well...
Dungeon Master
(Dice gameplay ensues. I flipped a coin to determine the winner of the first round.)
Luvash scoops the coins into the center of the table, the pot gleaming under the flickering lamplight. He scoops up the dice, the worn ivory clattering against his calloused hand. Slamming the cup down with a flourish, he leans forward, a sly grin plastered on his face.
Luvash : Alright, friend, first blood. Four fours on the table!
Dungeon Master
He lifts the cup slightly, the dice peeking out momentarily before disappearing again. You heft your own cup, the weight of the dice a comforting presence. A strategic plan forms in your mind.
Grum : Five fives!
Dungeon Master
Luvash's grin falters for a brief moment, but returns even wider. He slams his cup down again.
Luvash : Challenge accepted! Six sixes lie before you!
Dungeon Master
The air crackles with tension. You stare into Luvash's eyes, searching for any flicker of doubt, any hint of a bluff. His weathered face remains an unreadable mask. Just as you're about to concede defeat, a subtle twitch – a momentary flicker in his left eye – catches your attention. Almost imperceptible, but undeniable.
An idea sparks in your mind. With newfound confidence, you slam your cup down, the dice clattering to a stop.
Grum : Hold on there, Luvash. I believe your dice have something to tell us besides their number.
Dungeon Master
Luvash's eyes narrow, but you hold his gaze. Slowly, you reach out and gently lift the cups, revealing the dice beneath. There they lie – three fives and a smattering of other numbers. Not a single six among them.
Luvash's jaw drops, the telltale twitch in his eye now a frantic tremor. He splutters for a moment, but no words come out. The silence is broken only by the triumphant clinking of coins as you scoop the pot into your pouch.
You've won the round, not just through luck, but by picking up on a subtle physical tell. A smile cracks your face, the thrill of victory coursing through you. Luvash, after a moment of stunned silence, throws back his head and lets out a hearty laugh.
Luvash : Well played, friend! Well played! Seems I underestimated you. Another round, perhaps? This time, with a double or nothing challenge?
Grum, action : As a goblin that's been duped many a time I'm dubious. Roll for insight to see if his tell was a feint.
- Grum tests at normal advantage: Success.
Dungeon Master
You lock eyes with Luvash, the tension thick enough to chew on. His booming challenge of "Six sixes!" hangs in the air, and for a fleeting moment, a sliver of doubt creeps into your mind. But then, something clicks.
As you delve into Luvash's expression, fueled by a successful insight check, a deeper layer reveals itself. The twitch in his eye, the way his grin seemed to falter for a split second – it all feels...manufactured. Staged. Almost like a seasoned performer trying a bit too hard to sell their act.
An intuitive understanding washes over you. This tell, this supposed vulnerability, is a deliberate misdirection. Luvash is trying to throw you off, to plant a seed of doubt that he's genuinely worried about losing.
A slow smile spreads across your face. The genuine surprise in his eyes when you challenged him before – that was real. But this elaborate display of nervousness? That's a bluff within a bluff.
Grum : Look friend I'm getting tired. It's been a while since I've had my fill of wine. I don't have all night to be gambling. Lets call it on one more. What do you think? How much should make this last one worth our while?
Luvash : So daring he is... Shall we put a gold on the table?
Grum : I've only a bit to spare, but like you say. Fortune favors the bold. I'm willing to spare 2 golds.
Luvash : Bold is he? Why not more?
Grum : I only have the 3. It's bad luck to take the last of anything. I wouldn't burden you with such ill luck.
Luvash : Aaah. He's considerate. Very well. 2 it is.
Dungeon Master
He rattles the dice with a theatrical flourish, then slams the cup down with a booming declaration.
Luvash : Two ones!
Dungeon Master
You meet his gaze, your intuition tingling. Is that a flicker of something in his left eye? A hint of manufactured concern? No, you decide. It's far too soon.
Grum : I'll see your two ones, and raise you three threes.
Luvash : A cautious approach, but a wise one! Your raise is accepted, but let's see how it fares against four fours!
Dungeon Master
This time, the tell is undeniable. That same twitch in his eye, the forced frown – it's a blatant attempt at misdirection. But you don't flinch.
Grum : An interesting bid, but I believe my luck can handle five fives.
Dungeon Master
Luvash's eyes widen for a split second, then narrow. A flicker of frustration crosses his face. Was his little trick so easily spotted?
Luvash : Very well. Five sixes.
Grum : Seven sixes.
Luvash : Challenge! There's no way there's seven sixes on the table.
Dungeon Master
A slow smile spreads across your face as you reach for your cup. With a flourish, you reveal your dice 5 sixes. Luvash's jaw drops. He tips his own angrily revealing two more sixes and a random collection of others. He is in a full-blown tremor, betraying his earlier attempt at misdirection. He splutters for a moment, but no words come out. The silence is broken only by the triumphant clinking of coins as you scoop the entire pot into your pouch once more.
Grum : Looks like your luck has run dry, my friend. Perhaps another game another time? But next time don't embellish so much.
Dungeon Master
A vein throbs in Luvash's temple, pulsing in rhythm with the triumphant clinking of coins you deposit into your pouch. The earlier amusem*nt has vanished from his face, replaced by a thundercloud of frustration. His eyes narrow into slits, boring into yours with a mix of disbelief and rage. He slams his fist down on the table, the force rattling the cups and sending a shiver down your spine.
Luvash : (screams) I'll have him.
Action: Draws a knife.
Dungeon Master
A low creak, like the groan of an ancient tree, announces movement from within Madame Eva's wagon. A sliver of light slices through the thickening dusk as the ornate double doors begin to inch open. The silhouette of 2 figures emerges, framed by the golden glow emanating from inside. Madame Eva and Boss. Old and wise as she is her eyes scanned the festivities in a practiced and matronly manner. Naturally they've locked on Luvash and you Grum.
Madame Eva : LUVASH!
Dungeon Master
All pause and the voice of command halts even his rage momentarily.
Madame Eva : Do you intend to soil the good name of Vistani hospitality?
Luvash : The green fiend is a cheat Mother. Dare I yield my honor letting such an insult slide?
Finn : Is this true Grum? Don't you dare lie to me.
Grum : Man's a sore loser boss. You all were watching the whole time. Thought he could bait me with an obvious fake tell first round.
Luvash : Why Y-
Unnamed man : Shuuuut up Luvash. It's true. You always try that trick on new comers. You know it never works on those who've gambled more than a couple times before.
Dungeon Master
The crowd which gathered to watch the gambling table nod smirking judgmentally at Luvash, apparently happy to see him get his comeuppance.
Madame Eva : But of course. I see Alexei has the right of it. You've grown too full of yourself cheating all the georgio in their towns when they don't have guest right.
Grum : (Smirking) I see plainly luck is hard on you friend. Please feel free to take a gold back for your troubles.
Action: hold a gold back out for him.
Luvash : Baaah!!
Action: Slaps it to the ground and spits on it.
Dialogue: Curse you and your pity.
Madame Eva : LUUUVAAASH!
Luvash : I only said it as expression. I know their rights.
Madame Eva : You had better, fool. You had better.
Dungeon Master
The air crackles with a tension that would make a Barovian snowflake sweat. Madame Eva's voice, usually raspy but powerful, takes on an edge of steel. Her gaze, piercing even through the encroaching darkness, bores into Luvash. The warmth of the campfire flickers impotently between them, unable to penetrate the sudden chill that has descended upon the scene.
Luvash, for all his bluster and boisterousness moments ago, seems to shrink under Madame Eva's scrutiny. His jovial facade cracks, revealing a flicker of something that might be fear – or perhaps a grudging respect for the ancient Vistani seer. His once booming voice is reduced to a mumble as he attempts to explain himself.
Luvash : Forgive me, Mother. Mere jest, that's all. You know how our reputation precedes us. A little...entertainment for the guests, wouldn't you say?
Dungeon Master
But the amusem*nt is gone from Madame Eva's eyes. She knows all too well the power words hold. The weight of that word "curse", even uttered in jest, hangs heavy in the air. A stark shadow of the delicate balance of hospitality he's clearly started to sour. He bows deeply and takes his leave retreating to the outskirts of the festivities.
Finn : I think the night's festivities is over for me and my friend. Clearly our own exhaustion from recent events has taxed our manners. We had best make for our bedrolls.
Madame Eva : If that is your prerogative. You may do as you wish. You are georgio true, but all guests are considered as respected as Vistani. You are an uncouth pair, but I recognize your quality and accept you for what you are. We will remember you, even when you take your leave of us.
Action: Extends her hand to Finn
Finn, action : I bow respectfully and kiss her hand in supplication.
Dungeon Master
A murmur ripples through the watching Vistani as you bend down and respectfully kiss the back of Madame Eva's hand. Their dark eyes hold a glint of recognition – a subtle nod of respect for acknowledging the wisdom and power she embodies. A faint smile touches Madame Eva's lips, a flicker of warmth in her ancient eyes.
As the festivities wind down, a wave of pleasant exhaustion washes over the group. The laughter and merriment of the evening leave a pleasant aftertaste, a counterpoint to the usual oppressive chill that hangs over Barovia. The air itself seems lighter, purged of the lingering shadows that usually plague the land. With full bellies and hearts warmed by the Vistani hospitality, you find yourselves drawn to the inviting comfort of your assigned tents.
Slipping inside, you're greeted by a sense of serenity you haven't experienced since entering these mist-shrouded lands. The simple bedrolls and furs feel luxurious, promising a deep, restful sleep. The haunting echoes of the night seem muted, replaced by a quiet hum that speaks of safety and peace. For tonight, at least, the oppressive aura of Barovia seems to loosen its grip, allowing you a much-needed respite. As you drift off to sleep, a sliver of hope blooms in your heart – perhaps, just perhaps, a path forward can be found within these shadowed lands.
