Prologue: An inn and a drink... [original story]

[tomcat]

He sat in the shadowed corner of the common room. It was a simple place and thus very much to his liking. They were simple people and that, too, added to his comfort. A short candle flickered in the middle of his table giving light sparingly and desperately trying to stay alight with the breeze that would flow through the windows. He rubbed his index finger along the edge of his wooden cup, feeling the cracks and grooves of overuse. He felt that way at times - overused and coming apart.

He was adorned in clothing from the multiple lands that he had visited, but these too were simple. His skin was the rich bronze of his people, and his hair straight and black. There were markings on his skin - inked tattoos in patterns of his tribe and the scars that had been left from the many altercations in which he had been involved. His name was Strongwind and as far as he knew, he was the last of his tribe, the Daqeen.

Once a strong people, they had roamed the lands of the Nestar Plains, keeping their herds of ponies and following the seasonal game. But then the men of the north had come carrying their banners of Aodhan to purge the sin from any who would not submit, and even those that did. Strongwind had watched as all of his people had been first driven back south, and then slowly destroyed. The rage that sparked within him set mettle to his hands and vengeance in his heart. He had ridden hard into the lands of his aggressors to reap upon them what they had sowed, but he failed. He was captured and tortured and made to repent for his sins to the One True Light. It was during this captivity when his life was almost at an end that he was saved by an unlikely rescuer, a man named Tarkus Haas. Tarkus was there to deal his own judgement on the zealots that ruled the lands of Ashera.

Strongwind's nail dug into the crack in his cup, as he sat and thought about his yesterdays, but they were over. He was still a wanderer but had now, at least for a time, found a place to stop and rest for a while. He liked the people. They were in some ways like his own folk, save they lived in the foothills of the West Barrier Mountains instead of the wide plains, and they herded sheep and goats. The similarities of life were enough to make it comfortable. Their structures were simple, too, of stone, mud, and wood, but not the monolithic cities that he had seen down south. It was simple. Easy. He drank from his cup and took another spoonful of the porridge that was before him. It was warm and the salted mutton tasted rich in his mouth.

The Daqeen was not sure where he was in respect to the lands that he had visited, only that he had ridden the westside of the mountains north out of Old Vil Galith and over the Plateau of Trelleu. He had spent a short time within the boundaries of Fallon earning money by entering their game pits. It had been dangerous and he had new scars to show for his efforts, but he had survived and had filled his coin purse enough to move on. Now Strongwind new he was somewhere along the mountains within the realm of the five city-states known as the Quintaal Compact. He figured that one day soon he would mount up again and maybe seek a passage over the Barriers, back into his own realm or maybe even the realm of his hated enemy - the Theocracy of Ashera.

But for now, it was quiet... and he was content.

Strongwind had not given much thought to his one true companion, Tarkus Haas. The Daqeen was not even sure where the Rider had gone. But he knew that one day they would band together again - Fate guided their fortune.

It wasn't until now that Strongwind realized that two newcomers had entered the small inn. They sat on stools near the large table that served as a bar and a place to serve oneself some of the evening's fare, and spoke softly to Dobbin, owner of the establishment.

"Not rightly sure of what I heard, but they say that the ground won't keep its dead there," mumbled one.

"Aye, t'is true... the whole town is plagued with horror and wickedness!" exclaimed the other.

"Sounds like the road has taken toll on your imaginations, lads... how far did you say you come?" asked Dobbin, a big toothy grin on his face.

"It ain't no lie," said the first traveler with a tinge of offense in his voice. "I'm tellin' ya! There be a blight upon that town and only those wise enough to leave are safe."

"Did you travel from there, or pass through it to see?" inquired Dobbin. The other answered, "Well... er... no! But we heard rumor on the road of people sufferin'! Who knows? Mayhap it stems from across the mountains... from the evil realm." The traveler's voice ended in a whisper as he spoke of the evil lands that were just over the Barriers. The land ruled by the terrible witch-lord, Ethicus.

"Sounds as if ya've been hearing some good ole yarns to keep the youngers from sleepin' at night. It is certainly worth a penny or two, or at least a bowl of mutton porridge on the house!" Dobbin winked as he picked up two wood bowls and slopped some of the thick soup into both. The two travelers did not protest the free meal, nor did they try to persuade old Dobbin anymore in the truth of their tale.

Only Strongwind sat and listened, and believed... after all, he had seen the dead walk.



Hey John! Here it is, if you decide to play. If not, it can be an introduction for us the next time we are able to sit once more at a table together! 

[Callowmoryne]

 And where was Tarkas, no matter, he would ride his own path until the winds brought them together again. Strongwinds finger made one more pass at the rim of the cup, overused and coming apart indeed! He rose quietly from the table ,took his unstrung bow from where it leaned lazily against the wall, and made his way to the bar, "Hear your tale, wine for your bellies, trade fair?"

[tomcat]

The two travelers were slightly taken aback by Strongwind's presence. The Daqeen's build, manner of dress, tattoos and scars were intimidating and the travelers had a hard time meeting his gaze. The broken manner of Strongwind's words had at first made the one man look at him with questioning eyes, only to have them change to understanding when he realized what was asked.

"You want to know our tale?" the one man asked, to which the other replied, "We'd gladly accept some wine!"

Strongwind looked at the two travelers with a wan smile. They were happy to take his wine for their story, just as they took Dobbin's meal. "Beggars," he thought and he wondered at the validity or their words. No matter, he had already made the offer and so he might as well hear what they had to say. The Daqeen signaled to Dobbin to fill the two mens' cups and he threw a silver piece on the table.

The shiney coin made one of the traveler's eyes sparkle, "Yes, well... we come down the Tres road* over the last week and not three night's prior before we made it here, we came across some gypsies on the road. Not your normal fortune tellers either... these were working folk, woodsmen and their families. They said they had just abandoned thier homes the morning before due to problems with the dead not staying at rest. They said there was a plague, or something, which made me and my mate here wanna get some distance from 'em quick." He took a pull of wine from his cup, "They said that whatever had happened in their village had caused the dead to leave their graves, and those that were bitten by these horrors, would soon take sick and then rise some time later with the desire to kill and consume the living." The other traveler chimed in, "Yea, we hear that the whole village was being ransacked and that some of those most brave were holding out trying to kill the beasts. But how do you kill what is already dead?!" The traveler's last remark was said excitedly and it caused the few other patrons in Dobbin's place to look their direction.

"Anyway," replied the first. "We didn't stay near the gypsies too long. I didn't want to see anything that had passed the gates of life walking again. Nor did I wanna take sick with any disease they might be carrying. So we moved on fast, and here we are." The other man slurped the last of his wine from his cup, "They came from Barovia. A little town that sits between here and Kalspar on the foot of the Barriers. It is an old place, I hear. Folks have been living there for generations - woodsman and farmers and I guess miners. I hear they take good ore outta the hills. I reckon there are Dwarves amongst them. Anyway, the town sits under the eyes of Castle Barin-fel. I hear the lord of that place is a bit queer himself! Guess the castle has been in the same family since before the rise of Arnon... even back to when Vil Galith still ruled this far north."

The two fell silent and looked at Strongwind, then the silver coin that lay on the table - both with eyes that wondered if they had earned their cups and mayhap a second fill.



*Tres Road is the name of the main road that runs out of the furthest city-state north in the Quintaal Compact, passing through Kalspar, and south to another city. I need to come up with the names of the four remaining city-states and will put them on the Darkhaven map, so you have points of reference. I have attached a map with the locations of Barovia and Castle Barin-fel - you are in Dobbin's inn in the small town called Tulwin.

[Callowmoryne]

He nodded to dobbin to take the coin, but there wouldnt be another forthcoming. He drank the last swallow of his own wine and placed the cup on the bar. "I must go Dobbin, good host, my thanks, but tonight i sleep below the sky". He gathered his pack and bow, he turned one last time to the men at the bar and a sneer found his lips before he could stop it. His heart needed a purpose, but much like the men themselves, his mind found the bulk of their words for lords and towns of little use, he liked to keep things simple. "This place, this Barov is north yes? Among the foothills?"

[tomcat]

"Aye, sir. You will find it along the base of the Barriers. You can either take the main road north, or use the mountain foothill trails that the hunters and shepherds use. In any case, you will know Barovia when you see the castle sitting atop the crest that surmounts the town."

[Callowmoryne]

Again the sneer, "Borovya" He could never guess why the whiteskins mangled their words. A nod was the only thnks he gave the men, and as he turned to leave he flipped another silver Dobbins way "For your little ones" And then headed for the door, his mind already wondering at the path of his feet. His horse Pedowin loved to ride at night beneath the stars, as did strongwind, perhaps it would  clear his thoughts.

[tomcat]

Strongwind rode through the evening under a sky blooming with stars. To his right, the mountains rose into the sky reaching for the very stars themselves. There was a cool wind that blew down upon him carrying the scent of pine and the occassional musk of an animal that had claimed its territory. Pedowin would whicker at times giving warning of some potential unseen threat, but nothing revealed itself to the man and horse.

When the moon began to wane, Strongwind reined in the mare and dismounted. Weariness had caught up with him and he quickly set a camp - more so, he laid out his blanket and lay down under the eves of the mountains. Pedowin was free to roam about and crop at the sweet grasses that grew in abundance.

The night passed. Two more came and went with no incident.

On Strongwind's fourth day of riding, the clouds rolled in out of the west and seemed to stack themselves up against the sides of the mountains. Rain did not fall, but a cold mist rose and fog settled in the recesses of the land. The Daqeen's clothing soon became damp and chill, as he rode - even Pedowin seemed to lose spirit, the horse's head hanging low as it walked. Then, the animal raised up, its ears back in alarm. It snorted and stamped as it smelled at the wind. Something was wrong.

Strongwind peered through the fog trying to discern any threats, but only the trees could be seen rustling in the faint breeze. Then the fog was drawn away and he could see a small village that lay down into a valley, and above it, sitting atop a rise of hills was a massive castle. The ramparts looked weathered, almost dilapidated, with dark portals overseeing the valley below. Strongwind had the impression of a great carrion bird sitting atop a branch as it waited for its prey to die.

He spurred Pedowin forward, towards the town, and towards a new adventure.

[Callowmoryne]

No one who truly knew the man would ever call Strongwind cautious, but he trusted his mounts senses more than he trusted anything. He kept Pedowin at a slow walk and strung his bow,  he also loosened the strap of his shortsword on his back. He had a mind to check for tracks to gain an idea of recent traffic passing this way, he also thought to put his own nose to the air, that thought brought a twisted grin at an old memory. In his youth, the Balkep of his tribe, which loosely translated to war captain or cheif of the hunt, would always have strongwind ride out front. He claimed Strongwind could smell a bear shitting in a cave on far side of the barrier mountains, that smile and the memory of his youth brought back that shadow of survivors guilt that had not quitre left him. His people had been burned to ash and taken by the wind. With an iron will he pushed that darkness back down into his soul. He rode on, breathing deeply through his nose, he would find what manner of beast shit hereabouts, and perhaps what cave or keep it hid within.




Track 66%
Roll(1d100)+0:
57,+0
Total:57

Scent 92%
Roll(1d100)+0:
65,+0
Total:65

[tomcat]

Strongwind looked down into the valley to the thin, winding ro :xad that led to the small town. It was rutted with hoove and wheel tracks, as if a great amount of travelers had recently arrived in Barovia... or perhaps fled. Great fir trees grew along the roads length and the valley walls, surrounding the town in a pleasent setting. Rearing above all were castle on the higher foothills, and the snow-capped mountains, stoney and gray. The clouds were still roiling against the peaks and the winds came down off the bluffs swelling the pine trees and blowing cold into his face. The air was rich with the scent of pine, but Strongwind could also sense a fetid odor, that of rotting flesh.

Strongwind's acute sense of smell also discerns the scent of burning wood. His eyes rove down the valley-side and catch sight of a thin wisp of smoke rising from the trees. A campfire?

[Callowmoryne]

Strongwind only hesitated for a second before turning his mount towards the campfire. He made no attempts to mask his aproach, but kept his bow at the ready. He tried his best Tarkus Haas impersonation, which was not all that good. "Hail, hail the fire"

[tomcat]

"Hail to you," replied a voice from the forest."If you have come to rob me, sir, then you are to late! Others before you have already stripped me of my worldly goods."

There was no fear in the voice that Strongwind heard, only resignation.

[Callowmoryne]

"Not theif, but not victim either" Strongwind said, as he slipped off of Pedowins back and walked towards the fire. Pedowin was an old hand, she walked patiently behind him eyeing the fog. "Perhaps can help, share food, for fire and story, trade fair?" He moved closer trying to get a look at this man. "Called Strongwind, am honest, but have no trickery, cross me, take life the theives left you with, do quickly so, peace between us?"

[tomcat]

The hooves of Pedowin clomped softly on the needle-covered forest floor, as Strongwind weaved his mount around and under the pines. He soon was close enough to see the smoke rising from a small fold in the valley-side and a man in a simple white robe sitting next to it. He idlely poked a stick into the coals, but then turned back to look as the Daqeen warrior approached.

The man raised an eyebrow when he saw Strongwind and then spoke, "Not a thief, eh? Well... then Aodhan be praised. The last group that looked and sounded like you were not so kind. Your accent is strange, but familiar... perhaps are you one of the many pony tribesmen that live on the other side of these mountains? If so, you are far from home. I guess the same could be said for me."

Strongwind looked at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man with a peculiar gaze. He was quite handsome, in an almost feminine way, but seemed of good build and health. There was no apparent worry of sickness or disease, though he looked to be a hermit. Still, he seemed to be conversing with himself more so than to Strongwind and he wondered at his state of mind. Yet, the Daqeen took pause when the man mentioned the deity - Aodhan, the bringer of Light - lord of the Theocrat of Ashera.

The man continued, "Yes... yes... peace between be certain. I have no wish to harm you, nor would I have the means!" He chuckled at his joke, "Please sit by the fire and warm yourself. I would appreciate the company of another honest soul. Your help, a story, and food are all welcome as well! My name is Branon, and until the winter past, I was once a proud servant of my master, Aodhan." Branon put his hand to his forehead, "Perhaps that is the reason for my fall to this level - pride! One never knows, eh?!"

He laughed heartily and pointed to the ground around his fire, "Come! Sit. This fire and this robe are all I have now, but you are welcome at my table."

[Callowmoryne]

Strongwinds knuckles whitened on the grip of his bow. "Your ears are true, am of the pony tribes to the east" He deftly unstrung his bow and leaned it against a nearby tree. He took a breath to calm himself and rifled through his pack on Pedowins rump, pulling out the last of his salted meat. "My people called Daqeen, but they no more. Crusaders from ashera see to that. Ive no love for Aodhan Brannon, but am sharing food for fire and news. We speak, maybe find a reason let you live." He busily began setting up a crude spit with whatever materials are nearby, keeping one eye on Brannon to gauge his reaction.


This is kool buddy having fun, gonna update my sheet with Pedowins stats cause i gotta fealing she will be biting and trampling people before im done here

[tomcat]

"I am not familiar with your people, but neither was I part of the crusades into the plains. I am sorry for your loss... it is sometimes so hard to see His Light." Strongwind heard the words regarding the holy light of Aodhan, but he also heard true sincerity in Branon's voice for his tribe. "Oh, I kid myself... I, too, have found it hard to find love for my god. My faith in him, my church... all broken. Pride and broken faith... perhaps that is truly why I am lowered to this." Branon looked up to the sky, as if expecting a confirmation. "I was cast from my order. Cast from the church. And now I wander, trying to bring the word of Aodhan's kind love, but I may be alone in this journey. I am certain that he has also abandoned me." The cleric looked at Strongwind, a handsome smile crossing his face, "I mean look at me! I sit in a hemp robe, penniless, shoeless, and all of the items of my state stolen by the Vistani! Most certainly I have been damned!" He then breathed in deep and his face lost its amusement, "Though I wonder what that holds for me..."

His last words ended in a whisper. Strongwind tore some meat from the now warm, cured roast, and handed it to Branon. "Bless you, sir Daqeen," was the humble reply.

They sat there quietly for a time and then Branon spoke again, "News? You asked for news. Of this area, I assume? Well... tis said that the region is suffering a plight of the undead, centered around Barovia. I was on my way to the town to see if I could lend some aid. There is a church in Barovia, but they do not pay heed to the Light of Aodhan, and so I journeyed there in hopes to offer help. And perhaps find my salvation." Again the cleric's last words fell to a whisper. "Anyway, as I lay in sleep after a long day's journey, I awoke this morning to a poniard in my face. A long-haired halfling stood atop my chest and declared my life forfeit should I not give to him and his brothers my worldly things. I declared to them that I was a man of the Light and Aodhan guided my path. He declared that Aodhan must certainly have guided me for their need was plenty and that my gold would feed them for a year." He chuckled, "They at least had the courtesy to leave me my modesty."

Branon sighed, "So, Daqeen... what is your tale. What brings you to the edge of nowhere?"