Summary
A recent gathering of adventurers in Barovia reveals a complex web of alliances and threats as they prepare to confront the dark powers that plague their land. The party, led by the aging dragonborn Pip, faces dire circumstances as he grapples with the effects of a curse that has left him 30 days from death. Despite his frailty, Pip remains determined to protect the children in their care and seeks to summon aid from the ravens of Barovia.
As the group awaits the arrival of a host of druids, they engage in discussions about the nature of their enemy, Strahd, and the dark forces at play. Hornguard, a member of the party who has returned in a new form, pledges his loyalty to Pip, recognizing the need for unity against Strahd's overwhelming power. The adventurers learn that Strahd's connection to the land is unique, and his dominion over Barovia is stronger than that of other dark lords in the realm.
The druids, led by the archdruid Tarpos, eventually arrive, bringing with them a sense of urgency and purpose. The adventurers share their knowledge of the lodestones and the Amber Temple, which could hold the key to weakening Strahd's hold on Barovia. As they strategize their next steps, the party prepares for the challenges ahead, determined to confront the darkness and restore hope to their cursed land.
Show Notes
As you might already be aware, war is mostly waiting. The fighting takes less than an afternoon. But the waiting? That takes weeks. And it gets into everything. The bread. The boots. The tempers. So we pass the time as we can. Dice, mostly. Some play cards. Others prefer the monotonous task of whittling.
Young Torbin has written three letters home and posted none. However, it's music that keeps us human. Corporal Belmont plays a weathered and poorly strung fiddle. And he plays it badly. Yet the entire camp pretends otherwise. Last night several of the dragoons sang an old folk song. No one in key. Yet for several verses no one was thinking about the river. Or the cold. Or if the person next to them won't be here tomorrow to join in our songs of victory or defeat.
I do not know when we will pick up our swords and spears and defend this land with our very lives. But until we do, I will wait and insist Belmont to keep playing.
- Recovered from the Field Journal of Captain Morrow Longacre. Dated eleven days before the Massacre at Greywater River.
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UNDEAD, Falsely Named (soft) - Sometimes known as a Wraith or Wrath. It-eth would be near to malpractice-eth for this reporter to not begin this-in entry without-eth notifying you savvy hunter that should-eth thy believe that it is truly a Falsely Named Undead that thy encounters here-in is thy suggested course of actions: run. Run and do not-eth look back for to even gaze back is to invite destruction. When enough souls are reaped within one place in a short spanse of time and if these souls are vile enough then the hells thyselves might-eth turn them back. In such matters it can occur that the souls collapse within thineselves and create a being of pure negative energies. The Wraith is the antithesis of all life, whose destruction it seeks to all measure. It should not be saw-n as one single entity or even all those many whose form it was collapsed from: once created the Wraith is more a being of negative energies than souls though several friends of mine (and I have a great many friends too for my 50th birthday party was greatly attended with so many people sending me thy well wishes that this reporters table buckled under the weight of them!) have said that in their seeing of a wraith they noted that its visage transitioned between a great many of thine souls faces that it was made of. While it may retain some memories, these are echos: not real. Thine-eth souls-eth who have been in the creations of the wraith can still-eth be heard from the wraith (and at great distance too!) For thy savvy hunter thy shall find thine wrath exists in a place of strength for undeath (whether created by thine wraith or thine wraith is created by shall here go unknown as this writer chooses not-eth to know such things.) Thy landscapes around the wraith shall be thus: dark and deadly figures haunt thy nights and a mist clings to thy chilled landscape (sometimes known as a Winter Terrorland). The Wraith is capable of slaying with a vitality draining attack and any dead it creates shall have their souls bound to the Wraith in servitude in perpetuity. Thine wraith is very scary as it transitions easily between this realm and thy place known-eth as the SCARY DIMENSION (aka the Ethereal Plane (by some bring scholars who never understood the importance of a good campfire tale (and who never showed up for my rager of a party))) with many powers that allow it to pass though at many times (thy savvy hunter should-eth be capable of viewing into the Ethereal if thy wish to win!) Thine wraith is deadly at both distances and also at not-distance (sometimes known as Touching Space) with explosive fireballs of cold and attacks that shall shake thy hunter to thy very core. The bestest ways to prevent damages is to make thyself avoidant of necromancy or to secure thyself of fortitude (though these are not guarantees! (as certain idiotic, lame, and sexless scholars who refused to turn up to my exciting party learnt one day (served them right!)) The Wraith is fearsome and immune to all weapon attacks, poison, acid, fire, cold, necrotic, lightning, thunder, psychic, and all conditions. The Wraith is resistant to attacks of Radiance and Force, making these the only two methods of normally harming it. As it is Resistant to all but two damages a savvy hunter would be behooved to fight the Wraith with it’s only known weakness: genuine sacrifice. A mortal, willingly giving their life to slay the creature is capable of overcoming the Wraith's resistances (though not its immunities!) It has also been hypothesised by more learned minds than mine that for there to be a being of pure Negative Energy there must be a link to the plane of Negative Energy though where to find and how to plug such a hole is beyond this writer.
"... Gaz, the vile deity of assassins and the hated, was only a normal halfling in those days. Many philosophers have debated why Gaz committed such an abomination to the fabric of reality: was it pride, desire for power, some other dark reason? Or perhaps as some have speculated a terrible contract given to a mortal being that was never intended on being fulfilled? Another question that has yet to be answered is how one can permanently end a god. The written and oral records are littered with deities being slain and forced to withdraw from the strands of fate for a time but never being severed in their entirety. None of these records ever mention the insanity that befell those with a divine connection to Gulliver known as Mind Sliver, the Great Fracture, or Gulliver's Madness in different contexts. We must assume that this event is somehow unique.
Spot Length: :60 Talent: 9 Hells Toy Circle Co. Title: D'Grugrial Rebrand
Over a year ago, an argument outside the old bone grinder. Two voices. One coaxing the other. Soothing assurance that whatever they might find inside will be no match for the two of them. It’ll be fine Paul, it’s only hags. The other voice, less sure, less certain, providing a laundry list of reasons they should probably turn around. The first voice lower now, more gentle. Trust me, I’ve got you. The second voice acquiesces.