Gordian Nought

Ravenloft. Revisited.

The unseeing gypsy juggled and answered each inquiry.

Simultaneously.

“Lady Eva knows.” He pitched each of the burrowing larvae onto the forest’s topsoil as the goblet hovered. “The seer who has prophesied both deaths of our Prince Von Zarovich. You are not the first to be called upon by Her.” Tremors abruptly inaugurated writhing insects constructing sultry steeds, mostly coalesced by worms. Slowly the squirming institution of six charcoal horses emerged. All equipped with a midnight-black saddle, stirrups and reigns. A quartet of helical extremities constantly shifted under the pugnacious thoraces of the still mounts, swirling like tornadoes born from a nascent thunderstorm. Whilst the ocular orbits were adorned with a pair of crimson beetles whose posterior wings served as scarlet eyelids, that never opened.

“Hopefully, you will be the last. Markus, please escort our friends to the gates.”

The mouthless proprietor of the cup finally materialized in plain sight, shedding his invisibility and hopping swiftly onto the leading mare.

Many of the Vistani began to evaporate once again into the mist, silently in the direction of their wagons. Starovir birthed parting words, before embracing the silvery air.

“Until we meet again.”

Ravenloft. Revisited.

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@JohnSolaris Zaerith Dustborn

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"You did not answer my question," Zaerith's eyes narrowed. "I asked how you expect the likes of me to help. Somehow I doubt the humbleness regarding the extent of your arcane power will improve my chances, and who is to say my powers can endure in this land any more reliably than yours?" Who knows, perhaps these people don't actually have any solid reasons to place any trust in the abilities of this ragtag group. Perhaps they're grasping at straws, approaching anyone who may remotely have a chance, hoping that one of them will succeed sooner or later. Which isn't very likely, given the track record of this "prince" of theirs...

Of course, there was no reason Zaerith could actually refuse, due to the very nature of this request. But the gypsies did not know that. And nor can Zaerith even trust the words coming out of the blind man's mouth. Unfortunately, there were no other leads to follow.

"Regardless, I happen to know of this prince you speak of." Zaerith's face was a carefully maintained mask of neutrality. "Not much by any means, but enough to tell me that he may have what I am looking for. So at the very least, I will meet with your Lady Eva and listen to what she has to say." Then he turned his face to the others, waiting to see if they have anything else to say.

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@William Cade Egil

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The fighter distrusted magic in almost all of its forms and especially in a forest such as this.

"Enough with this nonsense," Egil stepped forward and looked around at the hooded man. "Who is Lady Eva?"

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Ravenloft. Revisited.

“This magic?”

Another empty chalice climbed the palmed atmosphere like an annoying stigmata, as the rhetoric beget a stashed answer.

“Mere parlor tricks. Mystical, but fleeting. Hoarded like leavened manna. Now bursting with worms. Our powers do not reliably endure in this blessed land. Consistency is required to save our lord.”

His outstretched arm clenched the cupped trophy, now bearing several maggots, while he glared into the reincarnated eyes of Zaerith.

“If there are no more questions, we should be off.”

Ravenloft. Revisited.

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@JohnSolaris Zaerith Dustborn

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Ha! The voice in Zaerith’s mind barked out a harsh sound that he alone can hear. And there we have it! There was never a true cause to doubt my capabilities and my promise, my dear vassal, now was there?

For once, Zaerith felt humored enough to respond. Let’s not kid ourselves here, my liege. This was but mere happenstance and we both know it.

Regardless, this is your chance, is it not? The voice beginning to fill with the sadistic glee that was the one thing Zaerith knows all too well.

There was no longer the need to reply, not to the obvious. There was, however, the need to ask further questions of the blind storytelling gypsy.

“You say you are looking for heroes, to end your lord’s curse,” Zaerith began, “but how can you be sure that we are at all even capable of helping?” He raised the goblet in his hand and tapped on it, causing what remains of the green beverage inside to shake. “This drink you gave us, it is powerful magic. Far beyond what I am capable of. If you have the power to produce such magic, yet you cannot win against this prince of yours, what hopes can I possibly have?”

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Ravenloft. Revisited.

Starovir stared at the puppet and answered the initial query. “We are outcasts from Oryndoll. Led by Lady Eva, our eternal mother. We resurfaced originally upon the Vilholn Reach, before venturing the first of us into the mists of Gulthfere Forest and now here, upon the request of our prince.”

The elder refocused upon the matter of their lord.

“In life. Strahd von Zarovich. Lived as a soldier. Before becoming a tyrant. After the assassination of his father, King Barov, Strahd waged long, bloody wars against his family's enemies. He and his army cornered the last of them in a remote mountain dale before slaying them all. This valley became named Barovia. In honor. Of the recently deceased.”

A sigh pierced the bated inhalation of the man.

“Peace made the new ruler restless. Unwilling to go the way of the previous monarch, Strahd forged a pact with the Dark Powers. In return for the promise of immortality. However, jealousy is known to be a green eyed monster.”

The wreaths around his charcoal pupils, no longer washed out by the sins of an uncontrollable power, suddenly sprouted a jade hue, sparkling with sight, accommodating the lack of light in relation to the shadowy crew about him.

Ravenloft. Revisited.

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@William Cade Egil

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Egil stood barely making out what seemed to be ephemeral entities crowding about the fire. The odd looking human was talking to a cloud, as the fighter looked upon curiously.

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@Hekazu The Unnameable

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With the permission of the man who had told the story, the puppeteer nodded and raised the puppet into a slightly more prominent position. Despite him claiming it was George who wanted to ask those questions he did not even attempt any tricks, instead speaking directly and visibly through his own mouth. "The first thing is, if this is the land of your prince turned tyrant, where did you meet him? Not your own home, correct?" The puppet's head leaned to the side as the two part question was asked, conveying the feeling of curiosity.

"The other question he has for you is... who is your prince? What is his curse, in particular? You call him a tyrant who oversees all departures and had now blocked them off. This all sounds very powerful", the man added, nudging the head of his puppet back upright. Some of those questions would likely be left for later, for this Lady Eva, but all one could get to know before promising anything was a bonus.

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@BCTheEntity Talran Galelove - Medium Friendly Paladin

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Gladly, Talran sipped his brew, listening to the tale of the soldier unveiled as a prince, and indeed of the prince-turned-tyrant, if what they said bore true. And why shouldn't it? The Heroes' Feast proved their relatively positive nature, after all. The puppeteer asked if George could ask them some questions, only to ask them himself, where they met the prince, who he was and what his curse inflicted upon him. All perfectly valid questions, frankly, and perhaps worth adding to.

'I reckon it is worth asking, as well,' Talran offered, 'how antagonistic exactly the prince is. Will he be peaceable enough to those who are not strictly his foe? Or will he attack us on sight, maybe even send his soldiers after us the moment word reaches his ear of our quest to find him?' Not that that changed Talran's mind, of course; he felt it was probably worth trying to save this princely figure, at the end of the day, whether or not he found their number to be an upset to his personage.

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Ravenloft. Revisited.

The elder eyed the groomed puppet, curiously feigning a child with ocular recognition and intent.

"An inquisition would be fitting."

He coughed, not to ritualistically clear his throat, but out of frailty of the cancer brooding within. Then, with a sluggish swivel of his chin, surveying the mantle of darkness around the bonfire, he finally proclaimed.

"Verdicts do require counsel and cross examination." Starovir seemed to offer the invitation to all. "Prey away."

Ravenloft. Revisited.

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@Hekazu The Unnameable

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And that was that then. The impolite man kept strong their act of refusal, while everyone else did indeed reach for the offerings of the floating goblets. Whatever theatrics had led to that happening, he cared little of. Everyone else had joined in the drinking though, so at least not all of the fresh arrivals were unable to fathom the basic concept of manners. And once the aftertaste of the quite exquisite brew had began washing away, it was time for the promised tale.

The man sat down on the ground to listen, his legs curled up against his upper body and his arms wrapped around them. His free hand ruffled the hair of his puppet, and he let the story flow in through his ears into his head. The flames withering around one another formed imagery befitting to the story, without burning those present or telling it. The loss of an ancient home to a departure rang bells in his head, but he dared not interrupt the telling.

The arrival of a prince, the wounding of such. Healing. Becoming blessed vassals. The only ones ever allowed to leave from the now tyrant's land. It was all very interesting and definitely worth any risks taken in downing the drink. As if there had been any risks in the first place. But now they wanted them to do something about it. Perhaps. But only if there were more secrets to be found behind it... He lowered his knees down to the ground and brushed George's messy hair back into straight locks behind his back. "George would like to ask a few questions, if he may", the man requested permission from the herald.

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D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

With Judgment periodically circling above, scavenging for and distracting patrol, the beggar of a mouse, soon swelled in sickness, giving rise to a lineage of incestuous flesh and frail bones, quickly molding into the husk, Xaron had grown both weary and fond of. The peripatetic wanderings for the monk had finally evolved in its spongiform fruition, congenitally unearthed and cornered by the now fully bearded man, clothed by Minotaur hide, leaning heavy on a dragon fang as a staff.

Bound akin to a brazen serpent to a pole, fettered only by rope, Torus whispered to Leosin.

“The stint to sunder this wound has come…”

A quiet interruption soon befell the ears of the pirate.

“And force me to abandon my task?”

The druid, accustomed to the Sisyphean oblivion, irreverently birthed an academic inquiry, assuming that the man before them, would require an emergent liberation. Brannor already had departed alongside the green blood, weapons in hand, back to salvage what was lost amongst the horde, the victims of the promised rise of Tiamat. Her phenomenal mind thrived on harnessing and manipulating a striated cerebrum’s full potential.

To contract and to spark.

She was tempted to seep and possess a younger corpus, but felt the will before her would not be as quiescent as the sailor from Chult.

@Hekazu

Ravenloft. Revisited.

The unseen servants of the Vistani quickly verged upon all but one, providing grails, filled with the blessings and curses of exhumed pharaohs. The champion and his pirouetting shadow refused, despite the prods by the encroaching flames. The fog slowly dissipated its beautiful trauma, yawning out its vaporous confabulation to better encompass the five wayward souls, elaborating the dozen surrounding the sightless vizier. The man tilted his head, akin to a lost puppy, towards a teenage redhead, motioning and governing the movement of the full flagon and the dancing demitasses to its final resting place.

With one fell swoop, Starovir crowded his maw with the brew, then suddenly spat its quelled swelter upon the bonfire.

The conflagration jaunted from a callow auburn to a bitter olive green. As the fervent blades of ardor waltzed and flourished, a dark profile materialized from a myriad of nooks within the inferno’s core, coalescing into a knight mounting a dusky horse.

"We herald from an ancient land.” Trees and wagons could be gleaned within the blaze. “Whose name is long forgotten. A land of kings. Our enemies forced us from our homes, and now we wander the lost roads."

A scorching spear suddenly pierced the flank of the blistering shadow. Starovir continued.

"One night, a wounded soldier staggered into our camp and collapsed. Nursing him with wind and wine, he survived. We took him as one of our own. Pledging to return him to his birthplace.” The panorama of the blind seer perfectly pantomimed the unraveling series of events. “His enemies fell upon us like wolves. Howling and salivating: ‘He is a prince.’ Yet, we did not give him up.”

Deep in the fiery beacon, charcoal figures stood with swords drawn, fending off a host of smoky shapes. "We finally bore him. Unharmed to his home. He thanked us. 'I owe you my life. Stay as long as you wish, leave when you choose, and know that you will always be safe here.'"

The theatrical pyrotechnics swiftly dispersed in a hazy cloud of embers, whilst Starovir's face melted into a somber mask.

"A curse has befallen our noble prince. Turning him into a tyrant. We alone have the power to leave his domain. We've traveled far and wide. To find heroes. To end our dread lord's curse and put his troubled soul to rest. Our leader, Lady Eva, knows all. Will you return to Barovia with us and speak with her?"