Iron & Gold/Curse of Strahd
Being the chronicle of my Curse of Strahd campaign but done in Iron & Gold.
7 - The Blood On The Vine Inn[0]
They went back to the road they had come in, but went deeper into the town this time. Though the day was gray, there did not seem to be mists in the same way.
“I guess we’re where we’re supposed to be,” said Felewin.
“The Lady has her own reasons,” agreed Uthrilir.
With the arrival of dawn, the town was coming to life. They heard a rooster, and a plaintive cow inside a building somewhere. Nothing looked like a barn, so presumably the villagers here took the animals in at night.
“See the marks? Something attacks at night, but the attacks started after the village was built,” said Ninefingers. “Otherwise there would be walls around the town.”
Felewin yawned. “We’re going to need a rest soon.”
“Push through,” said Uthrilir. “The day and night here are different than our own, and the sooner we get acclimated, the better.”
“Wisdom from the Lady?”
Uthrilir shook his head. “My cousin Gwarandilith. He’s a sailor. Until I got this relic, he was the nearest one to a red-headed stepchild in the family.”
“I didn’t know dwarves had that expression. Or sailors.”
Uthrilir smiled. “Our idiom really means ‘sapphire in the rubies,’ but I translated. And Gwarandilith is a good person, just a touch…claustrophopic.”
“Bad for a dwarf?”
“Very bad.” They had come to the village square, such as it was. Felewin studied the signs; Hrelgi said, “Well, they write in the common tongue here. Store that way, Bildrath’s Mercantile” she pointed, “inn the opposite.”
“Store won’t be open yet,” said Felewin. “The inn.”
“It’s called ‘Blood on the Vine,’” said Hrelgi. “I think that’s unwholesome.”
“Everything about this village is unwholesome,” said Ninefingers.
The building was large, certainly larger than the store and the houses around it. It looked like it was once finely designed and decorated, but it—like the rest of the village—had grown shabby over the years. A pudgy bald man threw open the front door, under the sign, and light spilled out from inside. He glanced at the group and looked perhaps a bit too long.
Felewin said, “Open yet?”
The man nodded and disappeared inside.
Felewin looked at the others.
Hrelgi said, “Talkative, isn’t he?”
There was a pause, and then Ninefingers shrugged and Felewin started up the two steps that led to the door.
In the dimness inside, Ninefingers could see that there were three ladies huddled around a table near the door (Where they can see everyone who comes in and leaves, Ninefingers noted). The pudgy man returned to the bar, where he was wiping cups. Evidence of wealth gone past: The cups were made of glass. Scratched glass, old glass, but glass. Down the bar was a man with a pewter mug. He looked young and fit.
There was a fireplace in the middle of the room; a baffle caught the smoke and guided it into a chimney with a bend in it, presumably in case of rain. The chimney was big enough that Ninefingers could probably fit through it, though not in armor. If they’ve got monsters, there’s probably a grate in that, he thought.
Four customers, a barkeep, and the room was otherwise empty. There were a smattering of tables and chairs; the walls were decorated with stuffed animal heads; light came from skylights and from the fire. Felewin remembered that most houses had a big woodpile.
Felewin was going to stop at the first empty table they came to, but Ninefingers urged him on to the other side of the fireplace. This close to the fireplace, it was warm, but the heat died quickly in the big room.
Felewin gratefully shrugged off his pack, and the others did likewise. He looked at the others and said, “Victuals?”
The other three nodded.
He ended up beside the young man (actually, the man was probably only a couple of years Felewin’s younger; when had he started to think of that age as “young”?) and got the barkeep’s attention. “Ale if you have it. Can we get food too?”
The barkeep said, “Only wine. Ale’s not ready yet.”
“Not glass, please,” said Felewin. “I’m tired and don’t trust myself.”
The barkeep nodded and reached for pewter glasses.
“New in town?” asked the man.
“It’s obvious?”
The man inclined his head. “The company you keep. You came in this morning?”
“Last night. Someone offered their house, but that turned out to be an experience I don’t want to repeat.”
“Someone offered their house? How very un-Barovian. Arik, I’ll pay for their wine and food. We’ll be over at the table.”
“I can carry them…”
“I’ll help. I am Ismark Kolyanovich.” He handed two glasses to Felewin, who said his name and then took them. He returned to the table with Istvar close behind. Felewin introduced them.
Ismark’s manners were excellent. He almost kissed Hreli's hand but let it go before it seemed unpleasant; he offered his hand to Ninefingers and to Uthrilir.
“Welcome to Barovia,” he said. “That is the name of the town and the land.”
“Hardly seems bustling for a town named for the land,” said Uthrilir.
“We have fallen on hard times, I admit. Once…well. Those days are past.”
Arik appeared with two bowls of soup. He placed them before Felewin and Hrelgi.
“And the other two, Arik,” said Ismark.
“I’ll pass,” said Ninefingers.
“I confess I have not seen your kind before, Ninefingers. The dwarf and the elf I know. Uthrilir? By your vestments, you are a holy man?”
“I have the honour of serving the Lady,” said Uthrilir.
“But you are all still welcome. Felewin says you stayed at someone’s house last night?”
“We were trapped,” said Hrelgi.
“It was a fell place of horrors,” said Uthrilir.
“The Durst residence,” said Ismark.
“You know it,” said Felewin.
Istvar nodded. “Ghostly children appear and invite passers-by. We Barovians know not to go in. You escaped alive. Were there…more of you to start?”
“Just us,” said Felewin. “We burned the house, though apparently that does not take hold.”
Ismark nodded. “It has been burned before. But you are alive, and whole. Clearly you are of stout mettle.”
“We are tested, but I do not want to boast, for I know nothing of this land,” said Felewin, falling into the speech his mother used when entertaining diplomatic guests.
“You are, I am afraid, trapped in this land. Those who try to leave choke on the fog and die. If you last a moon without disappearing or dying, you will be the cream of those drawn here.” Arik reappeared. “Here is the other soup. Some do survive; there is wizard near the foothills of Mount Baratok who came a year ago. He tried to lead a rebellion against”—and here he raised his voice slightly—“our loving and benevolent ruler, Strahd von Zarovich, and lost. He did not die, but the experience has driven him mad.” He checked that Arik was not near and that the fireplace hid him from the women by the door, and whispered, “The Vistani women; what they hear usually gets back to Strahd. We cannot talk here.”
Ismark sat back up and said, “I offer you my hospitality. My father is burgomaster of this town, and his house is large and sturdy. Finish your soup, and I will give you a place to stay.”
“I appreciate that,” said Felewin, “and we are quite tired from our night. If I might ask, why are you here now, instead of at your fine home?”
“That is more of a story. I was trying to find help and I stayed too late; my sister will not allow anyone in after dark. Also, I did not want to risk the monsters; they have been active near our house of late. I was forced to stay here.”
Felewin considered this and glanced at the others. Seeing no disagreement, he said, “On behalf of our group, I accept your offer.”
“Capital! And now, because you are strangers to our land, I offer a brief set of highlights. Our fine wine comes from the Wizard of Wine wineries, in the west by Krezk.”
Felewin asked, “Only one winery? I am more of an ale man myself, but we shall stop by Krezk.”
“Wonderful! Ah, I see you are done.” This wasn’t quite true, but Ismark fished out some coins. “This will pay for food and drink.” Felewin looked at the coins. “Prices are slightly higher here, because of the difficulty of import.”
Ismark waved a cheery good-bye to the ladies, but a block away, he grew serious.
He checked around for people and animals, and seeing none, said quietly, “The land is under control of Strahd von Zarovich, a vampire of great power. We are hemmed in by mists, and at night, his werewolves run loose. You are lucky you did not go into one of the abandoned buildings, for they are often occupied by his zombies—men he lost in battle but still rules in death.”
“That’s awful,” said Uthrilir.
“It is. For some reason, he is obsessed with my sister, Ireena. She has been bitten twice, and will be lost after the third bite.”
“Aye,” said Uthrilir. “That is how I remember it.”
“You know of vampires?” asked Ismark.
“I am a holy knight,” said Uthrilir. “There are different types of vampires, so I would never presume to know all about any one. They must all sleep in native soil; I presume for Strahd that is anywhere in this land. He is powerful, so he can create vampire spawn, and can probably go about during the day. I would guess that Strahd is not vulnerable to weapons of mortal folks, but is vulnerable to holy relics, holy magic, and to sunlight.”
Ismark said, “We do not have much sunlight, I’m afraid, at least of the purifying type. Somehow he has isolated the land from natural sunlight. I wish to move my sister to Vallaki. It is a risk, but I am told that it is better defended.”
“We will help,” said Uthrilir.
“There are complications,” said Ismark. “Here we are; you will see.”
8 - The Funeral[1]
The burgomaster lived in a mansion, but one (like the rest of the village) that had seen better days. The iron gate was missing one door and the other swung in the wind. The yard was choked with weeds and yet there was a path around the house, where they had been trampled. Heavy claw gouges marked the walls and destroyed the beautiful finish.
“These are fresh,” said Felewin.
“They are. The monsters have attacked our house every night for the last two moons until two nights ago.”
Hrelgi asked, “What happened then?”
“My father died.” He knocked on the door. “It is me, Ismark. I bring four companions.”
A woman’s voice came from inside. “You vouch for them?”
“They are from away, so they have not yet been corrupted.”
Ninefingers muttered, “That’s hopeful.”
They heard the sounds of bolts and bars being removed, and finally the door opened.
The woman said, “Quickly!”
She was young, auburn-haired, and striking looks. Unlike the other Barovian women they had met or seen in portraits, she wore a choker around her neck.
The woman said, “I am Ireena.”
Ismark[2] apologized. “I stayed too late trying to get help; I had to stay at the inn. Fortunately, these people came in.”
“Last night?”
“This morning. They stayed at the Durst house.”
Ireena looked them up and down. “That’s impressive. Were there five in the beginning?”
Ismark smiled. “No. Only four.”
She smiled grimly. “Then they can help you with father.”
“We are taking you to Vallaki! We decided!”
“You decided! I will go to Vallaki but not while my father is dead in the house! He needs a proper burial — that is true more here than anywhere else!”
“Without father, we need to get you to Vallaki! Burials are only at sunrise, and another night could be fatal for you!”
Uthrilir said, “Funerals at sunrise? We have no such custom. Could very early morning…like now…do?”
“I don’t know,” said Ireena. “You would have to ask the village priest. If it grants Father’s soul rest…”
“Where is your father? His body?”
She led them into a side drawing room. They smelled fresh decay before they saw him, but on the floor was the body of the burgomaster in a crude coffin.
Uthrilir stopped for a moment to give a prayer. Finally Felewin said, “How far is it to the church?”
“The length of the village — we walk back to the square and take a different route off it.”
Uthrilir considered for a moment. “Felewin and I could do it but the difference in our heights would make it awkward for the taller one. Ismark, could you carry it? Ninefingers and I could spell you, but again, we are different heights. You and Felewin are closer.”
“For my father? I can do it.”
“Then let us. Although the Lady does not care when we are buried, She dislikes a laggard.”
Ismark said, “Beware splinters. Ireena and I made the coffin, but we are not journeyman woodworkers.”
Felewin said, “Have you gloves I can borrow?”
Ireena looked at his hands. “I am not sure any gloves here will fit you; I will find some.”
“Thank you, miss Ireena. I would rather small gloves for short walk than splinters for several hours.”
She smiled, showing dimples. “I am happy to do this for you.”
After she left the room, Ismark looked at Felewin. “That’s an unusual response. She is normally very…mousy. Will of steel but mousy.”
“I don’t think those go together,” said Hrelgi.
“They do with my sister.”
Ireena returned with metal gauntlets. “I know they are meant for fighting but they were all I could find. They belonged to great-grandfather Valentin, who was a big man.”
Felewin accepted them. “I will return them to Ismark,” he said as he pulled them on, “when we are done.”
“You can give them to me,” she said. “I am going.”
“Ireena!” Ismark drew her aside and the other four pretended not to hear him. “It is not safe!”
“Our father!”
“Your bite! The church is not safe for you.”
“I will not go in. If the priest is willing, I will go to the graveyard for the burial.”
“It is not safe,” repeated Ismark.
“Oh, pshaw,” said Ireena. “No villager will come near me; they are all afraid. And it is daytime, so we need not fear the monsters of the night.”
“You will stay outside?”
“Felewin can guard me.” She said seriously, “He might need help getting the gloves off.”
Ismark suppressed a smile. “Very well.”
Ninefingers elbowed Felewin in the leg. Felewin blushed. Finally he said, “Shall we carry this to the church?”
#
They were not quiet, the six of them, but there was no one outside the church to greet them. Ismark said, “Ireena, stay here with Felewin. Trust no one who approaches you.” He handed Felewin a holy symbol. Felewin turned it in his hands, looking at it.
“It is the eye of the sun,” Ireena said.
“This is a holy place,” said Ismark. “You should have a holy symbol.”
He waved to the others and they looked at Felewin and Ireena — Ninefingers might have been smirking — and then went into the church.
The church smelled of mildew. Someone was muttering in the sanctuuary ahead. Two doors lined each side of the corridor. Uthrilir touched Ismark’s sleeve and said, “Before we go on, tell us what’s happening.”
Ismark looked around. “A year ago, a wizard came and stirred up passions against Strahd. Several men from the village joined his revolution, including Donavich’s son, Doru.”
Ninefingers said, “They didn’t win.” It wasn’t a question.
Ismark shook his head. “Doru, Donavich’s only son, was turned into a vampire.”
There was a terrible scream from under the floorboards. “Father! I am so hungry!”
“He is here?” asked Hrelgi.
Ismark said, “Trapped beneath the church.”
“Let’s kill him,” Hrelgi said.
“We have a more important mission,” said Ismark. “And if we kill Doru, I do not think Father Donavich will bury my father.”
“What if we bury your father and then we kill him?”
“There’s not a lot of time,” said Ninefingers. “If the vampire—“
“Doru,” said Ismark.
“If you use their mortal names, you give them power,” said Uthrilir.
“—in either case, you said the vampire has been trapped here for nearly a year?” Ismark nodded. Ninefingers continued, “Then he is likely to remain trapped a few more days. While killing the vampire would be prudent, it would take time, and we have promised to help move Ireena.”
“You sound like Felewin,” said Hrelgi.
“If you’re going to be insulting…” said Ninefingers, but there was a smile in his voice.
“Felewin seems a good man,” said Ismark.
“He is,” said Uthrilir.
The voice screamed again, “Father!”
“We kill him after your father’s burial?”
Ismark shifted uncomfortably. “He thought to kill a vampire, and look at what he has become.”
“We will talk of this. We must talk to Dovanich—”
“Donavich,” said Hrelgi.
“Sorry, Donavich.”
“Don’t get his name wrong when we talk to him,” muttered Ninefingers.
Ismark led them into the chapel proper. It was a mess; more books than Ninefingers had ever seen outside a library bazaar were scattered around the room, open and closed. Water had dripped on them; Ninefingers could smell mildew.
“Father,” said Ismark.
The holy man held up a hand asking for a pause while he continued praying. A hundred words later, he turned and looked as Ismark with bloodshot eyes. “I do not have time to see your friends.”
“We are here because my father is dead, and he must be buried. These people were kind enough to help me carry him.”
“Dawn,” said Donavich hoarsely. “Funerals are at dawn.”
Uthrilir gently said, “Why?”
“Because dawn is sacred to the Morninglord.”
Uthrilir said, “It is still morning. It is still his time.”
“Funerals are at dawn!”[3]
“It is not very long past dawn.” This was perhaps an untruth: Between the walk to the burgomaster’s house and then here, dawn was truly gone. “Do you want a dead body around here, at night? Who knows what it will attract?”
As if on cue, another cry of “Father!” came from below.
Donavich looked at Uthrilir, defeated. “Bring the body around to the graveyard.”
There was a grave waiting. The mound of earth was flattened by rain; the grave had been there for some time. Ninefingers chose not to ask about it.
Hrelgi had no such tact.
“Did you expect the burgomaster to die?”
Ireena looked disapproving but smoothed it away.
Donavich was holding the prayer book. He looked up briefly. “No. It was for…someone else.”
Ninefingers tugged on her sleeve and when she bent down, he whispered in her ear. Hrelgi looked abashed. To cover up, she brightly said, “Do we have to sing?”
Ismark said, “In Barovia, we do not sing. We chant.”
Hrelgi nodded. “Chanting is okay.”
Ismark said “I will tell you when.”
The wind whistled about them but no mist or rain fell. Some of Donavich’s words were carried away when the wind changed direction, but they chanted (when prompted). The ceremony was surprisingly brief.
Ireena placed daisies on the coffin; Ismark and Felewin lowered the coffin down into the shallow grave.
Ismark handed Uthrilir a shovel and said, “We fill it in. The gravedigger has gone missing, and it is bad to leave a corpse out in Barovia.”
There were only two shovels, so Felewin stood there, feeling awkward until Donavich said to Ismark, “You have been kind. May I have a word with you?” He looked at Ireena and Hrelgi. “Privately.”
Ismark handed his shovel to Felewin, who took it and began throwing dirt in the grave.
“You are willing to work?” asked Ireena. “You are a worker?”
Felewin laughed. “This is not a career; it is simply what must be done, like feeding a horse or cleaning armor. Some things you get to delegate—like to your third son”—he held up a hand to signify himself—“but some things you do because they must be done.” He shrugged. “Or so my father says. I am not the heir. I expected to work at something. I had hoped to be knighted in another realm, but that has not happened yet.”
“Your father is king?” It was a question.
“Ruler. My family has ruled since the days of father’s father’s father. We do not have a king or knights, even, and I thought it was noble and removed from the messy work of governing that my father did. In turn, he father thought my desire was…quirky but harmless, and if I did get knighted, there could be diplomatic benefits. If I did not…third son.” Felewin shrugged. “I love my father, and I know I was lucky in that I was…extraneous so that I could pursue my dreams rather than the family duty.”
Ireena nodded. “Duty. I feel like Ismark does not understand that he is burgomaster now.”
Felewin resumed shoveling dirt, glad to let her talk. “It’s an inherited title?”
“Once, maybe not. But since the shadow has fallen on our land…. You will not be able to leave.”
“The mists.”
Ireena said, “You have tried them?” He nodded, and bent to resume shoveling; then he thought about it and removed his mail and gambeson. He could dig in armor, but this would go faster without.
Ismark walked back to them. “Let’s finish here and get back to the house.” He raised an eyebrow at the pile for Felewin’s mail and gambeson.
Felewin chose not to ask about the priest’s words; Ismark would tell them or not. Hrelgi had no such filter. “What’d he say?”
“Nothing that cannot wait,” Ismark said. “Let’s finish.”
Ireena raised an eyebrow at that.
Felewin said, “Ismark, why don’t you take Ireena back to the house. Take Ninefingers and Hrelgi. Uthrilir and I will stay here and finish this, and then meet you.”
“I was thinking Uthrilir and I would find a way into the under part of the church,” said Hrelgi.
“We have promised to help Ismark. Do not get sidetracked.”
“We need to finish your packing,” said Ismark.
“Most of it is done,” said Ireena.
“I have seen your room. None of it is done,” said Ismark.
“Whatever you think you need, you can probably get by with less,” said Ninefingers helpfully.
“I will take her,” said Ismark. “Mark this: when the sun is two hands above the horizon, come back to the house, whether you are finished or not. Do not approach the house after dark; we will not let you in. And thank you.”
Father Donavich stood to one side, waiting.
Felewin said, “Ninefingers, Hrelgi— go with them.” To Donavich, he said, “We’ll finish here.”
“Of course,” said Donavich. He looked at the church and took a deep breath. “I shall wait here for just a moment, and then get back to my…devotions.”
Ireena and Ismark had not been gone long when a black carriage and four black horses pulled up to the church. Donavich went pale and rushed to close the gates of the graveyard.
A tall imposing man got out and walked, almost glided, to the doors.[4]
Uthrilir made a sound. “Felewin, keep your sword within reach.”
Felewin moved around the grave so that he was near his sword.
The man looked at Donavich, who held up his holy symbol. Donavich said nervously, “You cannot enter unless invited.”
The man at Donavich and smiled cruelly. “Your knowledge of vampires is better than most. Perhaps it was learned at the hands of your son. However, you have forgotten two things. First, the symbol must be wielded with conviction, and you have none. Second, a vampire might not enter a place of residence uninvited, and a graveyard does not qualify.” He looked carefully at Donavich. “Invite me in.”
As if sleep-walking, Donavich opened the gates of the graveyard, with a squealing of metal. “Enter, Lord Strahd. Come in.”
Strahd entered. Walking over to the grave, he said, “I have come to pay my respects to the burgomaster. I am sorry that I seem to have missed the funeral.”
“It was not at…the standard time,” said Donavich, not mentioning that the standard time was earlier in the day..
“Thus the poor attendance. I see you are a holy…man, but you,” he directed this at Felewin, “are not. Kneel.”[5]
Felewin felt the urge and his knees went weak, but he did not kneel. “Among my people, we bow our heads as a gesture of respect, and you may have that…but the Yitharael do not kneel without reason.”
Strahd’s eyes flashed, and he said, “I shall remember this. I would trust you to keep yourself to your own affairs while in Barovia and do not meddle in those that do not concern you.” To Uthrilir he said, “I am always interested in other ways of worship, and I should like at some time to discuss your religion, its customs and artifacts. There might be an invitation. Please accept. I know that strangers in a land cluster together, so if you must, bring your friend.”
“Friends. There are several of us.”
“Ah. Yes, just so. Four, if you count the small green reptile.” To Donavich, he said, “Bear this message to the new burgomaster. I am sorry for his loss, and I look forward to working with him as I did with his father. I shall not contact or touch the family for a week to allow them time to grieve. Thus speaks Strahd.” He paused. “His sister Ireena is still unengaged? I have had reports of her beauty and…spirit.”
Donavich said glumly, “She is.”
“Perhaps someone will find her,” Strahd said. “Interesting to meet you both. Visitors tend not to stay long here, but perhaps you will be the exception. We—the land—hope that some part of your soul stays behind in this lovely place. Farewell.”
He turned to go, and Donavich burst out, “But Doru…can he be cured?”
Strahd looked at him. “Cured? Doru is perfect as he is.”
Strahd laughed all the way back to the carriage.
Game Mechanics
[0] Mythic theme prompt: Release a Project (NPC Positive)
[1] Mythic theme prompt: Expose Power (Remote Event)
[2] I’m going to say arbitrarily that it’s a Complex Athletics task, but Felewin rolls a 7 and makes it, and Ismark rolls a 4 and gets it.
[3] Now we see if Uthrilir manages to persuade him. Neitherof them has a skill that really applies, but Uthrilir’s Influence is 4 and Donavich’s Influence is 3. However, I’ll let him do a Gospel roll, contested. He rolls 10, margin -1. Donavich rolls 11, margin -4. Donavich is convinced.
[4] Uthrilir rolls 7 on a Prophesy roll of 8, margin of 1.
[5] The D&D spell requires a Will save. There is no equivalent to Command in Iron & Gold, so I’m going to say it’s about the same as “Emotional Charge” which can be resisted by a successful Reasoning+Composure roll. According to the OGL-Iron Gauntlets conversion rules, a 9th-level spell caster has a 2 in the crafting ability;
I’m going to have to write Strahd up eventually, but for starters, he’s F6 A7 C5 R7 I6 Skills: Stealth 4, Materia Mentus 4.
Felewin rolls a 3 on his Reason+Composure roll, margin 5; Strahd rolls a 6, ma
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