This chapter details how Strahd met the great love of his life--and eventual instrument of his death. After reading the passage, the players know the additional information:
- Tatyana, when Strahd met her, was a nineteen-year-old druid from the Barovian woods. She worshipped the deity that previously protected the valley. If the players are aware of the existence of Felis, they know the deity is Felis.
1BR
The locals saw the construction of Castle Ravenloft as a new beginning, more than the winning of the war or the naming of the valley. When the final stones and timbers were laid into what I planned to be the Von Zarovich ancestral home, the locals celebrated the day, and marked the year as the beginning of Barovia Reckoning. To many,
this was the beginning of Barovia.
To me, it was no new beginning, unless it was the beginning of the end. I am a man raised for and by the sword. Blood and war were mother and father to me as much as Barov and Branwen. With all four of them gone from me, what more had I? Rahadin was no longer my companion in battle, but the chamberlain of my castle. Sergei was gone to the mountains, studying under the surviving priests of the Morninglord, ignoring all hints that a vow of celibacy may prove fatal to our line. My only daily companion any longer was the pain of my many battles and campaigns.
This is not to wax poetic, but to speak frankly. The many wounds I'd taken over my long years had left a permanent ache in my limbs, and some of the scars still burned and itched as freshly as the day they'd been given to me. I did not complain, but apparently I needn't. The one in this world who might understand me as I am saw beneath my skin into what I hid beneath it. Rahadin, without taking my counsel, sought out one who might heal me...and he found my salvation.
When he came to me that summer morning, he announced his intentions in his blunt manner.
"My lord," he said, "I have brought your healer."
"I summoned no healer," I thought to say, but when she stepped in behind him, all thoughts left my mind. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. "Welcome," I thought then to say, but the words could barely leave my mouth.
She bowed, though she held herself with strength and poise as if she were my equal. From anyone else, I might take offense. How could I, however, when I could see no place for her in all the universe but by my side?
"This is Tatyana," Rahadin introduced. He explained to me that she was one of the druids who had lived in the serene woods of the valley. The war had reached even their remote homes, and they were as grateful as the townsfolk that I had bested our invaders--so grateful that when Rahadin inquired who among them had a healer's touch, she had not hesitated before packing everything she owned and making the long journey to Castle Ravenloft.
At the sound of her name, she raised her face to me. The clear skin, the great eye--brighter than gems--and full dark lips had all come together in such a way to make all other beings in the world ugly by comparison. I saw a subtle shift in her eye, in her stance at my coldness and silence, and I knew instantly that I must put her at ease.
I rose and took one of her hands. She straightened--how like a tall flower she was--and with a bow of my own, I lightly kissed her fingertips.
"Welcome to Castle Ravenloft, Tatyana. Look upon this as your home, as long as you are needed."
From then, I would need her forever.
The following months were like a dream. In the mornings, she sat with me and asked questions about my wounds, my pains, and my troubles. The conversation would always turn away from war, for I hated to see how hearing of it clouded her pretty face. In the afternoons she would go and slave away at her potions, poultices, and spells, and return to me only when she believed she had made something that might ease my pain. Little by little, the pain in my body began to fade away as mist fades in the dawn. I did not recognize the gods to which she prayed, but the warmth she gave to me was unlike anything I'd known.
In the evenings, if she was not tired, I would entice her into walking with me in the gardens. She spoke often of how much she loved the castle, despite how fearful she had been when she'd first arrived. Many evenings she walked with me, and she would speak to me of herself and of her family. It seemed to me those nights that I had never known beauty or youth before. No other beauty I'd seen compared to her, and the years of my youth seemed dim compared to hers.
"We were afraid, you know, when you chose to keep this valley for your own," she told me once. "We rejoiced in our freedom, but we knew you not. But these years of your rule have been peaceful, and you've taken away all our fears." She turned up her face and smiled at me then. Oh gods, how she smiled. "And me...I am not afraid anymore either. I've seen some of the beauty you've made here, which means I've seen some of your soul as well. You are a fierce warrior, but there is much warmth in you, or else you could not have made such things."
In that moment, I felt such joy that I could only laugh, and it felt good to do so. I had years of laughter stored up inside me, it seemed, and without the least effort, Tatyana was bringing it forth.
Even so, my heart was not happy. Though she walked with me, hand upon my arm, there was a shyness to her that I could not penetrate. When we spoke, she called me "Dyeda"..."elder." This form of address was perfectly acceptable and proper for her to use with me, considering our social stations and, unhappily, the difference in our ages. In Svitar, and now in Barovia, it was a sign of respect. She did not know to call me Strahd, and I decided not to correct her, concerned that it might only add to her shyness with me. Above all else, I wanted her to be at ease.
Perhaps it was my own hesitance, my own kind of
shyness, that pushed her away from me. If I had been braver, bolder, as I was in my youth, she would not have slipped from my grasp.
