Ankha
Journal #7
Dearest RK,
In the shadowed heart of Vallaki, where the macabre dance of power unfolds, I found myself entwined in the strands of your divine oath.
It was not just Izek's blood that stained my hands, but the ink of justice inscribed upon the canvas of oppression. As his form crumpled beneath our collective might, I saw it not as an act of brutality, but as the cleaving strike of retribution.
The family, confined in the cruel stocks for nothing more than the crime of “malicious unhappiness,” became witnesses to a spectacle of defiance. With rations in their hands and the promise of safety guiding them home, I discerned a nod of approval in the ethereal winds. I felt, that in freeing them, I was not just following the tenets of my oath but scribing a chapter in the annals of justice.
May my deeds be the hymns that resound in your ears, echoing through the divine tapestry of our shared purpose. Let my blade be the instrument of righteousness and may the liberated souls bear witness to the triumph of your eternal justice.
In Your Light,
Ankha
Journal #6
Dearest RK,
Juni and I have been at internal war for the forsaken family bound within the stocks.
We decided to slip out and see for ourselves while the centre square was quiet, noticing only guards were witness to those who approach those shacked in the cold night. In a daring performance I orchestrated a spectacle to draw attention away from our true intentions. The family confined in the stocks, their crime labelled as “malicious unhappiness,” became the unwitting participants in our plot. Juni, like a wraith in the night, approached the stocks under the guise of chaos, engaging in a clandestine conversation that revealed the depths of Vallaki’s injustice.
The children, held up by the cruel embrace of the stocks, stirred the embers of compassion within us both. Vows were whispered in the shadows, a solemn oath to return and liberate this family from the twisted clutches of Vallaki’s oppression.
Our plan slowly coming into fruition, Lady Watcher, a shadowy puppet mistress, the priest emerged as a potential beacon of leadership, the potential of placing rulership on the shoulders of Ireena.
Finnie suggested a ploy involving the impending demise of Izek. Blame, carefully orchestrated, could be laid on Lady Watcher’s feet, aiming to sever her roots in Vallaki’s political soil.
Within the dimly lit halls of the Baron’s mansion, our footsteps echoed through a clandestine dance of secrets and schemes. The decorations gathered for the Festival of the Blazing Sun were offered as tokens of feigned loyalty, concealing the subtle machinations that wove our intentions.
In the absence of both the Baron and Izak, the Baroness stood as our reluctant guide, her words, laced with bitterness, revealed the fractures within Vallaki’s ruling family.
Finnie quietly excused himself from the party to start the beginning of our plan, uncovering the locked door that guarded Izek’s secrets, signalling Vimak to take lead and switch places as to not cause suspicion on Finnie’s departure from the group.
Davnic, with a nimble transformation, navigated the shadows to the attic, recounting tales of children stood against the wall. Our collective breath caught as we ascended the stairs, expecting the clandestine meeting of captured children. Yet, the room unveiled itself as empty. Viktor emerged behind us, a specter in the moonlit chamber. Through delicate conversations, Viktor bared his ambitions – escape from his father’s tyranny.
With a newfound resolve to aid Vikor, we departed the mansion’s gandeur, leaving the party behind.
The Naughty Nymph, a tavern etched in the foundations of our plan, beckoned as a haven of revelations and the possible whereabouts of the elusive Izak. Finnie and Vimak slipped into the tavern’s warm embrace. Outside, the rest of us lay in the cloak of darkness, plotting the last steps of the fateful ambush for Izek.
Izek emerged from the night’s stroud, the ambush unfurled – a storm of blades, amgic, and fury against the imposing figure of Izek. Strikes landed, and the din of battle echoes through Vallaki’s deserted alleys. Izek succumbed to our relentless onslaught.
With Izek’s demise, we found ourselves standing amidst the residue of our political statement, the family, liberated from the cruel embrace of the stocks, bore witness to a macabre shift. Izek’s head crowned the stocks, carving a chilling message into the wood – “all is well,” a sinister echo of the Baron’s hollow assurance.
The liberated family, clutching their rations and the newfound promise of safety, retreated to the refuge of their home, sworn to silence about the night’s spectral dance.
In your Light
Ankha
Journal #5
Dearest RK,
Earlier as we had ventured into the heart of Vallaki, the air felt thick with whispers of despair, an unsettling parade awaited our gaze.
I found myself entangled in a dance of conflicting emotions. The sight of that family, imprisoned by the Baron’s judgement, stuck a dissonant chord within the symphony of my convictions. Their faces, veiled by paster masks, spoke volumes of the silent suffering.
In the cold, unforgiving wood of the stocks, I glimpsed the harsh reflection of a world strangled by the Baron’s definition of justice. The children, helpless and confined, wove a tapestry of innocence marred by the cruelty of circumstance. A question, as insistent as a whispered prayer, echoed in the chambers of my heart – how could this be the divine design?
The Red Knight, whose banner I bear, stands for justice and righteous fury. Yet, in the moment, the very foundations of my faith trembled beneath the weight of unjust.
The echoes of injustice, the silent cries of the restrained, stirred an oath within me – a promise etched in the fabric of my being. A commitment echoed in the depths of my gaze, a pledge to return and free these souls from their torment.
The oaths I swore, etched in the crucible of war and sacrifice, stand at a precipice. Do they condone the suffering of innocence, or do they demand a defiance against the oppressive shadows cast by false justice?
Need Your Light,
Ankha
Journal #4
Dearest RK,
Amidst the troubles of last night, I woke to find our bard sat at the bar of our only sanctuary in this place, The Blue Water Inn. She tried to explain her appearance in Vallaki but was unable to explain, excusing herself to rest from an unknown illness and overwhelming fatigue.
Saylor’s departure diverted our sights to an elf at the back of the tavern, his choice of clothing caught me off guard. The barmaid informed us the elf went by Rictavio and had a morning ritual since arriving in Vallaki.
Juni seemed intrigued by the elf and so we attempted to pursue him, we were able to follow to the town square, but it was overcrowded by the looming oppression of people stopping to stare at something in the centre of the square.
To my disgust there in the centre was a family, masked as plaster donkeys being publicly scorned in within the unforgiving stocks.
We left, with the metal note to return to the tormented family.
With plans to return to the Inn, we came across the toy shop mentioned to us earlier. Blinsky, the toymaker and his shop, a carnival of oddities, embraced us with the enthusiasm, welcoming guests to a peculiar yet morbid circus, toys each more disconcerting than the last, all bespoke the unsettling nature of Barovia, but amongst it all, a doll mirroring the visage of Ireena herself. Blinsky informed us the doll was a request of guard by the name of Izac.
Morbid curiosity – I purchased the puppet of Strahd.
Under the guise of seeking employment for more information we decided to pay the Burgormaster’s mansion a visit. Sensing shadows bearing downing on us within the walls of the mansion, the deliberate intention to unsettle us, Baron Vagus and his wife finally came to speak with us, seeming to believe our need for employment, offered small, odd jobs for the upcoming festival.
During our departure of the Manor we were met with the presents of Izak as the Baron’s wife invited us to return after fulfilling our assigns tasks.
Once more we encountered Rictavio, while out on our assignments, he spoke of the Vistani promising work only to abandon him to an unseen peril upon his arrival. His story cast more doubt in my head of the Vistani but the rest of my companions seem more trusting in them.
Rictavio enlightened us on mysterious purple lights coming from the Baron’s attic, a Lady Fiona Watcher, the enigma of Izak’s deformed arm but did not seem to want to divulge into his morning ritual.
From Rictavio’s tales, Lady Fiona Watcher became our next quest of information.
In the intricate conversation, we unfurled our purpose, knowing that the outside world was not a safe place for the direction of the conversation Lady Fiona welcomed us into her home, her aspirations came to light, an unspoken yearning for the Burgomaster’s mantle, a position she envisioned for herself. Yet, when Strahd was summoned into the conversation, her responses, a dance of shadows, hinted at allegiances left unspoken.
We are currently residing back in the sanctuary of The Blue Water Inn, we are all feeling plagued with conspiracies and decisions.
In Your Light,
Ankha
Journal #3
Dearest RK,
In Barovia's shadowed streets, the spectral procession unfurling from the church to Castle Ravenloft left an indelible mark on my soul. The ghostly echoes of past adventurers, trapped in a dance of eternal struggle, spoke volumes. Their silent cries, eternally enmeshed in the fabric of Barovia, stirred both empathy and trepidation within me.
As I gazed upon the tormented spirits, their figures marching in a melancholic cadence, a shiver ran down my spine. Their fate, a reflection of the futile battles waged against Strahd, resonated deeply. The unending cycle of despair seemed to mirror the struggles of my own quest, a relentless pursuit of justice in a land ensnared by darkness.
Ireena's return was a tumultuous reunion. As she crossed the threshold into the mansion, my heart brimmed with both relief and scepticism. The foreboding tales of vampiric curses haunted my thoughts, yet the sanctity of the threshold provided a tenuous reassurance—the promise of humanity retained.
However, later in the day took a macabre turn as Vimak's lifeless form sprawled eerily on our path. The shock of seeing him in such a state, Vimak, once a brave companion from the war, now lay in the embrace of death, a cruel reminder of the perils that envelop us in this cursed land.
The missing Vistani girl, cast shadows of doubt in my mind at those who asked for aid. Luvash and Arrigal, kin to the missing child, raised my suspicions. I questioned not just the disappearance but the very parenting within the Vistani fold. The irony of trusting those whose familial ties seemed fraught with potential deception weighed heavily on my conscience.
We interrogated the fisherman, a drunken fool tangled in misguided superstition, for the kidnapping of the Arabella. I was angered from that fool’s misjudgement in believing in childish fables, He quivered beneath the weight of our judgement and intimidation. The revelation of his atrocious act, sacrificing Arabelle to the lake's whims, tested the limits of my faith in the goodness that might yet linger in the hearts of Barovia's denizens.
The fisherman begged for his life, offering information instead of facing the Vistani. With the promise we never intended on keeping we were able to extract small amounts of information of a tower's presence overlooking Lake Baratok.
We returned the fisherman to the Vistani, after having all information he could provide us. The Vistani were grateful for the return of Arabella alive and her captive. yet, even in their gestures of thanks, Barovia's twisted reality echoed. The Vistani's potions, a promised key to escape, crumbled like illusions. Arrigal's revealed that such potions were nothing more than lies, a candid admission of their economic necessity.
Yet another part of hope crushed under the pressure of this unforgiving realm.
In Your Light,
Ankha
Journal #2
Dearest RK,
In the shadowed realms of Barovia, my heart bears the weight of choices made and paths unraveling. The encounter with the grieving woman, her daughter's fate hanging in the balance, stirred a sense of compassion. Yet, the rift within our group grows. Finnie now carries the burden of resentment, his grief twisting into a darkened cloak. I am uncertain how to bridge this divide, and the tension manifested at the Vistani tavern only deepened. Finnie's attempt to snatch notes bred discord, and Davnic's shadowy intentions cast further doubt upon our cohesion.
Saylor Twift's carefree spirit, always dancing on the fringes of quests, puzzles me. Her choice of revelry over duty confounds my understanding. Juni, a newcomer from realms unknown, walks beside us with an air of mystery. Her strength, both of faith and courage, is a welcomed ally, yet the uncertainty of her origins haunts my thoughts.
The journey through Barovia unfolds with ominous portents. The tragic revelation at the church, Doru's vampiric fate, cut deep into the marrow of my conviction. Strahd's chilling presence cast a pall over our mission. Ireena's abduction, Juni charmed, and Saylor bitten – the threads of despair are tightly woven. Vimak, Finnie, and I delved into the woods, discovering a cryptic letter accompanying a corpse. Barovia's secrets tighten their grip.
In the dim lands of Barovia, where shadows dance and secrets whisper, I find myself grappling not only with the malevolent forces that surround us but also with the complexities within our fellowship. Grant me strength, Red Knight, to navigate this tangled web of uncertainty and preserve the bonds that may yet see us through the encroaching darkness.
In Your Light,
Ankha
Journal #1
Beloved RK,
The whisper of infernal blood is a constant companion. In a moment of fatigue, I succumbed to frustration, and the flames within me burned brighter. It was a fleeting lapse, but it raises questions. Can I truly master the inferno within, or is it an ever-present specter waiting for my guard to falter? The echoes of war with Vimak persist in my thoughts, and I can't help but feel that some choices were not made in favor of my oath. Since then, the infernal blood courses through me more strongly, a reminder of the paths not taken. Grant me the strength to reconcile these conflicts, to wield both fire and justice without being consumed.
In Your Light,
Ankha
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