The Tome of Strahd

The Tome of Strahd is a magical book, seemingly Strahd's journal or autobiography, given magical properties. While it's possible that some of these properties may be from Strahd himself and intentional, the magic of the tome has interwoven with the innate magic of Barovia, creating a powerful magical item capable of submerging the reader and their nearby allies in Strahd's memories, acting out or viewing scenes long past.

Properties

The Tome of Strahd can be successfully accessed up to three times a day. It can be unsuccessfully accessed as many times as you like. A DC 15 Wisdom saving throw is required to access the Tome, dealing 1d6 psychic damage on the first failed attempt of the day, with an additional 1d6 added for each subsequent failure.
The one accessing the Tome will by default be placed in Strahd's mind in any given memory. Other allies near them will be pulled into the chosen memory seemingly at random, and either assigned supporting roles, or appearing as invisible viewers, capable of moving independently and retaining their sense of self within the scene, but unnoticed within the story of the memory itself.
If a given participant deviates from their assigned role too drastically, they may be ejected from the memory entirely.
For whatever reason, neither Sir Godfrey nor Grghshnq have ever been brought into the Tome with the party. Whether this is due to their respective natures — undead and construct — or because of some other aspect of the Tome is unknown.
Accessing the Tome of Strahd comes with side effects. For the reader, they will be granted disadvantage on their next save against Strahd's charm effects. This disadvantage stacks — for instance, if a reader has inhabited Strahd's mind four times, they will have disadvantage on their next four saves against any of Strahd's charm effects. It is impossible to negate this side effect.
For those who accompany the reader and inhabit a supporting role, they must succeed on a DC 15 Wisdom saving throw upon completion of a chapter, or be afflicted with a side effect related to the person whose mind they occupied. These side effect range in nature and severity.
For those who are brought in as unnoticed viewers, no side effects will occur.

Contents

The contents of the Tome of Strahd seem to be fully autobiographical, and not necessarily in chronological order. Whether the memories as readers experience them are accurate, or somehow twisted — intentionally by Strahd or unintentionally by the natural fallibility of memory — is unknown. However, given what the party has been told regarding what Strahd's reaction will be if he learns they have the book, it is reasonable to assume there is at least some information within that Strahd would not want them to have.

Characters

Strahd von Zarovich

The central figure of the tome. Over the course of the book, the party saw Strahd at ages 7, 31, 51, 52, his late 50s, his 60s, and various points over the ensuing centuries. As a young boy, he seemed pampered and spoiled, doted on by both his mother and his nursemaid Baba Lysaga, but not especially menacing or cold-hearted. By 31, he had already spent several years fighting his father's wars and expanding the Tverdzavian empire, and the effects of his father and Rahadin's influence were obvious, as he already bore a considerable resemblance to the colder man the party knows. By 51, that coldness had only grown, his disdain for his brother obvious. By 52, he had been corrupted enough — both by his own selfish choices and the influence of a Dark Power — that he was willing to murder his own brother for his own gain, and began the path that would lead him to become Barovia's Darklord and tyrant. In later memories, the stains on his soul were evident, and the party bore unwilling witness to the lengths he would go in both his pursuit of power and of Tatyana.

Marina Abramovich

The sixth incarnation of Tatyana Orlovsky. Marina was a young girl in the village of Berez, taken in by Strahd's presentation of a softer persona. She was killed by her fellow townspeople in a last ditch attempt to save her soul from an eternity of servitude to the dread vampire lord, leading to the destruction of Berez not long after. Like Ireena, Marina was sweet and kind, though she was considerably more naive than her — unsurprising, given their differences in age and background.

Savva Antonovich

The fifth incarnation of Tatyana Orlovsky. Savva was a nonbinary Vistana who found acceptance in their relationship with Strahd. Having grown up in abject poverty and faced the cruelty often inflicted on the Vistana both in Barovia and abroad, Savva fell for Strahd's kinder, gentler vampire lord act, and only realized after willingly becoming one of his spawn how cruel he could truly be. In part, this realization came in the form of their fellow spawn Uthemar Hanali explaining the circumstances under which he'd been turned. Ashamed by who they'd fallen in love with, and unwilling to bear witness to any more atrocities or to let themself become complicit in them, Savva submerged themself in the River Ivlis until they were destroyed.

Lord Argynvost

The noble dragon lord of the Order of the Silver Dragon, Lord Argynvost seemed to be both a typical hero in some senses — shiny armour, big sword, powerful swings — but also a shrewd enough strategist to know when a battle was lost. When both Sir Vladimir and Sir Godfrey were destroyed in the battle the party witnessed, Lord Argynvost fled the scene to regroup and make a final stand against Strahd in his dragon form.

Mishenka Dorakova

Presumably a relative of Danica, a former employee of the Blue Water Inn and member of the Keepers of the Feather. Proving that while wereravens may be more chill than your standard Barovian, they are not immune to the standard-issue Barovian transphobia, Mishenka took issue with her family's acceptance of Antonin Remizov. Worried the man — admittedly, a man who Strahd was courting at the time — would betray her family's secrets, she assassinated Antonin.

Duille

A cailleacha of days past, Duille bore witness to the final moments of Milana Khlebnikovna, and set a lovely trap for her to die a peaceful death in, rather than facing the wolves both literal and metaphorical that pursued her. Though tempted to reveal himself to the woman and try to take her to the safety of his camp, he held true to the traditional teaghlach cara approach of remaining hidden to protect the group from the threat of Strahd's attention.

Ophin Elervir

A rogue corrupted by the Dark Powers, once seen in one of Bodaway's visions from the Raven Queen. In the Tome, the party had the opportunity to see where Bodaway's vision left off, with Ophin stabbing one of her companions over a seemingly minor dispute in the bowels of Castle Ravenloft. Though she claimed no hostility against her party members, the corruption she'd sustained made her unable to see the error of her ways.

Feodora Filimonov

The second incarnation of Tatyana Ostrovsky. Feodora was a stern Vistana woman with no patience for Strahd, and his first painful lesson learned in the terms Barovia was willing to return Tatyana under. Rather than fall prey to his supernatural abilities, Feodora jumped off the bridge over Tser Falls, plummeting to her death and thoroughly re-traumatizing Strahd in the process. And yeah, even in death she remains extremely proud of that accomplishment.

Brother Grigor

Fuck Them Vamps Guard

Hey Guys Who Am I Supposed to Shoot Guard

#NotAllVamps Guard

Sir Godfrey Gwilym

Uthemar Hanali

Fistula Harlow

Sir Vladimir Horngaard

Milana Khlebnikovna

Engong Livingstone

Baba Lysaga

The dread witch Baba Lysaga, who the party killed in the ruins of Berez not long before finding the Tome, turned out to be none other than Strahd's childhood nursemaid, a woman who'd done almost as much to raise Strahd as his own mother had. It was evident, from the memories in which she's appeared, that Baba Lysaga was fixated on Strahd, protecting him with her dark magics and doting on him as if he were her own son. Given what she helped him do in the Swamp Fane, it's reasonable to suggest she was not the best influence on the boy.

Ella Mistsplitter

Imithren Orren

Tatyana Ostrovsky

Tatyana Ostrovsky was a young noblewoman from the village of Barovia, the child of Derluskan invaders — sorry, "immigrants" — long ago. With her family long having welcomed the von Zarovich rule and absorption into the Tverdzavian empire, Tatyana found herself in an unusual position when the king, Strahd, began to court her while she was in the process of falling in love with his younger brother, Sergei. Much like her later incarnation Ireena, Tatyana was a born diplomat, and did an excellent job of deflecting the boldest of Strahd's inquiries without outright offending a king. However, at some point she and Sergei must have confessed their true feelings to Strahd, as she was to be wed to Sergei in the year 351. Instead, she walked in on Strahd murdering Sergei, and fled the scene in terror. So desperate was she to escape him that, when faced with a choice between facing him and leaping to her death, she chose the latter, sending out a blind plea to the universe as she did that he never be allowed to have her.

Rahadin

Rahadin, who the party first encountered only an hour or two before reading the Tome for the first time, is Strahd's long-serving elven general, who they now know served his father before him, too. Like a bingo card of snooty elven stereotypes, Rahadin cares little for the lives of others, especially the shorter-lived races. His only interest is in war and bloodlust, and it's obvious that he was key in turning Strahd into the self-absorbed, destructive piece of shit he is today. Though he claimed to have willingly left his community of dusk elves by refusing to bow to a corrupt prince, he was in fact exiled, a fact that he does not seem to have shared with the von Zarovich family. The times when Strahd could perhaps have become a better person and Rahadin intervened are many. From his influence on Strahd as a young man to his attempts to turn Strahd back to bloodlust when Strahd sought to become a better man in his early 50s, Rahadin has always been at the man's side to ensure he becomes the worst version of himself. You gotta admire the commitment, if nothing else.

Antonin Remizov

Aksinya Rodzyanko

Scrag Stratford

Quoji Wilbis Ianxim Tohim

Toolcarver

Lazlo Ulrich

Celegal Uvarov

Kasimir Velikov

Barov von Zarovich

King Barov von Zarovich was Strahd's father, a figure who has only appeared living in one of the chapters, though his lasting influence on Strahd and those around him has been obvious throughout. A king fixated on conquest and expansion of his empire, he was away from the castle as often as not, seeing Strahd only occasionally until he was old enough to start coming into the field with him and Rahadin. He nurtured Rahadin's bloodlust, and his standards of masculinity and royal behaviour seem to have been key in shaping the man Strahd became — at least if you ask Queen Ravenovia. Despite all this, from what the party saw of him he did not seem to have the same cold malice Strahd often displayed. Then again, they never did see the man on the battlefield.

Ravenovia von Zarovich

Queen Ravenovia von Zarovich was Strahd's mother. Once, the pair were very close, but it's obvious from the memories the party has seen so far that the more he became Barov's son, the more distance sprang up between them. Though very much a royal in many ways, she seems to have valued the gentler things in life far more than most of the others who helped raise Strahd, and though she seems to have failed in preserving them in her eldest son, her attempts at keeping his little brother Sergei on her side seems to have gone rather better. Despite the distance between them, Strahd seems to have yearned for her approval at least for the rest of her life, from subsequent memories.

Sergei von Zarovich

Strahd's youngest brother and a compelling case for various nature vs. nurture arguments, Prince Sergei von Zarovich was a full 25 years younger than his older brother. Whether he would have turned out more like Strahd under other circumstances none can say, but the death of King Barov when Sergei was only 6, leaving Ravenovia to determine how he would be raised into adulthood, likely gave him a leg up in the "don't become a genocidal dickhead" department. Despite the obvious differences between them, it's clear that Sergei looked up to his older brother and wanted to connect with him, even if that respect was at times mingled with fear and intimidation. As an adult, Sergei continued to be somewhat cowed by Strahd's cold and imposing demeanour, but worked hard to become friends with him after the death of their mother. This was complicated when, not long after Ravenovia's death, they both fell in love with the same woman. Sergei thought he had finally gotten through to his brother when Strahd gave him and Tatyana his blessing to marry, but found he had tragically misjudged his brother's character when Strahd sacrificed him to gain immortality and, he hoped, Tatyana.

Juraj Wachter

Chapters

Though the Tome of Strahd wasn't divided into chapters by Strahd, it was divided into chapters by me, and I will provide the basics on them here, complete with irreverent titles Strahd would hate.

Chapter 1: Intro and Childhood

Narrative introduction

I am Ancient. I am the Land. My beginnings are lost in the darkness of the past. I was the warrior. I was good and just. I thundered across the land like the wrath of a god, but the killing years wore down my soul as the wind wears stone into sand.
It was I who was burdened with carrying on my father’s legacy. By the time my younger brother Sergei was born, I was already fighting his wars, expanding his empire, seeking to raise his name to the might and grandeur it had once known.
As a child, I was eager to become a man, to perform the heroic deeds I heard my father and his men boasting of. It was only once my time as a general was done that I realised how lucky I had been before I left. The peace which I should have treasured at my mother’s side chafed at me like chains.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Queen Ravenovia (Osrin)
• King Barov (Bodaway)
• Baba Lysaga (Ri-An)
• Rahadin (Sylvain)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. The castle is a buzz of activity as, once again, King Barov celebrates victory in the expansion of his empire. Tonight a great feast will be held in honour of the conquest of Cimbar, which fell to his rule after less than a month. The number under his rule has increased by thousands, and even those not invited to the feast have cause to celebrate: victory means new imports and food, more resources for all.
Lysaga. You are helping get the young prince ready for the feast. It breaks your heart to know as soon as his mother comes to collect him, you will have to let him fend for himself among the vipers, but at least you have this moment of peace, straightening his collar and smoothing down his lovely hair.
Strahd. You are terrified, but resolute. Tonight is the first opportunity you’ve had in over two months to show your father how much you’ve learned, to show him how proud you can make him. As Baba pulls back the hair from your brow, you survey your reflection — it is pale, but its features are schooled in quiet resolve. You know, of course, that Baba will love you no matter what — maybe as much as your own mother does. Your mother’s midwife has been there, a constant, looking after you for as long as you can remember. But she is still a servant; there’s no reason why she shouldn’t be impressed by you. Your father is another matter entirely.
Any moment now, your mother will come to collect you for the feast. Is there anything either of you want to do or say to the other before she comes?
2. Ravenovia. Your husband is back from making war, so tonight you must play many roles: regal queen and gracious hostess, for your guests; doting wife, for his ego; and watchful mother, for your young son. You know what a son means to King Barov, but you also know Strahd is not in his world yet. You will do your best to guard him from your husband’s clumsy tongue, though you know you cannot make that guarding obvious, lest you embarrass the boy.
You open the door and there he is. Your son. So young and so handsome! He looks so very solemn and grown up in his best clothes — for a moment you have some idea of what he’ll look like as a man, and it breaks your heart. But there’s no time for melancholy, or for what you think of seeing him alone with that wretched midwife again, even though you’ve given specific orders that that never be the case. Tonight is for Barov, and for Strahd, and you cannot show him an ounce of your unease — doubt is contagious. You must get him away from that sullen old witch and to the feast — how do you greet your son and lead him away?
3. Rahadin and Barov. You two have fought at one another’s sides since before Barov had a son — before he was married, in fact. Rahadin, you are 162 years old, and truth be told Barov himself still seems barely formed in your eyes, though he is, at present, likely your closest friend. Barov, you’ve grown to respect Rahadin’s strategy and thirst for blood in equal measure. You do find the dusk elf unsettling in his intensity sometimes, but… well… elves, am I right?
Tonight you will feast, drink, and boast of your exploits. Well, Barov will boast. Rahadin, if there was anyone here worth bragging to, you’d consider it. The two of you are bent in conversation at the high table, discussing the siege of Cimbar and which way to push next. Rahadin, you notice the queen enter with the young prince; Barov, you do not. What do you two do?
4. Ravenovia, you seat your son at his place at the high table. Rahadin, the general, sits on one side of your husband, you at the other, and Strahd beside you, one of your father’s less trusted confidantes at Strahd’s other side. Throughout the evening there will be toasts, performances by minstrels and jesters, and of course, at some point, a speech by Barov. Rahadin, you’re free to simply partake of the food and keep the king’s counsel. Barov, aside from making a rousing speech — a variation on the one you’ve made at dozens of feasts like this over the years — you have precious few obligations beyond looking kingly. Ravenovia, your primary duty, you know, is to look regal and beautiful and make witty conversation with whoever speaks to you. Strahd, so long as you sit up straight, don’t say anything stupid to the duke beside you, and don’t drop your fork, you’ll be fine.
Is there anything aside from these primary goals you seek to do throughout the course of the evening?
5. The hour grows late, and Ravenovia, you can see Strahd tiring beside you — of course, it is well past his bedtime, and with some of your husband’s men getting as drunk as they are, you think it best if Strahd gets to his chambers immediately. You must get your husband’s attention so he can come with you a moment and bid the boy good night — how do you do so?

Chapter 2: Sergei

Narrative introduction

All goodness slipped from my life. I found my youth and strength gone, and all I had left was death. My army settled in the valley of Barovia and took power over the people in the name of a just god, but with none of a god’s grace or justice.
While I was expanding his empire, my father died in battle. I returned home for his funeral, but found nothing there for me but the loss of the sanctuary I had once treasured.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Rahadin (Osrin)
• Ravenovia (Bodaway)
• Sergei (Sylvain)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. Strahd. You find yourself walking through the halls of the castle you grew up in — it is at once much the same as it was, and utterly foreign to you. At your side is Rahadin, once your father’s most trusted confidante, and now your own. He is a comfort to you, a little slice of the world you now know to remind you of why this world you once knew now feels so alien.
Rahadin, the mourning customs of humans are, in your observation, so brief they barely register. You have been to the funerals of human men before, and though you were closer to this one than the others, you still expect it all to be… rather perfunctory. But you have spent enough time in their company to know not to voice your feelings on the matter, so much of your time since arriving at the castle with Strahd has been spent with him in companionable silence.
As you walk through the corridors of the castle, is there anything either of you would like to say to the other?
2. Ravenovia. Finally, you no longer have to worry about the weight of your husband’s expectations on your eldest son’s shoulders. You are mourning Barov, yes. But you are also mourning the son you once knew. The knowledge that even with Barov gone, the path Strahd has set himself on seems too deeply worn to turn back from sits heavy in your chest, but if nothing else, at least you have Sergei. He still smiles and laughs and plays, as this brooding stranger returned with his father’s elven general does not.
Sergei, your mother has informed you you’re to spend time with your older brother today, to get to know him better. This is both frightening and exhilarating. Much like your father before him, Strahd seems so huge, so noble, so impressive and so old, the idea of having anything to say he might find interesting sounds less likely than the idea of your being able to defeat a dragon single-handedly. But you do yearn for his approval. You yearn for a brother in a truer sense, someone who can show you the ways of the world, someone you can turn to when you need advice. You want that so badly it feels like a fire in your chest.
The two of you, on your way to Strahd’s chambers to see if he might take some air with you, turn a corner and find yourselves face to face with both Strahd and his general Rahadin. The four of you: what do you do?

Chapter 3: War

Narrative introduction

With nothing left for me at home, I continued my father’s wars. I conquered the land that would come to be named Barovia, honouring my father, my king. I united disparate peoples, teaching them to live together under my rule, and ended the senseless clashing between the indigenous peoples, who knew nothing but disorder and disease.
Among these was a group of dusk elves, of the same breed as my father’s loyal servant Rahadin, who had since become my most trusted general. Rahadin himself had abandoned his people long ago, disgusted by the corruption and weakness in their royal lines. With his help, it was easy enough to flout the sporadic resistance these primitive peoples raised.
Another group, the Vistani, distinguished themselves. I had had my share of encounters with them over the years, as they wandered many of the lands my father and I had conquered. After a surprise attack by the feral druids of this land, I found myself at the mercy of the Vistani when, fatally wounded, I crawled into one of their camps, barely clinging to consciousness. A lesser people would have killed me then and there, or at least demanded a boon or payment in exchange for my life. But the Vistani believe in the laws of hospitality, though they have no homes of their own, and they tended to my wounds, sheltering me from the forest people and nursing me back to health, returning me safely to my camp when I was well enough to travel. They asked for nothing in return — in recognition of their nobility, I put forward the order across my lands that none of their people be harmed in battle unless no other option was available. When I became able to offer greater boons, I did so.
The druids themselves hardly bear mentioning, at least as they were. They worshipped savage “goddesses” who they claimed held dominion over the land, their lives guided by superstition and sacrifice. As my armies moved through this land, they retreated to the dense forests laying between camps, only rarely making any effort to defend their precious territory. Under my command, they would become a far greater force to be reckoned with. As for their goddesses, they were nothing but archfey with delusions of grandeur, and removing their power was an easy task.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Baba Lysaga (Bodaway)
• Priestess of Deces (Sylvain)
• Priestess of ? (Ri-An)
• Priestess of Balta (Osrin)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. The five of you, within the circle of sacred stones raised many centuries before even this moment, are in the darkest night. Of all of you, only you, Strahd, can see everything clearly — for the other four, it is only the wild flickering of the bonfire that has been kept burning since the first night you came here, and the occasional flash of a torch, that allows you to see.
The stones are huge, each 15 to 18 feet high, and they form a circle 100 feet across, spaced out at regular intervals. Priestesses, you know that if someone were to measure the circle, they would find it perfectly drawn, perfectly symmetrical. To the north, the south, the east, and the west are the 18-foot-high stones, honouring the cardinal points and the forces of nature. Carved into them are depictions of the ladies three, and those of you who still remember your goddesses know you are lashed to the stones depicting your own. The smaller stones, you all know, are carved with animals — bears, elk, hawks, goats, owls, lynxes, ravens, wolves. This is a holy place. Was.
The three of you have no idea how long you’ve been tied here — even if someone cut you free, it would take you some time to regain feeling in your limbs, and at least some of you would likely lose partial or full use of them, having been bound for so long. The first day was difficult, sweat pouring down your bodies while they tortured you. Every day since then has been an impression, not a memory — you have not eaten since before you were taken here, and you have only been given enough water to keep you clinging to life.
Baba, time has blurred for you somewhat, too. Though your life has been prolonged through the pact you made long ago, your body is still that of an old woman, and your joints ache with the vigil you’ve kept, keeping the ritual going. You will need to bathe in powerful blood after this, to alleviate your pain. But you know once it’s complete, Strahd will be stronger than ever. So you push through the discomfort — you do not know the exact nature of the reward that awaits him once he’s defeated the last of these petty fey women, but you know it will be great.
Strahd, you know exactly how long it’s been. For over four days and halfway through a fifth night, now, these priestesses have tested your patience. You had been certain that on the third day or third night they would give in — three, a nice little number from a thousand tales, to mirror their three damnable fanes, their three ladies. They did not. You thought, then, perhaps the fourth — four cardinal points, four seasons. They did not give in that night, either. If Baba Lysaga had not emphasized to you that unless the sacrifice is made willingly, it will not disempower the final fane, will not give you the incontestable power you require, you would have ripped their throats out well before now.
But you cannot. You can only continue the torture, knowing that if you outright kill them, or charm them in any way, the ritual will fail. So, as you pace around the circle with your torch, passing it before their faces to briefly blind them with the sudden bright light, studying their wounds and their wretchedness — what do you do? How do you break them?
2. Baba. A slow smile curves across your face. At last, you will be able to give your son his reward.
You step forward, raising your knife made of virgin’s bone — the blade itself virgin, having been purposely made for this, and only this — and approaching the first of the women to renounce her faith. You press the blade in deep, between the ribs, and reach your long fingers with their inhuman strength in, drawing forth her still-beating heart and plucking it from her chest as easily as another woman might pick a flower.
You turn and present the bloody prize to Strahd, smiling up at him. “Eat,” you say.
3. One by one, Baba, you pull the hearts from their chests, and present them to Strahd. One by one, Strahd, you eat your bloody prize. The blood itself does not disturb you, nor does the gory nature of your meal. It’s the chewing that throws you off — already, you’ve grown unused to solid food. There’s so much chewing involved in eating a heart.
Finally, you swallow the last mouthful of the last heart, feeling it heavy in your stomach, feeling sated and full in a way you haven’t felt since Vampyr wrought this change in you. And both of you feel it. You feel some of the magic leave this place, this silly little circle of stones.
A moment later, Strahd, you feel a rush of power, both similar to and beyond what you felt when you desecrated the shrines of the first two fanes. You take a deep breath, and you feel the land breathe with you. You feel the wind change course at your slightest thought. You feel the waters of the Luna beside you flowing — extending your senses, you feel the Raven and Ivlis rivers as well, their currents running through your very veins. A thousand pinpricks of awareness begin to light up in your mind, and as you turn, you see a pack of wolves approaching.
Baba, you prepare to cast a spell — you are exhausted, but you will defend your son against whatever latest trick these druids have — but Strahd holds up a finger and you watch, bewildered, as he goes to meet the wolves. Your wonder only grows when they sink down, one by one, and bow to him.
Strahd, you feel yourself smiling, your eyes travelling over the woods in the distance as you realize just what you’ve inherited.

Chapter 4: Ravenovia's Death

Narrative introduction

As my grip on this land tightened, I scoured our vast kingdom for the most talented artisans and magicians I could find. I ordered them to build a castle, far beyond the one my parents had known, and decreed that it would be named in my mother’s honour.
While they built, I began to study some of the magics of these paragons, becoming a force to be reckoned with not only in strategy and on the battlefield, but in harnessing the very laws of reality and bending them to my will.
I called my mother to this new land — the one I had conquered on my own, in the von Zarovich name. I invited her and that dissolute noble she called a son to come live in the castle I had built for her.
I called for both of them. Only Sergei came, with her body. She had begun the journey, but not made it to Barovia, to the castle that should have been her home in old age. My brother, who she had kept so long guarded from the unpleasant realities of life, couldn’t even keep her alive in a royal convoy.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Rahadin (Bodaway)
• Sergei (Osrin)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. Strahd. It seems that it’s your legacy to honour your parents, only to discover they haven’t lived to enjoy it. You conquered this land and named it for your father, only to discover he had died a month before. You built this castle overlooking the beauty of the valley and named it for your mother, only to have her die on her way here. Is your regard such a curse, that it can’t be bestowed on anyone without their prompt death?
Such have been your thoughts since your brother arrived. Your brother, without a care in the world or an accomplishment to his name, little more than a dissolute dandy, and now the only family you have left.
Such are your thoughts when you hear a knock at the door of your study, where you’ve been sitting in front of the fire, a book in your lap that’s been opened to the same page for the better part of the last hour, an untouched goblet of wine at your side.
Sergei, you too are in mourning for your mother. You’d known she was in no condition to make the journey here — her health had been declining for months, though of course she’d refused to let word of that get beyond the castle walls. But when Strahd had sent for the two of you, she’d been so eager to come. A change of scenery would do her good, she’d said. And it had seemed like it was helping, at first. The fresh air had brought some colour back to her cheeks. She’d seemed almost her old self, for a while, chatting away happily about the scenes passing by your carriage window.
But then she began to tire. And then she began to cough. And by the time you had to make an emergency stop in Vallaki, it had come as no surprise that the local healers could do nothing.
You did not give yourself time to mourn there. You would not allow word of the queen’s death to reach him from any mouth but your own. You owed him that much. So you had her body carefully packed up and you pushed on to Castle Ravenloft, a far grimmer procession than you’d intended to be part of.
Of course, you don’t blame Strahd for her death. He had only wanted to honour your mother, and you think she was much happier dying on an exciting journey than she would have been stuck in the same stuffy chambers she’d spent so much of the last couple of years in. It was good for her, getting to see more of the kingdom before she left.
But her death has left you in terrible pain, and you know it’s a grievous wound to him, too. So you’ve come to see if, perhaps, your formidable brother might be willing to talk — to commiserate, to grieve together. You knock at the door of his study and wait for him to invite you inside; you know he’s sulking in there again.
2. Rahadin. It seems to you that you’re forever looking after the fleeting emotions of humans. It seems only the other week that Barov died. Personally, you were never close with the queen; you’ve never had much time for women, and you and she shared no common interests beyond, you suppose, Barov and Strahd. Still, you bore the woman no ill will.
However, you worry about this new mood of Strahd’s. Your lot in life is to conquer and kill, to spread fear and awe through the land. Barov gave you a good life in that regard. Strahd even more so. But ever since he became preoccupied with this castle, you’ve been stuck, a dog chained in a very big yard. You miss the war days, the long campaigns out on the road with him, your victims running in terror from your blade. Now his mother is dead, and he seems content to pass his days in his study, speaking to no one, accomplishing nothing. You have begun to wonder if perhaps it might be time for you to find a new master to pledge yourself to.
Still, the decades you have spent at Strahd’s side do not warrant such quick abandonment, and you make your way to his study, to see if perhaps he’ll go for a ride with you. A trip to the village and back might be enough to remind him what he’s here for — what you both were made for. There is so much left to claim, to conquer.

Chapter 5: Tatyana

Narrative Introduction

With no family but my soft-handed brother to keep me company, I turned my mind to my own legacy. While my armies continued to expand our empire, my own taste for blood had grown weak. What is a man, if he conquers the world with no one to pass its reins to?
From all the noble families of the valley, one spirit shone above all others. She was of rare beauty and faultless demeanour, universally beloved by her people. Clever, witty, kind. Gentle, joyful, achingly beautiful. In her I saw a future beyond war, the opportunity to have the sharp edges I’d honed over decades of battle blunted into something better suited to a family and a legacy. Her name was Tatyana, and I longed for her with every bone in my body.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Osrin)
• Tatyana Ostrovsky (Bodaway)
• Sergei von Zarovich (Ayduin)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. Tatyana, it’s not as if you’re unused to being courted. You are extremely beautiful, and you know it. You like to think you haven’t let it go to your head the way some girls seem to, but you’re not unobservant and you’re not blind. You’ve seen your face, the gentle waves of your hair and the soft curves of your body. You are plenty aware what you look like, and the effect you have on men — and some women, too, though of course you’d never pursue such an inappropriate tryst. Well, at least you haven’t in some years now. Those were girlhood adventures, not suitable to a woman of your station and wise 18 years.
However, you have never been courted by someone quite so… high-profile as Strahd von Zarovich. His likeness is stamped on your kingdom’s coins. Your family’s greatest ambition is to be held in high regard by him. He could, you know, make you a queen.
The thought isn’t entirely without temptation. Queen Tatyana does, you think, have an excellent sort of ring to it. You’ve never seen yourself in a crown, but you imagine it would suit you well. And thinking of the beautiful clothing you’d be able to commission…
Well, it would be more than enough to turn most girls’ heads. But you’ve never been quite so easily taken in by daydreams and pretty words as most girls.
This isn’t to say that the count — which is what he calls himself, even though he’s been a king since the death of his father — is without his charms. He is intelligent, well-spoken, endlessly courteous. He’s quite good-looking in his way, even if that way is… dour. You have given some thought to what it would be like to slide your fingers into his hair, to let him hold you. He is quite tall, and still hard with muscle from his war years. You expect he could lift you up without an ounce of difficulty, and that idea has plenty of novelty. There is a certain romance, you know, to the idea of taking an unsmiling man and showing him how to take joy in life. Lathander knows you’ve seen plenty of girls try it.
But you’ve also seen how it generally works out for them. The charming little idiosyncrasies that first make the other person seem so interesting begin to fester into wounds that won’t quite heal. The infection spreads, poisoning their blood against one another. After a few years, all those girls can talk about is how sour their husbands are, and all those men can talk about is how empty-headed their wives are. You don’t want to have to force yourself to love your husband — you want to find a man who makes not loving him seem impossible.
Perhaps, in time, Strahd may have worn you down, if such a man hadn’t come to Barovia already.
It’s unfortunate, you know, loving the younger brother when it’s the older brother courting you. But it’s also likely the best case scenario. Strahd is a proud man. Who else would he suffer to be shown up by but his own blood? But even then, you’re well aware, there’s every chance he’ll forbid the match, or simply order you to marry him. He’d be well within his rights to do so, and your family would be fools to try to stop him. What you’d do in such a circumstance… you suppose you won’t know unless it happens.
For now, you can only try to enjoy his company, and hope it doesn’t come to that, and try to stop comparing the strong curve of his jaw to the softer edge of Sergei’s. If nothing else, it’s a beautiful day for a ride, and the two of you will soon reach Tser Falls, said to be one of the most picturesque sights in the whole valley.
Strahd, finally you have Tatyana alone, all to yourself. This is your chance, your opportunity to win her heart. You are taking her to Tser Falls, one of many jewels in your crown. What do you say to her as you ride?
2. Sergei. You’re well aware of the conundrum you’re in. You’ve always been good at reading people, and you can read the look in Strahd’s eyes when he gazes at Tatyana just as well as you can read the look in her eyes when she looks at you. It’s an untenable situation, bound to come to a head sooner rather than later, and you can’t for the life of you decide what to do about it. You desperately wish your mother were still around, that you might seek her advice.
This morning, you left the castle early, before anyone but the servants were up, grabbing food for the day on your way out through the kitchens, your travelling clothes on and a bag strapped to your back as you elected to go for a nice, long walk to clear your head.
You walked through the woods with no real purpose — you’re aware of course that some dangers lie within them, but you’ve never run into trouble, and even if you did, you have your trusty rapier at your side. A gift from one of your dearest friends, its hilt and guard made of platinum, its thin blade made of crystal but strong as steel thanks to the enchantments placed on it. It is, your friend informed you, the perfect weapon for you: it looks like a bunch of fashion with absolutely no function, but in a crisis, will never yield, never fail. It had been a good compliment. You’d been touched. And you can’t argue with the logic: it is indeed a handsome blade, and on the few occasions you’ve had to use it, it’s never let you down.
After several hours of walking, you found yourself by a massive waterfall, stunning to behold — the canyon walls up above you must be at least 1000 feet tall. You’d become aware of your aching muscles and empty belly then, and had sat down to eat, and think, and you haven’t yet found reason to move. You don’t even notice the sound of hoofbeats and conversation until they come out of the woods not 20 feet away from you, and you have a moment to think how exasperated your brother would be at your carelessness before, with a heart that seems to sink and soar in the same beat, you realize who has come here — your brother himself, unable to hide the look of displeasure from his face when he spots you, and Tatyana. She is wearing riding clothes, her hair braided back from her face, and she’s flushed with the heat of the afternoon and the exertion of the ride — and, perhaps, something more, judging by the way her eyes lock on to you. You’re suddenly aware of the dirt on your trousers and the unruly mess of your hair — it never would settle quite as sleekly as Strahd’s does. Scrambling to your feet, what do you say?

Chapter 6: Bye Sergei!!!

Narrative Introduction

I loved her with all my heart. But she spurned me. Her heart went to Sergei. They were betrothed. The date was set.
With words she called me “brother,” but when I looked into her eyes they reflected another name: “death.” It was the death of the aged that she saw in me. She loved her youth and enjoyed it. But I had squandered mine on war and conquest. She barely into womanhood, and I over half a century old — it was my fey brother and his easy laugh and unlined face she wanted.
The death she saw in me turned her from me. And so I came to hate death — my death. My hate is strong. I would not be called “death” so soon.
I made a pact with death, a pact of blood. On the day of the wedding, I killed Sergei, my brother. My pact was sealed with his blood.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Sergei von Zarovich (Sylvain)
• Tatyana Ostrovsky (Bodaway)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. Sergei. Today is your wedding day. Finally, after all the turmoil and heartache of two brothers loving one woman, after the arguments and the fear and the guilt, Strahd has given you two his blessing, and in only an hour, you will be standing before her, proclaiming your love for the world to see. Well, maybe not the entire world. At the very least all the notable residents of the castle, and the nobility from many miles around. You wish your mother could be here to share your joy, but in her absence, you’re glad that some of the distance between you and your brother has closed.
Wearing a beautifully crafted outfit and the thin circlet denoting your princehood, you find yourself pacing around one of the turret posts towards the front of the castle, ignoring the wary looks the archers keep shooting you. You needed somewhere where you could clear your head and go over your vows before dealing with your many noble guests, and you know none of them would be caught dead in such an unfurnished room — unless any of them wander off in search of a place for a quick tryst. The thought makes you laugh, unexpectedly. The guards exchange looks again, but return their eyes to their duties quickly enough.
You hear approaching footsteps and school your expression — is it time for you to go to the chapel already? Surely not. But you relax slightly when you see it is only your brother, also dressed in his finest clothing, looking as regal and unruffled as ever. You can’t help the wave of fondness that crests over you at the sight. He might be prickly, stern, and unyielding, but he is your blood, and without his blessing, you could never have known the happiness of this day. If you thought he liked dogs, you’d buy him a thousand puppies, you think.
Strahd. Here is your brother. Here is your moment. A handful of archers stand at their posts, protecting the castle. Before you stands Sergei, all dressed in white and gold, a sharp contrast to your many shades of red. What do you do?
2. Tatyana. In under an hour, you will be a princess. This on its own would be cause enough for excitement, but there is something even better: in under an hour, you will be married to the love of your life. The castle — the castle you’ll soon live in, a royal resident — is filled with guests from all over the valley and beyond. They regard you, you know, with awe and envy and disdain and cold calculation and adoration all in one. None of that matters. What matters is the look in Sergei’s eyes when he holds you, and how often you’ll be able to see that look now — every day, from now until the day you die. Even if it weren’t for how tight the wedding dress is, you think you’d still be struggling to breathe.
You just need one last moment alone with Sergei before you put on your public face. Just one last stolen kiss with him as an unmarried woman before you become husband and wife. And, of course, you know exactly where he will be — he is so much more predictable than he realizes, your poor, dear, wonderful, perfect almost-husband. You make your way to the turret post, ducking behind pillars to hide from wandering guests, pacing yourself up the winding spiral staircase — it certainly wouldn’t do to get all sweaty, there’s absolutely no time for a bath and resetting your hair before the ceremony begins.
The corridor is dim, lit only by narrow arrow slits, so it takes you a moment to realize what you’re seeing. There is Sergei, resplendent in white and gold and… red. Red stains the fine outfit you helped him choose. He hangs limp in the arms of a larger, more powerfully built figure, with a shining curtain of long dark hair — Strahd. Strahd holds them there, and he is all dressed in red, and his head is bent over Sergei’s neck, but when you stop in your tracks, he lifts it to look at you, and what you see is not the man you knew. His features are strangely contorted. His bloody mouth shows long, sharp fangs. His eyes show an unnatural flash of red. And then he leaps up, letting Sergei’s body fall limp to the ground — you know he is dead. Strahd — whatever Strahd is now — begins to run towards you, and horror and shame overtake you. What a fool you were, to ever think a man so proud and so cold would let you escape his grasp. What do you do?
3. Strahd. You can feel power coursing through your veins, could feel Vampyr beginning to bless you with abilities beyond your wildest dreaming the moment you started to drink your brother’s blood. Any horror you may have felt at the act evaporated the moment you felt that power filling you. You feel stronger, faster. You feel invincible. Even as you stand and realize with a flash of horror what Tatyana has seen, you thrill to see your vision is far more powerful than it was before — you can see, with perfect clarity, all the way down the dim hallway to the staircase she now flees to.
But you cannot allow her to run from you. You did this for her. Together, you will live forever. You will be unstoppable. You need only make her see. With time, she will come to love you, and now you have all the time in the world. You drop your brother’s lifeless body — how paltry a thing, to have ever inspired envy in you — and begin to run after her.

Chapter 7: Bye Tatyana!!!!

Narrative Introduction

Tatyana, to my dismay, saw us. She fled from me. She would not let me explain, and a great anger swelled within me. She had to understand the sacrifice I had made for her. I pursued her.
Finally, in despair, she flung herself from the walls of Ravenloft, and I watched everything I ever wanted fall from my grasp forever.
It was a thousand feet through the mists. No trace of her was ever found. Not even I know her final fate.
Arrows from the castle guards pierced me to my heart, but I did not die. Nor did I live. I became undead, forever.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Tatyana Ostrovsky (Osrin)
• Fuck Them Vamps Guard (Bodaway)
• Hey Guys Who Am I Supposed to Shoot Guard (Ri-An)
• #NotAllVamps Guard (Sylvain)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. Tatyana. You have given up all thought of dignity and propriety and unsightly sweat. You are running as hard and as fast as you can with only one thought: he cannot have you. You are no fool. You know that if he did such a foul thing, it was at least in part because of how he covets you. But you will not allow him this victory. So he has killed Sergei. So be it. You send out a wild prayer to anything listening — Lathander, the fanes, anyone — and beg this one boon of the universe, for your grief:
Let him never have you. If you must join Sergei in death to achieve this, so be it.
You run down the stairs, pushing yourself faster than you ever thought you could, ribs straining against the confines of your dress. You abandoned your shoes several steps ago. You burst through the hidden door into the dining chamber, startling several servants and an errant guest. You pay them no mind, bolting through to the other door. You can hear him closing the distance and pray you’ll be able to escape him. If not, you’ll bash your head open on the castle floors if need be. You run faster.
Strahd, you also pay no heed to the gasps of consternation around you as you follow Tatyana, through the guest dining hall, into the guests’ hall and then the great entry. All that matters is that you catch her. If she’ll just calm down and let you explain things to her, you know you’ll be able to make her understand.
You try to explain even as you chase after her. “I did this for you, my love!” No response. “I beg you to reconsider!” She keeps running. “Tatyana, we need never die! I can give you eternity! I can give you everything!”
All you get in return is a sob.
Tatyana, you keep running. Through another great hall lined with beautiful statues, into the chapel where many of your guests already sit assembled. You ignore their gasps and cries of alarm and keep running — out into the chapel gardens. You don’t know the castle as well as he does, but you know the gardens. If you can just get outside, surely you can circle around, back to the main gates, and escape him. You can steal a horse and flee this place. You can flee the von Zarovich empire, ride and keep riding until you’re beyond his grasp, leave him to live with what he’s done.
The weather reflects your mood — what was once a sunny day is now grey and cloudy, the sky roiling with a coming storm. You pay no heed to it. But you miscalculated. The gates leading to the chapel garden from the exterior of the castle are closed — no time. He’s right behind you. You have to keep running. You can’t let him win. You barrel forward, feet bleeding, lungs screaming in protest, past the startled priest — and find yourself at the overlook, only a low stone wall standing between you and the rest of Barovia. You can’t see your village — it is lost in thick fog. A 1,000-foot drop lies on the other side of the low wall. Glancing over your shoulder, you see that he is almost upon you, his features feral, his mouth still stained with your love’s lifeblood.
What do you do?
2. Strahd, you watch as she goes over the stone wall and plummets into the mists. She does not scream as she goes — she simply falls in silence, until she is lost in the fog. You will her to stop falling. You send out a mental plea to Vampyr to save her. But she is gone. After all that you have done for her, she’s gone.
Guards. Word has gotten around the castle that your master has killed his brother in gruesome fashion, that he has chased the young bride Tatyana around the castle in the guise of a beast. Following the startled cries, you have come to the overlook, where the count stands bent over the low stone wall, breathing hard, his face hidden from you. You stand armed with bows and arrows. What do you do?
3. It is not as if the arrows do not hurt. You feel each one pierce your body, and they do hurt, though not as much as they ought to — it seems pain does not reach you as it did before you became Vampyr’s champion. You do think, when the one arrow goes through your skull, that that should probably kill you. And yet, it does not.
Furious and raw with grief, you give a grim smile, pulling the arrow out through your eye, feeling it heal over even as you toss the paltry shaft down into the mists after her. You turn and regard these foolish mortal men, baring your fangs as they begin to stumble backwards, horror in their gaze. Let them run. You are eager for more blood. You are eager to lay waste to the world that dared to take her from you.

Chapter 8: Argynvost

Narrative Introduction

Still, some sought to oppose me, even once the futility of the act became clear. One such cluster of fools were the knights of Argynvost, a senile dragon with a history of meddling in the affairs of men and getting his own warriors killed in the process. They were easily dispatched, and I took pleasure in destroying the order in its entirety, claiming the great beast’s skull for one of my oldest allies.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Bodaway)
• Rahadin (Ri-An)
• Lord Argynvost (Ayduin)
• Sir Vladimir Horngaard (Sylvain)
• Sir Godfrey Gwilym (Osrin)

Stage Directions and Notes

Argynvost. For many years, you have led your knights in battle. For the last several years, you have done so from a sanctuary within Barovia — Argynvostholt. Hidden by magic from Strahd and his spies, you and your knights worked to undo his tyranny, seeking to strike at the heart of his empire, to free all the lands he and his father had conquered for their own selfish gain.
You are old. So much older than your knights. Men, women, and other genders; mostly human, with some rare exceptions; from all over the world, they have come to join you in battle. Some of your best knights are locals, Barovians who seek to free their land from Strahd and return it to the rule of the people.
Strahd was already their sworn enemy when he was only a mortal man driven by greed and bloodlust. In the last several years, he has become something much worse.
You suspected you were coming to the end, though of course you did not say so. The only words you speak to your knights are words of encouragement, strengthening their resolve and bolstering their hope. But you’ve known for some time that the tides of war were swelling against you.
For now, you continue to fight in the form most know you under: Argynvost, the nobleman who has led this order for the last 25 years. If things truly look to be at an end, you will retreat to Argynvostholt, to heal up one last time before showing Strahd exactly what sort of enemy he’s made in you. You are surrounded by hordes of the undead and those foolish mortals still loyal to Strahd, fighting off several enemies at once. Many of your knights have already fallen. Some yet stand. There is only this moment — this swing of your sword, and the next that must come.
Strahd. You have long since crushed most of the resistance to your rule. The dusk elves have barely put up a fight in years. The forest primitives cower in their makeshift shelters. And now, finally, you will extinguish the Knights of the Order of the Silver Dragon.
These interlopers have been a thorn in your side for years, but you finally uncovered their stronghold, and set a trap you knew they wouldn’t be able to resist. You were right. Most of the knights are fallen — some you have already reanimated, setting them as zombies against their own comrades.
Of those who remain, you know it is the paladin who is the threat. Only he has the ability to prevent your supernatural healing. You know, too, that he is lovers with Argynvost’s second-in-command. You look forward to watching the light go out of Vladimir Horngaard’s eyes when he sees the lifeless body of Sir Godfrey Gwilym.
Vladimir. You went into this battle keenly aware of the odds against you, but grimly confident in the ability of your order to prevail, as they have so many times before. Somewhere, everything went wrong. All around you, the dead walk, tearing into the lifeless bodies of your dearest friends and most trusted allies. Strahd’s pet elf, Rahadin, presses you closer and closer to the edge of a precipice, unrelenting in his attacks. Somewhere in the heat of battle, you lost track of Godfrey — it is so dark, and your enemies are so many, and once the battle was pushed to the rushing waters of the Luna River, everything became such chaos — you pray he is still alive. You know he must be. If he had fallen, if you had failed him so profoundly, surely you too would be struck down by the gods themselves.
Rahadin. You are pleased with the quarry you’ve found. That you, Strahd’s second-in-command, should cut down Argynvost’s second-in-command, is only right. There is a sweet, brutal symmetry to this, to backing him up to a dead end. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his pathetic lover, surrounded by your master and his creatures. You will make sure the knight sees the paladin fall, before you cut off his head.
Godfrey. You know you have nothing left. You’ve done what you can to guard your fellow knights. You gave Vlad alone 20 points of Lay on Hands. Time and time again, you’ve healed them, got them back to consciousness, let the strength of your belief guard them against attack.
But you spread yourself too thin. You are too weak, not having healed your own wounds. What healing you could offer yourself will not be enough against the enemies that surround you — and there’s a part of you that still holds back from using it on yourself, when it might be used to keep others standing.
In front of you, Strahd looms, smiling, his teeth so sharp in the moonlight. You never admitted it to Vladimir, but Strahd terrifies you. Not because of his power or his spells, his ability to heal, his resistance to the cut of a sword. Because of the cruelty that led him down this path. His ability to rationalize any course of action, so long as it’s to his benefit. What frightens you down to your core about Strahd von Zarovich is the knowledge that he truly believes he is in the right, and your belief that no being in any universe, mortal or otherwise, would ever be able to show him the error of his ways. Looking into his eyes is like looking into the darkest parts of every man’s heart.
You let your gaze slip to Vladimir, fighting Rahadin across the river, illuminated by a fallen torch. You never should have let yourself get separated from him. But perhaps it’s better this way. You think, if you’re lucky, he might not see you die. If you’re very lucky, he might even survive — but then, he’d have to be wise enough to flee for that to happen, and you love him more than your own life, but you know he’s never had that kind of wisdom.

Chapter 9: Patrina

Narrative Introduction

Other last stands were more wasteful. The dusk elves — always a nuisance of a race, by Rahadin’s account — still managed to produce the occasional exceptional specimen. One of their number, an aspiring mage like myself, had courted me before I met Tatyana, and following her death, she came to me again. But the ignorant fools she was surrounded by stoned her to death like some kind of rabid dog. I ensured they paid dearly for their sins.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Rahadin (Ri-An)
• Celegal (Bodaway)
• Kasimir (Sylvain)

Stage Directions and Notes

Rahadin. These are your people, or so they claimed as you cut them down. Of course, the dusk elves you hailed from were from another part of the world entirely — these are, at best, second cousins. Truth be told, it would have given you greater pleasure to cut down those you knew well, but these cowering dogs will have to do. You walk beside your lord as he makes for the home of their so-called leader, the brother of the witch who’d tried to ensnare Strahd in marriage.
Patrina Velikovna. Strahd, you never loved her — and you never would have, as you have loved once in your life, and her name was Tatyana, and no woman or man will ever be her equal. But you might have been happy with her, you think, for a time. She was intelligent, cunning, charming and quick. Beautiful, of course, as are most of her kind. You enjoyed talking to her. She may have taken the edge off your solitude. For a time.
But now you’ll never know what sort of wife she would have been. These mortals have taken her from your grasp. They, like all others who have sought to thwart you, have been taught the cost of disobedience.
The camp you walk through is a wreck — you personally ensured every single one of their women was destroyed before you even began to look for her loathsome, cowardly brother. Their grief will be yours tenfold. You will watch them wither and die over the centuries while you endure. You will watch the world forget their names.
Celegal. You are only a boy — by human standards, let alone elven ones. Last week you turned 13. Yesterday you went fishing in the river. Earlier today you were playing with your friends, until the army came. The devil Strahd and his traitor general, their undead, their knights. You watched an arrow pierce through the skull of your sister, and it began.
You watched so many die. You ran, screaming, from the monsters and their leaders, but none of them sought to harm you. You have not yet realized that only the women were targeted. You will not understand what has been done to you for quite some time. For now, you are hiding in the arms of Kasimir, your camp’s leader, hoping he will be able to shield you from the monsters outside.
Kasimir. You have made so many grave errors. Where to begin with your failures? If you had said something to Patrina earlier on, before Strahd became what he is now, could you have turned her from that dark path? Would what she would have become been worse than what has been done this day? None can say now. You did not deter her. You did not stop them. And now she is dead, and so are all the other women, which means your people are dead, and though dusk elves outside the realm of Barovia may yet live on, here, all of those who you know will wait to die, unable to see the light of another child’s birth for all their many, many centuries of life.
One of the few children in your group clings to you — a boy, of course. You haven’t really processed which one it is. All you know is you were going through your home, looking for something, anything to stop this — of course, you had nothing; it was always Patrina who had a head for magic — when the child barrelled in and wrapped his arms around you. Now, for lack of anything better to do, you listen to the screams outside and sit on your floor, holding the child.
Strahd. You enter Kasimir’s home and see him sat on the floor, a child clinging to him — a child who gasps and scrambles behind him when you darken the doorway. You have had your vengeance. The dusk elves will not survive Barovia. What do you say to this man, this brother of Patrina’s who did not stop his people when they stoned her to death for daring to want more than what they could offer?

Chapter 10: Adventurers

Narrative Introduction

I have studied much since then. I still lust for life and youth, and I curse the living that took them from me. Even the sun is against me. It is the sun and its light I fear the most, but little else can harm me now. Even a stake through my heart does not kill me.
I began to trace the confines of my prison — for whatever the people of Barovia may say, it has become as much my own prison as theirs. Like them, even I cannot be freed of this limbo by death or any other means. Not unless I can find a champion worthy of reigning in my stead, and if my many long years have taught me one thing, it’s that the person who can rival me in any manner is a rare being indeed.
After some years, I had my first break in the monotony of my imprisonment: a group of adventurers arrived, and somehow I knew the moment they penetrated the barrier of my domain. I sought them out, eager for the distraction, but it wasn’t long before they proved themselves disappointments. Within two weeks, half their number was dead, another driven mad and fled into the Svalich Woods, while the remaining two I bent to my will, a pair of bards who I drained the blood from and raised as my thralls.
Another 21 years passed before more strangers arrived in my land. It didn’t take long for me to sense that time in Barovia had begun to pass differently than it did in the world outside. These new adventurers spoke of lands and cities I’d never heard of, and showed no recognition of my name, once so feared across so many nations.
Having grown complacent in my dominion, these new usurpers nearly destroyed me. But two of their number were killed soon enough, and I turned the other two — a pair of mongrel half-elves — bringing them under my command as thralls, slowly building an army of those who had tried to oppose me, destined to cut down all those foolish enough to follow in their steps.
I thought this would be the rest of eternity. Waiting for new adventurers to arrive in Barovia, waiting to see how they react, how long it would take them to set their minds against me. Sooner or later, they all did — it made little difference whether I drew first blood or ignored them until they came to me. Any fool could deduce, given enough time, that I am the key to Barovia’s curse, and sooner or later every one of them chafed at their confinement as I do.
Once, a group came that did the unthinkable. A larger group than the others, comprised of two humans, two elves, and a gnome, achieved what I had thought to be impossible — what so many had tried and failed to do. They murdered me.
It had been 20 years since the last group to come through, and at first these seemed much the same as the others. The gnome, a fearsome fighter, fell to me, as did a common criminal they counted among their number, but the others killed me. The details of this death are unimportant and best not committed to paper — you’ll understand, of course, that I have no desire to repeat the experience — but I have never known a greater shock than when I felt my hold on life drifting apart after the killing blow.
The next several months were agony. I floated in between worlds, so many particles too small to be perceived by anything less than the gods, wondering if this would be the rest of eternity. It was like being flayed alive, over and over again, every moment of every day.
But over time, I felt my will returning to me. I felt my soul healing. And one night, I found myself in my body again, back in my home, and I felt the mists close around me, shrouding me in their power once again.
One of them I killed that first night — an elven woman of exceptional beauty, who I raised under my command. Another had left my lands, and as such was lost to me. The third survivor, another elf, went into hiding in Vallaki, where she conspired with the burgomaster to build herself a fortress where she might teach others to forget the horrors she had seen.
The next time adventurers came into my domain, only six years had passed, and only two arrived. I confess I was surprised the mists would offer such a paltry snack, and for a time I began to think I was losing my touch, as the pair managed to elude me for far longer than the others ever had. However, once the halfling was dead, bending her half-elf companion to my will was the work of only a few moments.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin)
• Imithren Orren (Sylvain)

Stage Directions and Notes

Imithren. You have been such a fool. Such a terrible fool. You should have known this was how it would end — your mother always told you you were the biggest mistake she ever made. She let a human dirty her loins and in exchange she got cast out of her home and saddled with you, a scrawny little mongrel who’d be lucky to live through her second century.
For a while, Rose had you convinced things weren’t so bad. Her relentless optimism, her unshakeable belief in you, and in the good in everyone. She’d made you believe too, for a while.
You should have known you’d be her doom.
The thing is, it wasn’t even a full moon. You’d always thought it had to be a full moon for werewolves, and so had she. But those men came into the clearing and you were both ready to fight them off, and then they changed, shifted into horrible things — half-man, half-wolf, the worst of both — and you’d taken a few too many hits and one of them held you still while the others tore her apart in front of her eyes. Once they tore open her guts, it was just a matter of time. What were you supposed to do for her? You’ve never been a healer. You only know how to hurt people.
You think back to those dreams you had when you first came here, that radiant elven figure who’d promised to show you how to heal — but you’ve always known when something was too good to be true, and you said no, and now you’ll never know how things might have turned out if you’d taken her up on it.
They killed Rose a few days ago. Three or four, you think. Maybe five. Hard to say. You haven’t really slept. Or eaten. You lick cracked lips and think of trying to find water. Dehydration isn’t a pretty way to go, you think. But it’s the least of what you deserve, isn’t it?
You hear no sign of him — stupid, stupid and careless, that’s what you are — but all of a sudden there he is. Strahd von Zarovich, in the flesh, not ten feet from you.
Strahd. You’ve found her. You know what you intend for her. What do you say?

Chapter 11: More Adventurers

Narrative Introduction

18 years passed before the next group came. This time there were seven. They also nearly managed to undo me through sheer force of numbers — it was at this time that I began to notice some of those who came to my realm seemed to gain powers beyond reason or nature. Gradually I realised some of them were trying to seize power by similar means to my own, hoping to replace me as ruler of this land. It was from this group that I gained two of my most treasured possessions: a goliath paladin and a gnome cleric. Their magics made it easy to destroy their compatriots, and there was a bloody justice to seeing the horror in the eyes of those who sought to undo me when they had to fight those they had loved most dearly. Of course, I didn’t always need to turn them against each other. Their own greed was often enough their undoing.

Characters

• Toolcarver (Ayduin)
• Engong (Bodaway)
• Quoji (Osrin)
• Scrag (Sylvain)
• Fistula (Ri-An)

Stage Directions and Notes

The seven of you, in the catacombs of Castle Ravenloft, have come to see this thing through once and for all: today, you will kill Strahd von Zarovich.
At least, you will if Ophin and Ella can stop arguing. They’ve been doing that more and more lately. Ophin’s gotten worse and worse at taking no for an answer, and Ella… well, Ella’s never been good at taking no for an answer. Still, your unease grows as their whispered argument gets more and more heated. Left or right. That’s literally the entire discussion. Ophin says left. Ella says right. All of you are halfway considering smacking either one of them at this point. You’ve already been through two fights today, and are not eager to waste time on more before you face the Count himself.
Engong, unable to bear any more of this ceaseless bickering, you pull a coin from your coin purse, balancing it on knuckle and thumbtip. “Why don’t we flip for it?”
And that’s where everything goes wrong. The moment Ella turns to look at you, Ophin makes her move, sliding her dagger into Ella’s temple and twisting it. Engong, you see the shock in Ella’s eyes — she’s still looking at you as she falls. Ophin lets her fall to the ground, wiping her blade clean on her sleeve, looking utterly calm.
“Well, that’s enough of that,” she says. “Now, shall we go left?”

Chapter 12: Woe is Strahd

Narrative Introduction

Amidst all these ill-fated adventurers, outcasts, and wanderers, a new diversion presented itself, one both divine and agonising.
Nearly 30 years passed before I realised she had returned to me. My Tatyana, back from the dead. Not quite as she once was, but still undeniably her. I knew it the first moment I locked eyes with her.
I did not know, back then, to seek her out. I did not have the network I would later develop, my servants and spies constantly keeping watch for her return. It was by chance that I met Feodora Filimonov, when visiting the Vistani. Her eyes were hazel instead of blue, and harder than they’d been when first I knew her, but she had the same fiery red hair and indomitable spirit.
I thought, at first, that this was the fullness of my bargain finally realised, the fates returning what they had so brutally taken from me. But Feodora had no memory of her former life, and she rejected me more fully than Tatyana ever had. For the second time, I watched my beloved fall to her death and disappear.
Ever since, I have watched for her, pursuing her time and time again, through half a dozen lifetimes. Even now that I am sure this is part of my curse, still I hope, every time, that this will be the one where I do what I must to have her. I have loved her as a noblewoman, a Vistana, a werewolf, a nobleman, a peasant girl. Through two centuries I have pursued her, and still she eludes me. Even when she returns my affection, always something goes wrong, some twist of fate to rip her from my grasp once more. In between attempts on my life, my heart was rent time and time again, until it began to feel that in those long, lonely years I was without her, there was nothing left within me at all but hatred and despair.
Others, of course, ventured into these lands in between, whether seeking its secrets or simply caught up in a cruel twist of fate. Most died nearly before I took notice of them at all, and most of those who didn’t were hardly worth noticing in the first place. None of note now have come to my land in over 100 years, and so I write this tale and resign myself to my solitude, until some new torment or diversion presents itself. But I tire of this game.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Ayduin, Bodaway, Osrin, Ri-An, Sylvain)
• Feodora Filimonov (Sylvain)
• Aksinya Rodzyanko (Osrin)
• Juraj Wachter (Ayduin)
• Uthemar Hanali (Osrin)
• Savva Antonovich (Ri-An)
• Marina Abramovich (Bodaway)
• Lazlo Ulrich (Ayduin)
• Brother Grigor (Sylvain)
• Mishenka Dorakova (Ri-An)
• Antonin Remizov (Bodaway)
• Duille (Ayduin)
• Milana Khlebnikovna (Sylvain)

Stage Directions and Notes

1. Feodora. The history of your people in these lands is long, going back many generations. The history of your people with Strahd von Zarovich is a pittance by comparison. Only a few years before you were born, he won a battle and declared this land Barovia. The year you were born, he became one of the undead, and sealed this land in the mists through which only your people can escape.
Strahd von Zarovich is nothing compared to your people — their generations of history and tradition, their legacy of perseverance and ingenuity, their songs and stories. He is less than nothing to you.
But he is powerful, there’s no denying that, and twice now he has used his charm on you, making you forget your disdain and hatred of him, turning you into a simpering, compliant fool.
You are no one’s fool, and you will be no man’s slave. You will let the River Ivlis take you before you’ll give yourself to him. You ran to the Falls to escape him, knowing running water is supposed to be a weakness for his kind. You stand now, in the center of the bridge, watching him, one hand on the railing, ready to jump if you must. You know it will be a painful death, but for some reason the thought brings you no fear. You know, somehow, that you will endure.
Strahd. You had thought her lost forever; finding Tatyana again has meant a hope you’d given up on for years. You cannot lose her again.
You are, of course, quite capable of crossing this bridge — it’s only immersion in running water that harms you, though being this close to this much of it does make you nauseous. What holds you at bay is the wild look in her eyes, that fierce determination, and the memory of Tatyana looking at you the same way right before she threw herself off a different railing, to a similar drop. You are not a man prone to emotional weakness, but your body is wrought with tension; if your heart still beat you know it would be pounding. You cannot move. You cannot think. You can barely keep your eyes focused. Somehow, it’s happening all over again.
You must stop her. How do you do so?
2a. Aksinya. Though there have been moments of strangeness now and then in the castle — little moments of deja vu since you joined your lover here — for the most part, this has been a blessing. You have never felt so accepted. You have never felt so powerful. You have never felt so loved. Tonight, he will make you even more powerful. Tonight marks the first of an eternity of nights at your lover’s side.
Strahd. She is so beautiful, and she looks at you with such trust as you lay her down beneath the stars, on the balcony of Castle Ravenloft. Finally, you have made her understand. Finally, you two will be together.
Is there anything you say to one another before you join yourselves in blood for all eternity?
2b. Strahd. You lower your mouth to her skin, and drink deep of her blood. It fills your mouth in a warm rush that feels better than any lover ever did, that rivals even your finest battles. You hear Aksinya moan beneath you in that strange space between pleasure and pain your bite induces, and you drink deeper, eager to guard her against harm forever. It is over too soon, her body still and silent, your own flush with her life, making all your senses sharper, every nerve wildly sensitive. You push her hair back from her face, studying her fine features with a mixture of fondness and fierce triumph, caressing her lifeless body as you wait for the rush to pass.
You bury her on the castle grounds, kissing her brow before you cover it with soil. Tomorrow night, she will rise. Tomorrow night, she will be yours.
You try to sleep, but find yourself merely lying there in a stupor, waiting desperately for the sun to set. Before it has the chance, you sit beside her grave under the protection of Barovia’s grey skies, waiting. The sky grows darker, and darker still, and you wait, torn between wild hope and awful fear, until finally, you see the ground begin to stir. What do you do?
2c. Aksinya. You knew it would be strange. He warned you the change could be painful — nothing moreso than the aching hunger, and he promised to take you on a wild hunt this first night, to let you drink deep and fill yourself. You were prepared for pain. But there’s no way to prepare for pain like this. You come to consciousness in agony, feel your bones shifting and your skin burning, feel wet dirt fill your mouth when you open it to scream and start wildly scrabbling your way out of the earth. As you do, visions assail you — Strahd, and a man who looks like him but younger, more handsome; a beautiful dress, just for you; Barovia lush and green under a blazing sun; falling, always falling, your body breaking.
Your body is breaking now. Strahd, it is with a wave of horror that you see her emerge, and you know immediately something is wrong. She is panicking, scrabbling wildly around, shifting from woman to wolf to something in between and back again, her skin bubbling and boiling, the stench of her rotten. She crawls towards you, grasping desperately — you have only a moment of looking into one another’s eyes, hers desperate with pain and longing and an awful heartbreak, before with a wretched scream she comes apart completely, her body turning to dust.
3a. Juraj. All considered, you’re having a pretty good time lately. Is Strahd von Zarovich a raging douchebag? Absolutely. Could you, despite this, see yourself getting railed by him? Yeah, kinda. Is the mingled confusion, fear, and newfound respect your family is treating you with since Strahd started following you around like a lovesick puppy kind of making your decade? Yup.
You know he’ll be by later, to stand around all stiff and awkward in a corner while you ask him why he’s so into genocide, and that should be fun. He keeps bringing you little treats and trinkets, and you do like treats and trinkets. For now, you’re sitting back and having a little snack, watching your older brother and father argue about the Vallakoviches again. The thing is, your father is not even a little bit of a funny guy, but when he makes a choice crack about Alexandra Vallakovich’s newest wig, it takes you so by surprise that you inhale the little cracker you’d just popped into your mouth. You feel it lodge in your throat just so and — irony of ironies, given the reputation of your gag reflex — you feel yourself start to choke. What do you do?
3b. Strahd. You have not yet decided how to handle the problem of Juraj Wachter. You do not appreciate all these twists and turns of fate. But as with every iteration of Tatyana, you have… courted him, as best you can, and tonight you will call on him again, and try to… assess the situation.
When you arrive, the usual maid answers the door, and her eyes are red with crying. When she sees you, they widen, and she takes a step back, stammering an incoherent apology. You have had an invitation to this home for months and can enter freely; what do you do?
3c. It is Juraj’s damnably dull brother Grigor who saves the Wachter family from slaughter. He gets on his knees and prostrates himself before you, hands clasped together. “Please, my lord. We did not mean to fail you like this. Please, we will serve you faithfully. We will do anything you need. Just spare me and my family, and we will be your loyal servants, I swear it.”
Do you accept, Strahd?
4a. Savva.
It is difficult not to feel like a fool, even though you know most of the fault lies with him for concealing what he is, what he has done. Some of the fault lies with you, perhaps, for not asking more questions earlier on, but a lie by omission can still be a terrible thing.
Whatever your past mistakes, you know now what you must do. You know it will be agony. Even being this close to the River Ivlis makes you nauseous and uneasy — a shame, as you’d always loved lounging beside it as a mortal.
You’ve tied enough of the weights that it’s already difficult to move, even with the unnatural strength you have now. You have more at the ready. You hope they, and your will, will be enough to keep you in the water until you are gone.
Is there anything you do before you wade into the river?
4b/ Uthemar. You are not the first stranger to be drawn in by the mists for Strahd von Zarovich’s amusement and your own ruination. You will not be the last. You know this, but there is a grim satisfaction in knowing that you have done something that will give him a taste of the aching grief that tortures you every night now. You don’t know what Savva has planned — they know as well as you do that if you knew their plans, you’d be powerless to withhold the information from Strahd if he asked. But they said goodbye to you shortly after sundown, and apologized, and you could tell they didn’t intend to come back.
Strahd, this is the first time you’ve come home to Castle Ravenloft to discover that Savva wasn’t there. They may go for walks here and there to admire the night flowers and the drift of the clouds over the moon, but they’re never gone this late.
You know, instinctively, that something is wrong. You’ve seen the growing distance between the two of you. You’ve felt them shy away from your touch.
Uthemar, you see Strahd burst into the crypt where you sleep, his fangs showing, his expression wild. You expected he’d turn up sooner or later. How do you greet this monster, your master?
5a. Marina Abramovich. You are 17 years old, and you are about to die.
They have placed you in the centre of the village, a makeshift gallows erected in your honour. You’ve never heard of an execution in Berez, though they still do them up north, in Vallaki. Before the gallows, a bonfire blazes, lighting up the night, making everyone below look frightening, their faces half in shadow, half brilliantly lit, the light flickering, changing, making their features shift.
You weep. You have been weeping for some time. When they first came and took you from your room, you screamed, cried, begged for mercy, called out for Strahd to come and save you. They gagged you, cursing you for calling out his name.
They haven’t been any more brutal than they need to be for this task. Both Brother Grigor and Burgomaster Ulrich look at you with pain and pity. They have both apologized to you. Told you that they seek only to save your soul. They told you that Strahd would have changed you into an unholy thing, an undying servant, a mindless slave to his dark passions. But he told you he would make you his queen, his countess. He has promised you a life with him. A life of comfort, and beauty, and love.
They told you that Strahd lies, that he always lies — or twists the truth to preserve his honour. They told you that they are freeing you from damnation, that you will be happier where you’re going now.
But you don’t want to go. You want to be with Strahd, not with these people who you thought had loved you all your life but now stand gathered around, ready to end you. Your parents are off to the side, heads hung low, not looking at you. Some cry out in anger, demanding your death, an end to the curse of Strahd’s presence in Berez. Others weep, held back by their friends and families, crying out that there must be another way.
You remain gagged, your hands tied behind you. A rope is tied around your neck, and you stand on a chair, heart pounding. As the men make their final preparations for your murder, Marina, do you do anything?
5b. Brother Grigor. Burgomaster Lazlo Ulrich. The two of you have taken the initiative on murdering this child. You both knew, when you made the decision, that it would be a matter of days at most before Strahd would come for you. You knew that in saving Marina Abramovich from eternity in servitude to him, you were very possibly volunteering to take her place as his servant. If you are lucky, he’ll choose only to kill you.
But both of you have heard stories enough about the Devil Strahd, about his dark perversions and what he does to those rare beauties who catch his eye, the orgies and slaughter that take place at Castle Ravenloft. You are both leaders of Berez, legally and morally. It is your duty to protect its citizens from such a fate.
The gallows are ready. The bonfire blazes. Already, you feel you have tarried too long, fear that any moment the Devil might descend on your home, seeking vengeance for the foolish girl who cried out his name. Already, you fear that left in waiting any longer, the gathered crowd will turn into a riot — either led by those eager for Marina Abramovich’s blood, or desperate to save her.
You will be remembered forever by your actions here tonight, you know. Do either of you say anything to the gathered crowd — or to Marina, or your gods — before you knock the chair out from beneath her feet?
5c. It is Lazlo Ulrich who kicks the chair away. But the hanging isn’t clean. She doesn’t go quickly. The crowd watches as her small body jerks, spasms, the seconds stretching on into eternity, before finally she is still.
Lazlo, Grigor. What do you do? How do you disperse the crowd, before you prepare to burn the body, to put her forever beyond the Devil’s grasp?
5d. Strahd. You knew something was wrong, when she wasn’t at your meeting place on time. Much of what transpires in Barovia is known to you — every dawn and every dusk, the creatures of Barovia whisper to you what they have seen, passing word to one another like wind through the branches until finally news reaches you. But it was not until after dusk that the villagers of Berez made their move. Hours from now, at dawn, you will receive word. For now, it is up to you to put the pieces together.
She was not on time, but you waited. Not long. You know it would not have made a difference, if you’d gone after her right away. The bonfire was cold by the time you reached the village, as was her body. Still, you hate yourself for that delay, remembering all the other times you were just a little too late: Tatyana, leaping out of your grasp; Feodora, following suit; Juraj, felled by a fucking snack; Savva, walking into the river. Aksinya, dying because of nothing more than your own damnably insufficient knowledge.
How many times can you fail her? How many times can the fates taunt you like this?
You walk through the dark streets of Berez, all the doors and windows shut tight, the villagers no doubt cowering within. Her body, badly burnt — not quite incinerated, but harmed enough that resurrection would be… inadvisable — had been left on the bonfire. The neck had been broken, so if nothing else, you don’t think she suffered too long.
Still, this must be answered.
It is a foregone conclusion that Berez will fall. There can be no mistaking that anyone who dares to take Tatyana from you will pay a thousandfold. All here will die. But some, perhaps, need a more personal message.
Her family, who told her to fear you. The burgomaster, without whom such an execution would never have been allowed to pass. The priest, who carved the symbol of Lathander into the ground around the fire.
Do you bother killing them personally, Strahd? Or do you simply retreat to the other side of the river, to watch Berez as you summon the waters of Barovia to wipe it out?
6a. Antonin. Dark streets. A damp night.
You walk, shoulders hunched, hands deep in your pockets.
You turn over, in your mind, the problem of Strahd von Zarovich. That you have no sexual attraction to him goes without question. The matter of romance, on the other hand…
It’s hard, letting people in, in a world that thinks what you are is perverse. In a world that seeks to have you Anzhelka instead of Antonin. In a world that sees your love of women as the twisted perversions of a confused girl, instead of the love that is only natural for a man to have.
Whatever else Strahd may be — and there’s no doubt that he’s a monster — he is the only person in your life who you know loves you exactly as you are. Some days, you think he might be the only person in your life who loves you at all.
He’s told you of magic he can find, magic to change your body if you want it. Magic he’d be willing to use to change his own body temporarily, if that’s what it took.
As you walk home from work, Antonin… what are you leaning towards? What will you say to him the next time he comes calling?
6b. Mishenka. The wind through your feathers. The rain sliding off them. You track Anzhelka through the town — your home — waiting for the right moment.
Best to follow her as a raven. Leave no tracks. Leave no trace. Get it done, abandon the weapon in the woods, return to the Blue Water Inn, and sleep, feigning ignorance when she doesn’t come to work the next day.
You’d kill her even if she didn’t know too much about your family. She’s been told nothing, but your father’s damnable soft-heartedness, offering her a job at the bar… she might be twisted, but she’s not stupid. There are strangenesses to your family that an intelligent person can’t miss for long, when kept that close.
Even if she didn’t know too much about your family, you would kill her. Better she suffer a little pain now than an eternity serving that thing. Better for Vallaki that this twisted creature stop drawing the Devil to their doorstep day after day.
You follow her, circling high enough to blend into the darkness of the night, the dagger clutched in your talons. Finally, you see your opportunity — a darkened street, no guards or witnesses in sight. You will need to take your hybrid form to bear the dagger properly, to make sure it strikes true.
How do you seize your moment? How do you kill Anzhelka Remizovna?
7a. Milana. Dark. Cold. Unfamiliar.
All your life, you have stayed in the safety of Vallaki’s walls. You were never the type to stray. You had big dreams, yes, of fame and fortune — but fame and fortune in Vallaki. You knew, after all, that no one leaves Barovia, and in Barovia there is no better place to be than Vallaki. Nowhere safer.
So you thought.
You’d believed in Vladimir von Holtz at first. You were no fool. You knew what noblemen typically thought to do with peasant singers, no matter how talented. You knew any promises he made were likely laced with poison. But you’d let yourself believe. You’d let yourself trust him.
There was something that had felt so familiar about him.
When Vladimir von Holtz revealed himself to be none other than Strahd von Zarovich, just after you two eloped, you ran. You’ve been running ever since. But the pretty shoes you wore to the little ceremony weren’t meant for running — they still cling to your feet, but barely. The lovely dress you wear, now torn and muddy and soaked through with your sweat, will not keep you warm throughout the night.
And some distance behind you, still, the wolves are howling, following you, hunting you for him. You don’t know what he truly intends to do with you. But you know it will not be the life you dreamt of. You suspect it would be no real life at all.
You have run to exhaustion and past it. You kneel now amongst the trees, chest heaving, limbs trembling, trying to will yourself to get back up, to find safety, to find something. How do you convince yourself to press on?
7b. Duille [duh-LYEH]. Your role is not to interfere. Your role is not to show yourself.
You and the other members of teaghlach cara [CHAI-lugh KA-ra] have only survived by staying hidden, keeping the secret of your survival safe. Most of the time, not interfering is easy. No outsiders have come to this land in your lifetime, and most innocents stay within the walls of the towns and villages. Those few who travel do not often deserve the fates they get, but for a hunter to be torn apart by wolves is not so unjust.
You have never seen anything like this. This woman should not be out here. Her shoes are flimsy, not made of the thick hide your people favour to keep your feet warm and safe. You can see that she is already in danger from damp and cold, her strange, thin clothing clinging to her, her body trembling, her breaths rough. In the state she’s in, you know, she will not survive the night.
The baying of the wolves is unnatural, but not unknown to you. They are after something the Bloodless wants.
You do not know what the Bloodless wants with this woman. She looks weak, frightened, sickly. You suppose she might be beautiful, if she weren’t in the state she’s in.
You think about it. You think about revealing yourself to her, taking her back to your people, to shelter with them. Even with the Bloodless looking for her, your people know how to hide from him. Off and on he’s hunted you, set your lost cousins against you. Still, you survive.
She might be able to survive with you, you think.
But you think back to your people, to your little camp, deep in the woods. You think of your elder and the priestess. You think of the babes and the other elders — those who would be the first to perish in a flight from death.
Your people have not survived this long by putting lost wanderers ahead of their own survival. You will stay hidden, this much you know.
But you think about the deaths before this woman — for surely she will die here, you know. You think about the people you have seen torn apart by wolves. You think about the warnings you and your people grow up with, facing a life forever out in the wilds of this land, unable to shelter inside manmade walls when the winter turns brutal.
They warned you that it’s when the cold starts to feel comfortable that you must find help, get to warmth any way you can. They warned you that to die in the cold feels peaceful, that you start to feel warm, sleepy. It’s the easiest thing in the world, dying in the cold.
You can’t give her a way to survive this night. But you can give her a peaceful death. You are skilled in building shelters, camouflage. You could make her a little place to hide, where the wolves won’t be likely to find her until she’s already gone. Make it enough of a shelter to feel like a boon, but not enough of a shelter to draw out her suffering.
How do you do it, Duille? How do you lead her to a gentle death without showing yourself?
7c. Milana. For a while, it was so cold. You were so afraid. But now, in your hiding place, the cold doesn’t bother you so much. You curl into it, feeling sleep starting to tug at your mind. The wolves sound distant now.
If you can just sleep for a few hours, you think, as the freezing rain pelts down outside your little shelter, you’ll be fresh and ready to keep going. You’ll find a real place to hide. Once you’ve rested a little bit.
With the last of your energy, you hum yourself a little song — not one of the ones you’ve gained fame for performing in the Blue Water Inn and the homes of Vallaki’s nobles, at town festivals and the orphanage, in the church and the square, but one from before, when you were just a girl, one of the first songs that taught you to love music. You’re a little off-key, and your voice is weak now, but you hardly notice as you drift off.
What’s the song about?

Chapter 13: Strahd the Recluse

Narrative Introduction

I now reside far below Ravenloft. I live among the dead and sleep beneath the stones of this hollow prison. I shall seal shut the walls of the stairs so that none may disturb me. Whether it is the return of Tatyana or the latest group of would-be murderers that rouses me next makes little difference.

Characters

• Strahd von Zarovich (Sylvain)

Stage Directions and Notes

Strahd.
You are Ancient.
You are the Land.
You are so tired.
A decade or so ago, that idiot burgomaster and his simpering priest took her away from you. Again. If it’s not a mob, it’s nature itself. If it’s not nature, it’s Tatyana herself.
Time and time again, you chase her. Time and time again, she is lost to you. Whether she wants to be with you or not. Whether you marry her or not. Whether she’s a her or not. Every time, she is taken from you.
It won’t be long, you know, before some new band of fools comes to try and murder you. When they do, you’ll rouse yourself again, as you’ve done before.
But you are not so bloodthirsty as your children of the night. You can rest for many years without needing to feed. This is all you want right now — to rest, until your heart aches a little less, until the task of finding her again and seeing what new path you can take to have her for good presents itself.
Rahadin will tend to your affairs. He will alert you if anything requires your attention that you do not notice first. He will watch over your servants, your empty, rotting home.
Is there anything you do, before you go to your coffin, to sleep, to await the next torment?

Thinking of becoming an unfathomably corrupted caricature of all your worst qualities? Try not to keep a diary that the forces guiding you down the path of darkness might be able to torture you with.

Item type

Book / Document