Ideals are powerful, none more so than compassion, love, and kindness. However, sometimes in the journey we lose our way and the shining morning of redemption slips further and further from our grasp. In a land of unrelenting cruelty and darkness, it is perhaps the just that are most tested, the hopeful and the righteous. The town of Vallaki roils with insurrection, years of pent up anger and feelings of non-compliance bubbling over into violence as Lady Wachter and her followers stir the citizens into a frothing mob! Pitchforks, fire, and rage rule as the legion crawls its way toward the burgomaster’s villa almost indulgently, Fiona Wachter ever vigilant in keeping the flames of fury from burning down into embers. Our heroes make haste towards the mob and attempt to formulate a plan, coming to the conclusion that they must prioritize the rescue of Ireena before anything can be done for the fair people of Vallaki, and so set in their convictions they set off at a run to beat the crowd to the mansion. Valarith brandished the holy amulet of ravenkind and called out through the spark of divinity within himself. Suddenly from the mists echo an unearthly neighing, and soon after, a ghastly and wraithlike facsimile of life in the shape of a knightly steed trots up to the holy warrior and kneels for his bidding. Upon mounting the undead yet no less noble charger newly named Alice, Ser Valarith noticed a hulking form sprinting for the lower west exit of the town, a writhing mass upon its shoulders and a single minded purpose to its movements. Elven eyes discern the form to be the deformed guard captain Izek with a loudly protesting Lady Ireena struggling for freedom, and with a shout of direction Valarith and the party pursue! The southwest gate is left creaking in the dead air as Izek makes a break for the treeline, the mist covered banks offering the safe embrace of darkness for his no doubt nefarious intentions! Justice beats hot on his heels however, as Valarith rides to the fore with fair Azalea astride his steed’s back. Just as they close to begin engaging with the mutated abductor before them, a spine chilling sound rends the night, the otherworldly howl a precursor to the coming of things of pure nightmare. Izek doesn’t startle at the sound, but he does shove Ireena into the mud at Valarith’s feet before dashing into the forest with nary a look back, and as Valarith dismounts to help Ireena up onto the ghostly horse, a dark and beastly shape steals across the rain slicked ground and darts up to him from behind, sinking brutish claws into him and yanking him from his feet. As his chain mail hits the ground and a particularly large werewolf stalks forward, the elf digs into his armour and throws the symbol of ravenkind to Azalea. After unsuccessfully attempting to intimidate and persuade the large pack into halting their attack the adventurers discover that it is Strahd himself who controls the werewolves, confirming their previous suspicions. The full moon shines baleful light upon the rain slicked mud outside Vallaki as a sickening crunch and the fading of divine light from Valarith’s pretty eyes gives way to wailing sobs of inarticulate despair among utter silence. Their goal seemingly achieved, the snarling group of werewolves attempt to slink off with nary a glance back into the misty trees, the night ruled by a permeating gloom not limited to the physical atmosphere, as the brave heroes grapple with yet another soul claimed by Strahd. As the body turns cold in the mud, those watching are treated to a curious yet sad sight, as a spectral Valarith stands up from his still form, mounting the now also spectral horse, gleaming and proud looking once more, as they give one last glance over the grieving adventurers before a neigh and whinny herald their departure into the mist. As the werewolves make their retreat, a strangely dressed couple emerge into the clearing coming from the road into Vallaki. Garbed in foreign garb and speaking with oddly accented common they seem to argue and gesture to the werewolves before the young man dismounts the clinking and jingling cart and introduces himself as the illustrious Nikael Kherav, a martial artist and dabbler in his traditional arts of subterfuge and espionage. Desperate enough to accept help in any form it may take, our group of heroes gains a new member as this fresh companion’s friend trundles along into Vallaki, grumbling in a foreign tongue as she went. With Ireena safe for the moment, the party deliberates on their next course of action...
