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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 3 years

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The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

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The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash.

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her.

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry."

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw.

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..."

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.'

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand."

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...'

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan."

There is a soft chuckle in her mind.

"What's so funny? You love plans."

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile.

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.'

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable.

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last.

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow.

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view.

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--"

"You've done what?"

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--"

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..."

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe."

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword."

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to."

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm.

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that."

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave.

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight.

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things."

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.'

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now."

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.'

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...'

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in.

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd."

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours.

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing.

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to.

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago.

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you."

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again."

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..."

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool."

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead."

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--"

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--"

"You're no family of mine."

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet."

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you."

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?"

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat.

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?"

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays."

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?'

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think."

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..."

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her.

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today."

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail.

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write.

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk.

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this...

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company.

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair.

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case.

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner.

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.'

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.'

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely.

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.'

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man."

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.'

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace.

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say.

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives.

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

#ezmerelda d'avenir #rudolph van richten #curse of strahd #dnd #dungeons and dragons #fanfiction #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #erasmus van richten #ravenloft #gonna take my horse to the old svalich road #tabletop

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dndeviants · 5 years

Text

House of Vallaki

The party followed the road south to the Burgomaster’s mansion, as hurriedly as they could. With a twisted man like Izek taking Ireena captive, who knew what the man’s version of “safe” would be? Even more menacing was the fact the corpse stated that she was also in “fine company.”

Aric managed to escape the encounter unscathed, Jeeves was only lightly bruised. Linda aided Ismark, as his injuries from the fight were still severe. Ruki used her mystic power to keep her cuts from getting any worse. Vasili was no worse for wear.

Ruki dragged the Burgomaster to his own mansion... and found a three story estate, much more well-kept than the rest of the town. But even that observation wasn’t saying much. The paint was still faded and chipped, the windows foggy with grime, and vegetation overgrown on the front lawn.

Vasili turned to the burgomaster, "And Izek, your lackey lived here with you?"

Vargas stammered at the harshness of Vasili’s voice, "Y-yes! He had a room on the second floor."

Vasili nodded, then turned to the rest of his party, "Then I suppose all that is left is to decide who will retrieve Ireena from here. Ismark is in no condition to be exposed to further peril, and frankly-” He grabbed the burgomaster from Ruki, “I don't trust Vargas not to have any tricks planned."

Linda nodded, "Someone will have to stay with them, especially to keep Ismark stable."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Vasili volunteered, "Alright. Would you prefer I stay behind? I have medicine I can use to stabilize Ismark, and Vargas will be no trouble for me in this state."

Relief flooded Linda. Thank the gods someone had medicine... Ismark was in dire need of it. She helped lower Ismark to a comfortable sitting position while Vasili grabbed hold of Vargas’s bindings.

She was especially thankful for Vasili volunteering to stay behind. She could search the house for Ireena with relative peace knowing that he wouldn’t allow anyone to come in behind them.

She nodded her thanks to Vasili, smiling slightly, "That would be great. I would like to go look through the house."

Vasili returned her small smile and passed over the keys from Vargas to her before tying Vargas’s bindings to the gate behind him. He then knelt next to Ismark, checking his injuries.

Linda walked over to the door, trying to hide her blush, and found it locked. She composed herself and turned back to Vargas, jingling the key ring, “Keys?”

Vargas fumed, “The audacity of-” he cut his complaint short as Vasili glared at him and put a hand on his longsword. Vargas cleared his throat, “The large silver key!”

Linda nodded, and searched the key ring for the correct one.

Aric turned to his friend, “I’m going in with Linda. Do you need to rest, Jeeves?”

Jeeves shook his head, “I am well my lord. Only a slight bruising.”

“If you are well, we can go then,“ Aric walked over to the door, “I hope you don’t mind if we join you, Linda.“

Jeeves joined his master.

Linda looked at the two boys and smirked, “Not at all. I appreciate it.”

Ruki and Vasili exchanged glances. Ruki nodded and walked over with the rest of the party, leaving Vasili alone with Ismark and Vargas.

Linda found the correct key and inserted it into the lock. She turned it, and with a small click! opened the front door. She peered inside...

There was a long hallway, with bundles of sticks and twigs tied together, along with posters for various festivals scattered about.

Linda and the others entered, on guard. Linda turned to her younger companions, “Where first?”

Aric put a hand to his chin in thought, “If I were hiding someone in my house, I would put them in a basement but...” he pointed to a staircase to his right, “I only see stairs going up.”

Linda looked up the stairs, where the burgomaster declared Izek had stayed when they escorted him here... she looked down the hall they were in, and saw several doors leading to different rooms. She smelled the aromas of bread, and heard conversation in a room ahead of her... Upstairs seemed quiet- but she was certain she heard movement above her.

She put a hand on her gun.

Jeeves nodded to Aric, “I agree, it doesn’t seem like this house has a basement.”

"Yeah...” Linda spoke in a low voice, “I hear voices ahead, but movement upstairs. And ahead there is definitely the smell of food..."

Jeeves knelt down and picked up a twig and a flyer, "Festival of the Blazing Sun... how peculiar. There was supposed to be a bonfire for this one." Jeeves put them in his pack.

Bonfire...

For a moment, Aric was back in the square, fighting Izek... But this memory was different... Pushing Izek into a wicker ball... using Aric’s natural fire... setting him ablaze....

Aric blinked. The vision was gone. But it felt so real...

"You want to go upstairs?” Linda’s voice cut him back to reality, “Wasn't Izek's room up there?"

Ruki did not wait for him to respond, instead going upstairs with fierce determination.

"Aright... upstairs..." Linda followed Ruki’s lead.

“Hey, you alright?“ Jeeves asked Aric.

Aric nodded, “I’m fine. Let’s go,” Aric put the vision behind him. Whatever it was wasn’t important right now.

They walked upstairs and turned the corner... There was another long hallway and rooms to the right, and a small staircase heading down at the very end of the hallway. They turned to the right to search the hallway of rooms.

Ruki touched the wall, tapping into her psionics to investigate the events that transpired there within the last day. In her head, she saw servants cleaning, the burgomaster leaving... then Izek carrying Ireena, bound and gagged over his shoulder, taking her up the stairs, passing by where Ruki stood then, and turning down the first hallway... she heard a door close, then saw thugs dragging a man, bloody and unconscious down the same hallway...

Ruki snapped out of her trance, and rushed to the others, pointing down the hall, “Here! Lady Ireena is not the only person we need to save.”

Linda stared blankly at Ruki, unsure of how she was so certain. “Okay...” Linda conceded and followed where Ruki pointed.

Ruki stayed closely behind her. Aric and Jeeves stayed close as well.

Linda pointed to the door to her right. Ruki nodded. Linda knelt by the door and tried the door. Locked. Go figure. She examined the lock and her key ring.

She sighed. Not a single match. She looked at the lock... Not original to the house, and there were scratch marks where it was badly replaced. She stood up.

“This isn’t the original lock,” Linda squinted at the door.

Ruki held her staff, “Let us break it then-”

Aric held up his hand, blocking Ruki’s staff, “I can try to pick the lock.”

Linda nodded at Aric, "Probably better if we don't destroy property if we don't have to."

Aric took out his tools and knelt by the door to get eye-level with the lock. He inspected it, and found that it was almost childishly simple... He smirked to himself, and made more complicated hand gestures, flourishing his tools in a triumphant display when the lock clicked open. He turned to Ruki and Linda, hoping to impress...

But everyone had little time to enjoy Aric’s theatrics. The door creaked open, revealing Ireena, bound, beaten, and gagged on the floor... but as enraging as this sight was to those gathered, rage turned to cold dread as they saw the shelves.

Shelves filled with porcelain dolls of all sizes wearing coppery red hair and hazel eyes... all of them bore an unsettling resemblance to Ireena Kolyana... And each of them had a tag, declaring, “Is No Fun, Is No Blinsky!”

Linda shuddered, but immediately went to Ireena to untie her. Ruki rushed in after. Aric and Jeeves stayed behind, just barely entering the room. Linda began to untie Ireena.

Jeeves warily looked at the dolls, unsheathing his blade, “Obsession much?”

“Honestly,” Aric shivered, “whoever bought all of these must have realized how creepy they are.”

Linda tried to examine Ireena in the room, but the overbearing gazes of the dolls’ lifeless eyes made it hard to concentrate... She fumed at herself. Children’s toys and dolls rarely ever bothered her, but seeing both Ireena’s features and her own in the dolls... it shook her to her core.

What is the deal with Ireena? What is the deal with me in this place? I gotta get out. Now! She shook her head and carried Ireena out of the room.

Everyone else was happy to follow her out.

Linda and Ruki gently laid Ireena down.

Linda sighed, “I... don’t usually get freaked out by toys... but... those are not... ” she quieted herself.

Jeeves fumbled through his pack, "Let me see if I can help. I carry herbs on me at all times."

Jeeves examined her and pulled her hair away from her face. He indicated the burn marks on her sleeves, "I say, I think she picked a fight with Izek himself, and he had a mind to make her his 'toy'... thankfully, it seems that she was only beaten and not... worse... Her skirts are not touched. She's bad off, but she will make a full recovery."

Jeeves mixed herbs together in a cream and applied it to her burns.

Linda sighed. She looked at the poor girl who resembled her so much... the victim of so many monsters and attacks... First with the vampire lord Strahd von Zarovich... then the mad priest... then this disfigured man... Even during her long tenure as a hunter, Linda had never seen anything quite like this. Either this woman had really bad luck...

Or she was part of something bigger. She nodded to herself. That seemed to be the right answer. She thought of everything she knew, and came to an uneasy conclusion:

She would have to get answers from Strahd himself. She feigned trying to be amicable toward the vampire lord for Vasili’s sake... But the reality was that vampires could be masterful manipulators, and she was afraid her new friend was already way too deep in the vampire’s grasp to do anything about confrontation yet...

If only there was a way to get to him...

Ruki broke off from the group to search the rest of the hallway. Aric followed her lead, leaving Jeeves to care for Ireena.

Linda snapped out of her thoughts, It isn’t the time for that now. Rescues first, deal with Strahd later. She followed Ruki and Aric down the hall.

Ruki opened a door, revealing a library... She thought of Strahd’s study in Castle Ravenloft. It was nowhere near as impressive as Strahd’s collection- but to be fair, having even half the amount of books that Strahd had amassed in centuries would have been a feat in and of itself.

Ruki and Aric became quickly disinterested and left Linda to peruse the library. She browsed for a book- any book that would help her understand Barovia’s history and culture. Finally, she found one: Crests of the Houses. She raised a brow at the title, and quickly put the book in her pack before rejoining Ruki and Aric.

They investigated the rooms... most were not out of the ordinary...

Finally, they reached the back of the hall... what appeared to be a closet door. This one was locked tight. Linda matched a brass key to the closet door and opened it.

Inside was a man... gagged and shackled to the back wall. His face puffed with the heavy purple bruises. He looked at his saviors, pleading with his eyes to be let go.

Linda un-gagged him, “What happened to you?”

The man gasped and spit out. He took a moment to steady himself before answering in a deep but frail voice, "My name is Udo... I was taken by Izek and his thugs... just because I insulted the burgomaster... the-the baron was throwing a festival, to kill wolves...” He shook his head, “That would just bring trouble on all of us, killing Strahd's pets... plus the burgomaster don't care about us. Just himself. So... I made a sign: 'Throw Vargas to the Wolves'! There was a girl that stood up for me, but she got taken too... is she alright? There was another girl too, but she wasn't taken here... it looked like a little Vistani girl..."

Ruki stepped forward, anxious for Arabelle’s sake, “Do you perhaps know where she would have been taken?”

Udo panted and caught his breath, "The wolf hunters took her, Szoldar, and Yevgeni. They tend to booze at the Blue Water Inn... you should check there. Let me go, please... I gotta help my boy..."

Ruki nodded graciously, “You are free to go once we remove your shackles. We will be more than happy to escort you out of this building as well. ”

Linda unlocked the shackles with the same brass key, letting them fall to the floor. Ruki aided the man up, balancing herself and him with her staff.

“Thank you for the information,“ Linda told the man. She turned to face Ruki, "Take him out to Vasili. I want to look around more."

Ruki nodded to Linda, “I shall return soon to assist as well.”

Linda watched Ruki take Udo and lead him around the hall. She turned to Aric.

Aric waited for Ruki to be out of earshot, before looking to Linda, “While she is gone, we might as well finish looking around up here.”

They walked off to look down the other hallway, and saw three doors...

Ruki made her way right outside, seeing Strahd still pretending to be Vasili, and charming both Ismark and Vargas. Ismark seemed to be doing well- and completely oblivious to her... and the same went for Vargas.

Strahd looked over to Ruki and the man, and gave her a questioning look, "What is happening in there? Do you need my assistance?"

Ruki shook her head and let the man hobble off on his own. “No need,” she looked to Strahd, “We have found that stranger and Ireena. We will search the rest of this house for any more victims.”

She glared at Vargas.

Strahd nodded, and checked his silver pocketwatch before looking back to Ruki, “Very well. We will determine the verdict at a later time.”

She turned to return to the house but paused, looking back to Vargas and swearing in Infernal, “If we find one more victim in this house, I will make you the next victim...”

She walked back into the Burgomaster’s mansion. She went upstairs the way she came and paused to look at Ireena and Jeeves.

“Is Lady Ireena well?“ She asked.

"Recovering nicely,” Jeeves mused, “Believe it or not, I have a lot of skill in treating burns in particular. Mostly on myself. Aric had a bit of a temper in the past, and was prone to having accidents."

Ruki nodded curtly, “Very well, your help is much appreciated.”

"Stay safe," said Jeeves.

Linda listened to the house and could tell that there was no one left on this floor... but she heard movement and scurrying on the floor above. She pointed upwards, “We should find a way upstairs. I hear movement.”

Aric nodded, and sighed as Ruki rejoined them. They didn’t get as far as they hoped. Aric continued the search, opening a door...

His nose wrinkled. It was immediately assaulted by ladies’ perfume. It choked off his other senses and gave him a headache... he gagged.

Linda peered in the room, the sickly sweet scent of perfume wafted through the air... she saw a vanity table and a full length mirror with red, black, and gold framing stands... along with a mannequin wearing a white wedding dress.

Something about the room made her feel uneasy, but she wasn’t sure what.

Ruki entered the room and examined the mirror. Her heart skipped a beat. Ba’al Verzi... she was sure of it. The guild’s colors gave them away... The red of blood, the black of night, and the gold that they demanded for their grim work... and the skulls- so carefully hidden in the decorative “floral” piece atop it...

She cautiously reached out with her mind and touched the mirror... In her head, she heard a spell:

Magic mirror on the wall, summon forth your shade; Night's dark vengeance heed my call, and wield your murderous blade.

Linda saw Ruki examine the mirror and muttered, “I don’t like that mirror, Ruki. Be careful...”

In one swift motion, Ruki grabbed her staff and smashed the reflective surface of the mirror... And a spectral form, wearing an ancient style of hooded leather armor, appeared before them.

It sighed, “Thank you...”

“Be gone now...“ Ruki spoke in Patterna.

Aric and Linda stared in stunned silence as the spectral man disappeared.

“The cursed artifact is no more. Shall we continue?“ Ruki turned and asked her companions.

“Wh-WHAT?!“ Linda stammered.

Aric confusedly pointed to the mirror, “Did you know that would happen?”

"Did... did you know that was in there?!" Linda blurted.

Ruki shook her head, “No, I did not know the location of the artifact before now.”

Linda blinked, "No, I mean the... ghost."

Ruki made a dismissive gesture, “The aura came from the same source. I am a mystic, not a psychic...”

"Oh..." Linda numbly accepted her answer, even though she still didn’t know the distinction. She walked over to the next room.

Aric still had many questions, but elected to ignore them and get out of the suffocating room.

They entered the master bedroom. Everything in it seemed fairly normal: a bed, dressers, footlocker... the only thing out of place was a rope hanging from the ceiling.

Linda pulled on the rope. Ladder stairs slid down and revealed a crawl space to the attic. Linda took a moment to catch her breath and brace herself before shrugging and climbing up the ladder.

One by one, they climbed up into a barren room with a single door. Linda opened the door and was immediately floored with just how much...junk! There were so many crates and chests, and dress forms just... laying about.

She slinked into the room, trying not to knock over anything, and was just barely able to make out a path... it seemed like there was another room at the end of all this mess.

She grumbled as she made her way over. Aric and Ruki cautiously followed her footsteps.

Finally over to the door, Linda brushed the dust off that clung to her coat and impatiently opened the door.

On the other side, it looked as if someone had taken old, mismatched furniture and made a makeshift study in this room... A large, dusty rug sat in the corner, with a skeletal cat resting atop it. A young man with dark brown hair, and a premature streak of gray running through it, sat hunched over a leather bound book, reading strange words aloud.

“Um... Hello?“ Linda ventured.

The young man slammed the book shut and whirled around, stammering as he adjusted his glasses, "I'm sorry! Don't tell father! I-I-I-I know I'm not supposed to be practicing magic right now, I should be studying politics, but please, can we keep this a secret from the burgomaster!"

Linda raised her hands, trying to calm the man, "It's alright. You don't have to worry about me telling him anything."

“Magic, huh?” Ruki looked around at the loosely cobbled together herbs and components. Then to the skeletal cat, which stretched and purred. She raised a brow, “Necromancy of all magic?”

"I'm Victor... sorry, I get jumpy,” Victor huffed, “My father usually sends Izek or other thugs after me to get me to follow in his footsteps. I practice magic... not... all necromancy. I know how bad it looks, but really, I just wanted to make a spell to get out of Vallaki. Away from Father."

“Practicing magic for freedom from the Mists?” Ruki mused, “No such magic exists.”

Victor turned red, "Well... teleportation spells exist... but mine's not working... at all." Victor turned to the cat and whistled, "Come here Mr. Whiskers!"

The skeletal cat jumped up and trotted over to Victor. It meowed at him, but the meow was hollow and faintly echoed. Victor did not seem to mind.

Linda raised a brow, and put her hands on her hips, "I have a way that you can get out of Vallaki."

Ruki looked over to Linda with amused interest.

Linda jerked her head to motion to the door, "You can just walk. Come with me, if you want. I am intending on travelling around a bit."

"R-really?” Victor looked as if the possibility never crossed his mind, “Sure! Let me just... pack a few things."

Victor scrambled from his desk and started to shove his collection of different books and components haphazardly into a sack. He even tossed in a half-sewn robe. He swung his pack onto his back and held out his arm for Mr. Whiskers to climb onto.

He pet the skeletal cat on his shoulders and faced everyone, “Alright, I am ready.”

Ruki smiled in amusement.

Linda adjusted her own pack, "Let's go. Oh and that's a nice name for your kitty there. I am quite fond of animals myself."

Victor stroked his cat’s skull, "Really? My father wanted to destroy it when he first saw, and my Mother and Uncle think it is unnatural. But... Mr. Whiskers hasn't hurt anyone, and he is my familiar. The familiar spell in this book wouldn't work for me, so I had to improvise. So... who are all of you? Why are you here? If it isn't to discipline me?"

Ruki waved a hand, dismissively, “We are here to kill the ones that were sent to discipline others.”

Linda stood agape, "We were in here to rescue a friend, Ruki, that is absurd! It is not my only intention to kill people here!"

Linda started to head out. Ruki smugly called to her, “I never said it was your intention, Lady Linda.”

Linda did her best to ignore Ruki, "Speaking of friends, though,” she looked to Aric, “We should head back to Ireena and Jeeves."

Victor shrugged, "Regardless of why you came, I am happy to head out."

They all made their way past the junk and back to the second floor, where they found that Ireena Kolyana was finally awake... and holding onto Jeeves, crying. Jeeves awkwardly tried to comfort her, slowly patting her on the back, and looking to his companions for help.

"You've had a rough couple of days miss...” Jeeves said, “It's going to be okay, now."

Ruki went over there and put a hand on Ireena’s back, “If I may, Lady Ireena?”

Linda knelt beside her, "Ireena, are you okay?"

Ireena sniffled and huffed, making it clear that her tears were from frustration as she clenched her fists, "I'm sorry, I'm just so stressed, I couldn't help but cry! I'm so tired of being bitten, beaten, kidnapped, life threatened, betrayed by Father Donavich... I feel like I'm just a danger to be around..."

Ruki shook her head, “Of course not. It is quite an adventure being in your company, Lady Ireena.”

Linda hugged her, "I'm sorry. I left you and you got kidnapped. Next time, I'll be there."

Ireena breathed in slowly, and made a long exhale, "Thank you. Sorry, but now that that is out of the way... I am ready to leave...” She looked to Linda with determination, “And see Father Petrovich."

Linda stood and helped Ireena stand, "We can go see him. We also need to find a couple of other people."

Ireena nodded, "If I can rest where it is safe, I won't be in your way."

“Perhaps Castle Ravenloft?” Ruki suggested. It was the safest place she knew.

Ireena froze, "No offense, you are really nice- but Castle Ravenloft is the last place I want to be."

Ruki considered Ireena’s situation, and nodded, “Very well.”

Linda spoke firmly, “The Inn should be okay now.”

They all walked downstairs, ready to leave this place... But Victor paused and opened up the dining room.

He called in, "Mother, I am running away for real this time. I am sorry to do this to you. I promise I will write. Tell dad to rot in hell for me."

A tired, female voice called back, "Alright Victor. See you in the morning."

Victor sighed, "Bye, mom."

That settled, they left the house. Victor was startled to see his father out there waiting with Vasili, but once he saw that he father was bound, he spoke smugly, "Seems everything's caught up with you now, old man."

Linda shook her head at the man, "Wow, even your own son hates you."

Ruki stepped forward and put Vargas in a daze. Vasili let go of him and turned to the party.

“I think it is time that Vargas was stripped of his rank, and left in the stocks. Let the Vallakians do as they please with him. The only thing is having to pick a new burgomaster..." Vasili paused and looked to Ireena, pain suddenly flashing across his face as he looked at her injuries. He stepped forward, “One more thing to do then, my dear... is get you to an infirmary,“ he made a loose gesture to the side, “I used my healing potion on your brother-"

Vasili was cut short as Ismark rushed past him to jump and hug Ireena, “I’m sorry I let you down! Are you okay?”

"I'm alright, you?" She looked to her brother.

Ismark chuckled nervously, "Uh, I almost died, if not for Linda and Vasili. Linda protected me in the fight, and Vasili healed my wounds."

Ireena blinked, "Is that so? Then you have my thanks Linda... and you as well Vasili."

Linda ran her fingers through her hair, nervously, "It was nothing. Really."

Ireena shook her head, "Saving someone's life is never nothing. Let's go. Inn or Church?"

“The inn.” Ruki was resolute, “We received information that my sister is held there.”

Linda nodded, “Smart. We can also reserve lodging.”

Ireena looked up to the darkening sky, "Alright, that will probably be the last thing we can do before nightfall... Can I stay with you again Linda? I'd just feel safer..." she gently touched at her throat.

Linda felt an anger at Strahd for doing that to her. She did her best to appear calm. “You can stay with me,” she granted her permission.

“Thanks,“ Ireena sighed in relief. She walked alongside her brother, “I think... I will join you with a pint.“

"I'm going to have a lot more than a pint tonight, sis," Ismark chuckled.

Linda laughed, glad that the tension was being relieved, “I’ll join too.”

Ruki glanced at Vasili.

Vasili met her gaze evenly, guiding Vargas to the stocks, “What?”

“A drink, my lord?” She pondered.

Vasili paused, "Perhaps. But I only partake in my own wine. I'm... picky."

Ruki smiled thinly, “Of course.“

#story update #dnd 5e #curse of strahd #linda tacklemeyer #aric rein #ruki von holtz #writing

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