Session 09: Shadows and Sun(sword)light

In the shadow-draped halls of Castle Ravenloft, where silence was a companion as constant as the ever-present dread, the Nefarious Do-Gooders bore witness to a spectacle of gothic horror that would chill the blood of any mortal man. The air within the crypts hung heavy, a fog of ancient secrets and unspoken whispers of the dead. Here, in this macabre abode of Strahd von Zarovich, the vampire lord of Barovia, Elora, Maledurk, Thorn, and Tempest sought the end of their grim quest.

The crypts, a labyrinthine maze of death and decay, had revealed a chilling omen—a crypt with Thorn’s name engraved upon its stone door. As the elf’s body within the crypt melted into nothingness and his name vanished from the doorway, the party’s resolve was shaken but not shattered. A barrier of light stood before them, a sentinel of arcane energy. Thorn, with a gesture as fluid as the wind through the trees, conjured a wall of force that allowed safe passage. Elora, in her curiosity, attempted to traverse the barrier without protection and found herself teleported to the foot of the stairs, her journey mysteriously undone.

The crypts of King Barov and Queen Ravenovia beckoned, and within the Queen’s solemn resting place, they uncovered a magic sword. Its crystal blade gleamed with a light that seemed to pierce the very essence of darkness. The Sun Sword, as it was known, sentient and yearning for the defeat of the monstrous Strahd, offered its aid.

The adventurers, with the Sun Sword’s radiant glow, found themselves able to bypass yet another magical barrier that blocked their path. Before them, a brick wall, out of place amidst the stone austerity, drew their attention. Spells were considered, and the memory of a past excursion to a distant land of fantasy and wonder, where crowds thronged beneath festive decorations, filled their minds. But the present demanded action, and soon, “pass wall” revealed a hidden alcove leading to a chamber adorned with knightly statues.

The ancient chapel, once hallowed ground now forsaken, lay before them. Stained glass windows fractured the light into a mosaic of color, dusty benches sat in silent vigil, and an altar, crowned with a silver statuette and a black mace, awaited. They approached with caution, noting a cloaked figure slumped by the altar—a cadaver, not skeletal but cold, embraced by death’s timeless grip.

The party, ever meticulous, searched for clues upon the body. The mace, though fallen at the deceased’s feet, was not the instrument of demise. The corpse’s hand rested upon a black statue, and the party pondered the potential dangers of magic that might linger there. Without the spell Detect Magic at their disposal, Tempest employed her Mage Hand to lift the statue, a silver piece of twelve inches in height, confirming it was safe to handle—the party decided to keep it for further examination.

In the chapel, they discussed the history of the castle, the vampire’s human life before his cursed transformation. No plaques or successful history checks illuminated the past, but their journey was not yet done. They resolved to continue their exploration, ascending from the depths of the chapel into the unknown.

The party, now in a long, dusty hallway, adorned with statues that seemed to pay silent homage to the game of kings, noted a bronze sun symbol—an enigma that defied their understanding. They ventured forth, opening a door to a great hall of faded grandeur, with torches burning low and stone gargoyles standing sentinel.

Strahd von Zarovich, the lord of the land and master of the castle, revealed himself in a dining hall, seated at an organ from which haunting melodies flowed. The confrontation was brief; Strahd vanished, the opulence around them dissipating like a mirage.

As the session drew to a close, the Nefarious Do-Gooders, weary yet undeterred, planned to rest and prepare spells to locate the elusive vampire. Their camaraderie was punctuated by light-hearted jests and a plan to animate the silver statue, perhaps turning it into a weapon against their foe.

The echoes of their voices, exchanging holiday greetings, lingered in the cold air as they contemplated a brief respite from their grim crusade. They would reconvene in the new year, hearts fortified by the warmth of the season, ready to face the darkness of Barovia once again.