Session 10: Questions Answered?

In the shadow-shrouded halls of Castle Ravenloft, where time itself seemed to stand as still and cold as the grave, Elora, Maledurk, Grestkrendreghk Elassayl Thorn—known to all as Thorn—and Tempest gathered in the depths of a crypt, their voices hushed yet urgent. They had unearthed a Sun Sword, a relic of radiant hope in this benighted land, its discovery a glimmer of light in the darkness that enshrouded them.

Memories of their recent travails flickered through their minds like ghostly lanterns: the crypt they had left behind; a wall, bricked and unyielding, that succumbed to their spellcraft; the chapel with its silent sentinel, an armored figure in repose. Tempest, with her arcane touch, had drawn forth a talisman from the figure, wary of its dormant secrets.

The dining hall had been a masquerade of decadence, Strahd von Zarovich himself presiding over the phantom feast, his fingers dancing upon the organ keys with a maestro’s grace. A conversation, brief as a candle’s flame in a tempest, then the vampire lord vanished, and the grandeur with him, leaving only decay behind.

In the aftermath, the party stood divided on the wisdom of a short rest. Their vitality waned, yet the Sun’s respite lay beyond reach. With grim determination, they pressed onward to a grand staircase, its ascent shadowed by frescoes and armored sentinels, their names erased as though by fearful hands.

They probed the enigma of the names, but the answer eluded them. Tempest, in her boldness, stirred one of the armors to life, narrowly evading its mace. They wisely chose to spare the other armor their curiosity.

Their path led them to a trip plate, cunningly hidden, and a suit of armor ensnared in the machinations of a nonmagical trap. Elora, rapier in hand, sought secrets in the stones behind it, while the others pondered the possible treasures such devious guardians might protect.

The armor was a relic of a bygone era, untouched by time’s passage, yet they hesitated to employ levitation, wary of the castle’s unknowable will. They triggered the trap, a test of its lethality, and found a rod anchoring the armor to the floor, a mundane but deadly contrivance.

Ascending the stairs, the party emerged into a grand chamber, its broken window a testament to the relentless siege of the elements. A throne faced a blank wall, its purpose obscured and enigmatic. A secret passage revealed itself to their searching hands, leading to a corridor with arrow slits and a guard tower.

They pondered the throne’s odd placement, the stained glass a canvas of destruction wrought by time. A spiral staircase beckoned, but first, they turned their attention to a pair of unassuming doors.

The doors yielded to their touch, revealing a hallway and another set of doors. A skeleton in rusty armor hung like a grim ornament, a warning or a decoration, its true purpose unknown. Behind it, they found a passage swept clean of the castle’s pervasive dust, its oil lamps unlit, a wooden door, and another staircase ascendant.

They climbed the staircase, drawn to the statues of humans with faces twisted in terror, their expressions shifting with the storm’s lightning. With a torch’s light, they wove a spell of shadows, and the statues spoke to them, Strahd’s presence a riddle, both absent and yet within the castle walls.

The statues’ words were a labyrinth of contradiction. The party, ever cunning, sought to unravel the truth with careful queries, but intelligence alone could not discern the statues’ fealty to truth.

They weighed their options, debating whether to summon the elusive vampire lord or to scour the castle’s countless shadows for him. The day, bright above, held little sway over the nocturnal predator they hunted.

A penultimate statue spoke of Strahd’s sovereignty over his domain, his will unbreakable. They considered seeking the Vistani’s lore or rallying the villagers to their cause. They stood at a crossroad, the castle’s secrets vast and labyrinthine, its spires reaching to the heavens, unexplored.

A crypt awaited their return, its secrets tantalizingly close, a whispered promise of a hidden tunnel, a presence lurking in the depths. The party’s course remained undecided as the session drew to a close, their goodbyes a chorus of resolve and anticipation.

Castle Ravenloft loomed around them, a mausoleum of puzzles and perils, its first floor a familiar territory, the second a mystery, the third a gallery of horrors yet unseen. Their next meeting would see them venture once more into the crypts, seeking the heart of the darkness that held Barovia in its thrall.