DnD campaign

Stanimir smiles thinly as he stares directly at Rasec, and then says, "My friend, I'm afraid I have confused you. Whence my people came originally is lost to time, but where we now call home, the safe haven from which we may enjoy the freedom of the road, is the land of our noble prince, and we are very grateful to him for what he had given to us. To you, perhaps, we may seem too numerous. But a Vistana alone is a sad thing indeed; the road from Barovia is long, and there are none whom a Vistana can count on more for safety than their family. Why, with me now I have my daughter Damia and son Ratka, and their closest companions. As to why we have sought you and not some other, that is a question for Madame Eva. But, you are right, we have tarried here too long. If you wish to join us, we will be leaving from the edge of town at dawn."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Stanimir grins widely at Darien's reply, revealing a few golden teeth behind his lips. "Wonderful! As promised, we will depart from this Inn. Ratka! Damia!" Stanimir shouts over his shoulder to the other Vistani, "Gather everyone and get the horses hooked up! We are moving camp for the night." Stanimir turns once more back to Darien and, smiling, says, "We will see you at dawn's light."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

As the people begin talking about missing homes and half remembering family members lost to time, Arscene looks fondly towards the fire - not quite sure why. "Many things are born from the flames. All of our existences and the world we see created through the eruption of Fire from the Dark... or so the theories go..."

Aescene studies his book of Alchemical Lore in the evening. Eventually his consciousness slips into the Ethereal Realm for the next 5 hours.

Sent from my SM-J700T using Tapatalk

Lucien is going to drink in the inn till near blackout drunkenness.  Swaying steadily Lucien uses his hand places his hand on the wall to guide him slowly back to his room.  Entering the dark room with the only light filtering through the windows as the stars shine, Lucien collapses unto the bed.

(In this town is their a wagon seller? Imma buy one, if I can)

You spend the next ten days rumbling across rutted dirt roads cut through the golden prairies of Nathlan. The tall stalks of grass bob gently in the breeze, lazily shaking grasshoppers and dragonflies from their seed heads with every passing gust. Great herds of bison wade through the fields, nibbling the tender shoots and enjoying the warm sun on their great brown backs. To the west, you see the plains slowly rise into mountains, forested and well worn by time. To the east, the vast wheat sea stretches on into the horizon, and you can occasionally catch the glint of the sun off of the distant Porcelain Tower. The Vistani seen content to pass the time basking in the sun atop their  rolling wagons, or else pick shapes out of the herds of bright woolly clouds that drift slowly overhead. Each night, as the stars rise out of distant prairie and the chorus of crickets and coyotes begins, the Vistani light a fire and resume their habit of drink and song, ever encouraging your group to join in.

At last, on the tenth day, you arrive in the farming town of Xian. The prairie and bison around the town have been portioned off by low stone walls so that they might feed the inhabitants, and in places the grass has given way to flooded rice fields. A river runs through the cluster of low buildings that form the town, and here and there grow trees. Children scamper about the dusty streets under toe of wiry farmers ever carrying loads to and fro.

"Xian is a quiet town, compared to Westgate," Stanimir remarks as your wagons lumber into the narrow streets. "Too quiet, perhaps, for the Vistani lifestyle. We will camp on the edge of town tonight, but you all should feel free to stay wherever you like, and take care of any business you need to. Supplies are sparse in Barovia."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Lucien is going to look for a high class inn. 

At long last Lucien is back in civilization and away from those bumpkins,  Lucien is going to look for some form of laundry to clean the low class off him. *... After he finds them he is going to retire to the inn.

Arscene, not being one much for social cues, takes Lucien's invitation to join him in the inn at face-value. "I'm sure I'll be able to free my mind comfortably tonight - you have my thanks Lucien." Arscene finds two open tables near one another. He pulls them together and sits down on a bench in the corner. The gauntleted mage hand plops down a series of books one on of the tables, then extracts quills, ink and parchment from a tanned leather satchel bag. The hand flips open a book titled "A Theory on the Layers of the World and the Multiverse" to a marked page.

All the while, Arscene has been rummaging through his backpack, and pulls out a dark blue glazed clay mug. It lacks a handle, though has ribs circling around it for easy handling. White specks of paint are dotted near the top. He opens a small pouch and places some leaves inside the mug - they smell of light tea leaves and a hint of grapes.

Pulling out a water skin, pouring some water into a glass beaker, and heating the water up with only a wave of a hand, steam rises from the beaker. He carefully pours the water into the mug, then lights a candle. You notice the candle has several marks regularly placed down its side. After melting past one of the marks the gauntleted hand snuffs out the flame and removes the tea leaves from the mug.

Arscene blows twice and sips the tea, as the liquid is mysteriously transported away from this realm. While drinking Arscene wonders if he will truly be able to unlock the secrets of the Multiverse if he cannot even unlock the mysteries of being a Yuke.

Time whiles away, and when appropriate Arscene sleeps for 1 hour. Satisfied with his trip to the ethereal realm more quickly than usual, he spends the rest of the early morning casually reading a book called "The Perfect Cup - An Exotic Guide to Tea and Coffee".

That night, Darien and Lucien both have vivid dreams:

Darien dreams of a graveyard, turned to mud by a fierce rain. Around him lie the broken bodies of hundreds of men-at-arms, their broken swords and splintered spears in heaps. Before him is an unassailable foe, drawing ever closer. Darien brandishes the hilt of a broken sword as a desperate defense, and suddenly his arm erupts into blinding light, and the foe dissolves into a dark mist.

Lucien dreams of a dark room, with dozens of deathly white faces surrounding him, barely visible in the gloom, weeping silently. Before him lies a massive book, the size of a wagon. It take great effort to open it, but when he does, he is assailed by overwhelming feelings of tragedy. As he begins to read what is written in the book, he feels himself being constricted by the grip of a massive serpent, squeezing tighter, and tighter, until he awakes with a start.

Your behavior seems to unnerve the inn staff, but they remain respectful and professional and thank you profusely for your stay as you all depart.

It is lightly raining as you trundle out of the village on your carriage, the sun only occasionally peaking out from behind a thick mat of low, gray clouds. The Vistani are already waiting for you by the edge of town, protected from the rain by colorful cloaks embroidered with golden thread.

The rain continues to fall intermittently for the next four days as you approach the border of Nathlan and Erlkazar. On the fourth day, as you cross over the mossy log bridge that spans the river separating these two countries, a stiff, chill wind blows by, setting the branches of the forest ahead of you to creaking and moaning. Despite the inclement weather, the Vistani remain jovial as ever, and joke about the stiff, polite nature of the Nathlanese as your caravan rumbles across the dirt road and into the forest.

As you move deeper into the forest, the air becomes colder still, and slowly a mist begins to close in around you, until you can barely see twenty feet ahead.

Suddenly, Stanimir pulls up on the reigns until his wagon and the rest of the train stops, and holds up his hand. The other Vistani immediately fall silent, and you can see an uneasy look on some of their faces. All around you, you begin noticing glimpses of figures darting through the mist, and the snapping of twigs under foot.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Darien, obviously annoyed whispers to evidently no one, "Oh shut it vvith that dated prose, I AM the shadow of death!"

Sent from my SM-G930V using Tapatalk